The Way Art Cracks

2.

"Hi"

Her eyes calculate numbers over my skin so I stand, waiting.

She leans in to hug me, kisses my cheek and pats my hand. When she writes her number on my wrist she doesn't ask about the scars. 

It's enough to help me get my shit together and breathe.

The bell rings and I fix my hair and grab my stuff from Turner's, who does not  say anything to me before I leave.
Later that day I see the back of the girls head from earlier, and I don't say anything because I don't know what to say.

I cut through three yards and two streets before I'm there, but when I eventually stumble upon the yard filled with decaying leaves and the strong smell of weed, I turn into the driveway and walk up to the porch. An old couple is sitting on the couch surrounded by black netting.
"Hey, baby, how's it going?"
"Nothing much, you guys?"
"High as a kite, kid."
"Wouldn't expect anything else from you old geezers."
"Oh, don't make fun. We're still hip."

"Plenty. Is Hannah here?"
"Should be in her room. Said she was sick."
"May I come in?"
"Sure thing honey, Loyd, get that door for her."
And so he stands up, leather on leather, and unlocks the door for me to come in. I nod my head and smile before he closes it, and I walk towards Hannahs room, but I already know she isn't there.
A lot of wishing, and not a lot of thinking.
When I unlock her door with my ring, her room is empty. Well, kinda. She isn't there. But her room is full. Blankets, clothing, two liter bottles, and random bits of whatever came into her room is strewn from one side to another.
Her window is cracked and so I follow her footsteps out of it to avoid lying to her parents. I left her a note this time though.
On a discarded sheet of loose leaf paper, I wrote: Stop avoiding me. We're friends. I just want to be friends.
My leg was scratched by a tree on the jump out and I walk back to my house.  

The door suppoorting the image of my mother balled up in the crook of the chair while she shudders from the cold air being blown from the fan. 

"Hey baby."

"How was work?" 

"Same old, same old."

My Mom is lying, same old, same old. Her eyes are dull and her lips are starting to crack.
"Wanna watch a movie tonight? I got some twizzlers on my way here."

"That sounds great, I'll start on the popcorn."
"What are you in the mood for?"   

She forces a smile, and places popcorn on the microwave plate.
I feel dirty so I pick the movie and pause it before I stop off at the bathroom.
I scrub my face until it's red and brush my teeth.
"What's this movie about?"
"It's a book I read, remember?"
I lunge into a story and backtrack a few times because middle school is getting further away so the plot's a little foggy. I obviously don't really know what I'm talking about, so I bite onto a twizzler and push play. This is our thing. Movies are what we do, which isn't the normal shopping deal, but it also isn't the normal teenager hides in her room deal. So I'm thankful.  

At 2:40 I get a text. Let me in.

I have to stumble to my window, but there she is. Hannah looking through to be on the other side of my window.
What for?
She starts questioning me with dramatic gestures before she gets my text.
I got you something.
I open the window and she climbs in. She hands me a joint and grabs a blanket to stuff around the creases of my door. I light it and sit by my window.
"So we're friends again"
She smiles at me, "Never stopped. Don't overreact."
She falls to her knees and takes a hit, "I'm making things happen, Kaitlyn. I'm getting out of here."
"What?"
"I'm leaving. We're leaving if you want."
"We haven't even graduated, Hannah."
"I need to go, you don't get it. I've already got someone to pay for me and he said he'll pay for you too if you want to come. He said he can get me a job too."
"Hannah, you sound crazy. What are you going to do? Pimp yourself out?" "Of course not, silly. He'll do all that for me,"
She pushes me. Takes a hit.
"But really. I'll just sell for him. It's in South Carolina, not far from here. I'll live near the coast. You can come and live with me."
"How well do you know that guy?" "He's my uncle, chick. It's not some random that found me when I was wearing a tight shirt and tighter pants. He's family."
"Which uncle?"
"Jerry."
"Hm."
"So you're not coming, huh?"
I blow the smoke out and shake my head, I don't want to look at her right now.
I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes.
"I'll miss you, okay?"
I feel her crawl closer and pull my hand onto her lap.
She strokes my hand with her fingers and starts up my arm.
Straddles me and holds the joint to my lips for me before finishing it herself. And then she's there again. She's grazing my lips with hers, and I tilt my head when she tries to kiss me at first as a joke.
She pulls me forward and pushes her lips against my lips.
Lips wavering against my own, hands pulling through my hair, this isn't love.

We both know that. It's the normal kind of love that you have for your friend.

This isn't a love story.

I grab her hips as she rolls them towards me.
Pull her shirt over her head, unclasp her bra.
My shirt  becomes unbuttoned, pulled off.
I don't open my eyes for this, I just feel it. Feel skin on skin. We're both kind of cracking at this point. Pushing hard into eachother to make up for the damage.

If we touch eachother everywhere we're broken, maybe the cracks will be filled up.

My bra is unclasped.
Her mouth trails down my mouth, my neck.
Her chest is soft, her back is hot, her skin is smooth. She's solid. She's like land during a hurricane.
I don't know what that makes me, but I'm gasping for air.
Grateful for every inch of land I find. She bites my neck and I feel her tongue. I roll her under me and find her mouth.
I feel her tongue.
My hands make my way to her skirt and pull it up, and push down. I nuzzle into her neck and listen to her breathing.

No rhythm, just fast pants and quiet noises.
Hot breath and smooth skin.

We're not talking, which  almost makes me stop, but when I open my eyes, she's watching me, and she kisses me again.
Her legs are wrapped around my torso and my skin feels hot. She's moving her body against mine when she pulls at my jeans and mimicks me.
It's just air. Air pushing against air, panting.
We're just sounds and movements, pieces of something trying to be something other than broken.
"Hey."
I look up at her, "hm?"
"I'm going to miss you too."
And she kisses me. It's slow and it lingers. I pull a blanket over us and we lay there.
Foreheads touching. When her breathing finds a rhythm, I crawl to the end of my bed and try to discretely swing my legs over.

I leave a note, Don't forget me, k? Which is how we've been talking lately. Notes.

Maybe that makes this easier, distance before she leaves.
Oh. The irony.

Moments later I'm gone, moments later I've taken her spot as the drifter, tossed between currents of wind, walking in curves and without direction.
Things are more easily tossed when they're empty.