Audrey hadn't aged a day in 7 years. The only difference was that her clear cranium was now just like skin. There was a cord dangling from the back of her neck, one that fit into the charging hole of my phone. Before I knew it, Audrey had been downloaded into my phone. All of her knowledge, her programming, everything that Dad had done for her, I could carry it around in my pocket. For the first time in 4 years, I felt close to Dad. It was comforting, having a piece of him with me all day. Sometimes, I'd just shove my hand down my pocket and feel my phone, remembering that this was the last I had of my father. I couldn't wait to tell Violette.
Violette wore a white turtleneck shirt under a sleeveless pale purple minidress with white Air Forces. She had a matching lavender phone case and a lavender Airpod case with a marble cherub key chain attached. Her earrings were tiny matching hearts with cherub heads in the middle. She was always matching and coordinated, always so put together. I, on the other hand, wore a black ripped jeans, an old white t-shirt, and a red flannel. I had been trying to talk with Audrey all night long, to no avail.
"You look like hell," Violette muttered in my ear as we hugged at the doorstep we had arranged our meeting on. I shrug.
"Something came up last night," I sit heavily on the step, grappling with myself whether or not to tell her.
"Same," She collapses down next to me, just like Lance had yesterday. More like last week.
Lance and I hadn't gone to 7-11 like we used to. I had seen him getting into some hunky senior's car in the school parking lot as I was walking out. He had looked at me and quickly averted his eyes, as though I was a stranger he didn't want to meet. I had sat alone at lunch, scrolling through TikTok while Lance sat with a giggly group of girls, all clad in crop tops, ripped jeans, and long acrylic nails. I could hear his distinctive laugh echoing across the lunchroom and know that it was laughing at something that didn't come from my own mouth. And it occurred to me for the first time that I was the only constant in his life. His dad was as changing as the tides. Sometimes he sobbed with remorse for his alcoholism, sometimes he was violent and cruel like a bee sting, and sometimes he was simply gone. Lance slept in a different bed every night. I remembered when we were 14, I was just recovering from Dad's accident when Lance hadn't shown up to school. The first day I hadn't thought anything of it. But by the next day, people were whispering that Lance had tried to kill himself. Even then, Lance was known for his propensity for sleeping around. There were significantly less guys who were willing to go away with him, but apparently being loved and cherished in the night and waking up to being treated with no love was too much for him. His father had found him suspended under the water in the bathtub. The image of Lance under the water, his giggling throat choked full of water, his dark curls floating like the vines of a sea-plant, his eyes closed to the world and his mind blissfully blank.
I came back to myself. Not even a minute has passed.
"Can I tell you something weird?" I try to be serious, but my lips curl into a smile that never seems to go away when she's near me.
"What?" She turns to me, her face alight with the afternoon sun. Her shoes are crisp and clean; her corduroy minidress falls perfectly, highlighting her round and ripe buttocks. Her hair is spread around her shoulders and back like a fertile, rich brown sheet. Her glossy lips are slightly spread, her eyes attentive and her eyebrows raised. She's poised like a deer about to take flight. I can't let her lovely dark eyes and glossy brown coat dart away into the wood, never to be seen again.
"I saw on TikTok that they were making Croc high heels," I don't even know if this is true. Why Croc high heels? Sometimes I hated myself.
"Oh, my god!" She bursts into giggles, "I'm so buying those when they come out!" We giggle. Violette is taking me to her favorite coffee shop, where we would buy her favorite coffee and I would officially ask her out. This was a rather mindless decision I had thought of as I walked to her apartment to meet her. I was already mapping out the scene in my head, the scene where she'd say yes and stay. It would be different this time. Violette was a gentle and delicate raft, calmly floating down the river of life. Lance is different. He's a bucking barge, fighting a storm he could never weather.
