Dust

| 19 |

I know how much she likes her understated aesthetics, darkly twisted lullabies as I push out a crooked smile. Between her collarbones there's space enough to fit a brand new heart, though she won't allow a single one to so much as float above. Molecules of hydrogen seem to notice her moods shift better than me. A group of boys whistling past us on the other side of the street, a sly smile and a delayed middle finger is enough to let her seethe in disbelief.

-Why would you do that? Can't you see they have faces straight off a magazine?

It doesn't matter, the body wants, the body needs, my body just wants to be set free. Although this instant proves quite the distraction, letting someone between my thighs won't make it pass the time when my mind catches up. As eager as they appear, making their way through busy traffic to call me out on my poor judgement, I know I can stop it before it gets too far.

Issues of intimacy are uncalled for on these quick interactions, and I hope she doesn't bring it up after. In the fleeting moments I let the bile pill up on the back of my throat, a tall boy doesn't notice, warm lips coming closer.

Whispers of sweet nothings and promises of what he can do under covers. I face forward, a courage I muster only on defensive circumstances. I highly doubt he can make me believe that the world is a happy place on the couch of his friend's living room. An empty summer teaching me all I needed about begging for more and claws on my neck interrupting the circulation.

-Thank you for your attention, I'll let you take me to the party later.

Surprise flashing before his eyes, Stella content with this turn of events.

But they don't understand, while they give out directions, walking away with fist pumps and pats on the back. And she doesn't understand, while I put on a long coat with deep pockets over a flimsy black dress. There is space for a switch blade, fingers twitching, over eager to let it dig into the skin slightly deeper.

If I am dead, he can be too. Teach him a lesson about what kind of girls he messes with. I will not aim for the artery, of course, but let him be frightened too, be the one suddenly alone in a poorly lit bathroom, music to loud for help to hear. Flip of a switch and I forget everything I came here for, lean closer to his jaw and lick my bottom lip.

It takes restraint to do what I've been dreaming of. Maybe the alcohol is kicking in too quick, he takes the opportunity to grab my wrist (oh, how I hate it). Moment of weakness, it's all that this is. But he shares his scars with me, consenting my hand to roam through ragged skin while he does the same to me. Looking into a broken mirror, I let him take me to my knees. I make him feel good like I wish something could make it for me. There's not a single piece of my soul that he holds, every ounce of self-respect I managed to maintain follows me back to his bedroom. And we sleep in dark blue sheets, tangled arms and feet, sounds of a party muffled by the carpeted floors, light years away from this locked door.