The coffee shop, however, is not a Starbucks like I'd expected. It's one of those cute little hole-in-the-wall shops called Clementine's. It has a glass door and pretty glass windows that let in sunlight. Inside was a cross between a bohemian porch and a book lover's attic. There are huge bookshelves in the minute seating area, all stuffed full of vintage books. Full of classics, ones that everyone knows like Hamlet and Pride And Prejudice, but there were other, less known ones like The Song Of Achilles and People Like Us. There was poetry, plays, stories, short stories, screenplays, biographies. The walls were oak planks, as were the floor, and fairy lights were strung up everywhere. Hanging by the windows were several delicate flowering plants, their petals strong and healthy with the sun. The employees didn't wear uniforms - except for name tags - and everyone in here had a different aesthetic, and yet the scene all blended perfectly. Violette beamed with pride as though she had put it all together herself.
"I'm gonna go get our coffees. Go outside and get us a seat!" She smiled again. She belonged here, with her intellectualism and her literature and her vintage aesthetic. And somehow, I felt like I belonged here too.
The weather's perfect outside. I observe the other customers and people walking down the street as the wind blows, the sun high and proud. It's a perfect day, and nothing seems to be in my way. Violette returns with our coffees, and she has a guy in tow. He looks just like one of those pictures that come up when you google "soft boy". He was wearing a white turtleneck with an oversized bowling sweater over it with oversized acid washed jeans and black Vans.
"Alex!" She calls, the boy following. Color me stoked. Who was this douche and why was he with Violette? I don't want to choke down an overpriced caffeinated beverage while I watched this pretty boy third wheel us.
"Alex," She sets down our coffees, finally at the table, "this is my brother Stevie," He nods at me.
"Sup," I nod back. He peers at me through his clear-framed glasses.
"Stevie, this is Alex, my boyfriend," I blink away my surprise. I reach for her hand.
"Yeah," Stevie doesn't care.
"Cute," He pulls out his iPhone 11 Plus and checks the time, "anyways, I'm late for my date, so I should probably motor," He carries a tall mocha with whipped cream and an iced coffee. Iced coffees are Lance's favorite. My blood goes cold like the coffee he holds.
"What's his name?" Violette inquires, a mocking little smile twisted onto her face.
"Lance. He goes to East," Stevie explains, and my heart goes cold.
"Oh, hey, that's where Alex goes! Do you know a Lance?" I plaster a smile on my face, pasting a pleasant expression over the evil feelings I feel inside.
"Nope." We wave Stevie goodbye and Violette slips me the coffee and a straw. She ordered two tall mochas with caramel and whipped cream. My eyes widen when I take the first sip, and Violette giggles, a clean and strong sound. Violette was no wilting European flower; she was a true American girl. Her voice was low and gentle and her body was strong and able. She could steer her own ship. Her freckles were dusted over her nose and cheeks like stars, and her eyes were like the moon.
We sipped our coffees in the sunlight and laughed, and when it was over Violette took me back to her apartment. Her father's at work, and Delilah, her stepmom, is out buying crystals. She brings me into her bedroom. Plants are everywhere, and her room is full of light and love. She has an abundance of plants and flowers by her window, and they were all strong and healthy like the girl who grew them. A corkboard full of labelled Polaroids hangs next to the door, and I notice with excitement that there are a couple of me on there. Violette takes my hand and brings it to her body, letting me feel her through the soft fabric of her dress. She unzipped my jeans and saw me for the first time. It was only a matter of time until Lance made the connection between Violette and Stevie and brought about the end. So I welcomed the warm, moist feeling of her mouth and decided to think of this as my last meal on death row. She let me pin her to the bed and feel the vital thrilling heartbeat in her chest. And so we did it, the eyes in the Polaroids passing judgement on us like statues in a garden watching lovers.
And after it was over, the fine threads of her hair woven into a tapestry between my fingers, we talked. We told each other things we'd never told each other. She told me how she'd almost committed suicide. I'd seen the jagged scars, pink like bubblegum on her pale thigh, and thought in a fleeting moment how the skin had filled the gaping, bleeding wound that was once there. But it would never be the same. I lay my hand on her supple waist, rising and falling with her breath.
YOU ARE READING
Metal Dreams
Teen Fiction"When strange things are created... strange things can happen," When Alexander Murphy's father died when he was 13, Audrey, his robotic secret project, disappeared with him. Skip forward to autumn, 2019. Audrey's come back. But she doesn't want...
