“I love you,” I tell Flo. “I have always loved you. I’m in love with you, and I will always be in love with you.”
Why does it hurt to say the truth? It shouldn’t. This much I know.
I’ve told hundreds of girls that I loved them before now—okay, maybe not hundreds. Maybe ten or fifteen or so but you get where I’m going don’t you? Why did that not hurt at all until now?
I feel broken glass whenever I try to move.
I move my hands to her back and slowly drag them down, touching all of the PG parts of Flo. The R rated is what I want right now. I won’t take it though.
I would die if I woke up without her after having her back. My hands cup her ass.
“Why are you wearing such rough pants?” I ask. The hard material scrapes my skin.
I remember. Just like that. It all comes back. These are the clothes she was wearing in the description on the missing posters. The picture I shared on Facestory. I liked it and shared it again. No one commented. What do you even say to that?
“I’m sorry man?”
“My condolences?”
Prayers don’t do shit. I know that.
“You okay my friend?” Flo asks my chin. She’s awake. I already knew that because her breathing was uneven.
Can one even sleep in her condition?
To answer her question, no, I am not okay. I will never be okay again. “Did you expect to land?” I ask, moving my hands up and past her beautiful ass. I wrap an arm around her neck, looking down at her green head. Her roots are showing pretty bad.
Why is this the thing I notice? I’m such a jackass.
“When you jumped. Did you think that you should take a break for a moment and then you would land, and we would all simply be able to start again?”
I kiss her head because I can.
Flo squirms and makes me hard again. I pull her back in, breathing the scent of rain water in. This is where I belong and where I have always been, a human body pillow for my best friend.
My life is back again.
Jokes Forever - Flo
I smile. I laugh. I hide my face in Mal’s chest. I don’t just feel safe, I feel wanted. I feel like I’ve never been in danger. No one can say anything mean to me here. No one can make me insecure. I have no reason to doubt anything anymore.
I know that this feeling will probably wear off in about an hour. I don’t care. “So what do you think about another shower?” I tease, muffling my voice into his t-shirt. My shirt has somehow ended up on the floor. Again. I don’t care.
“I can’t get the smell of dirt out of my hair. I don’t know why that’s the scent that has chosen to linger.” I eye the fading, green split ends. The roots of my hair are dyed black. At the time I thought it worked.
Can you guess what I want to say here?
Here’s a hint: (I don’t care)
I snuggle closer. My fingers are pulling down at the hem of Mal’s t-shirt. I’m surprised that he doesn’t have chest hair. Does he shave? That’s awkward. He’s not a swimmer.
His pecs indent and smooth over. I memorize the soft skin with my fingers. He’s pale at the moment, the natural golden tone less evident now than it was a few hours ago. He is soft all over but strong. I’m torn by the muscles in his arms. God dammit this makes me swoon all over. I have a thing for guys with strong arms. Especially when they wear well fitted t-shirts. I reach up to touch Mal’s hair. It’s long, and the ends are curled over. So dark brown it’s almost black. It is soft and grab-able hair.
I want to kiss his jaw. His neck. I want to pull his whole world apart. Haven’t we already been there?
Not Here - Mal
I kiss her, tasting her and pulling her entire world apart. I was asleep a moment ago, but now I’m here.
My hands find her hair. I use my knee to push her legs apart, actively searching for her warmth.
I need to feel every inch of her.
“Come here,” I tell her.
She whispers.
“I am here.”
I kiss her harder. Her lips taste sour. Her kisses are brand new and yet so familiar it hurts. I’ve kissed her before, of course; my body melds beneath hers. She feels sturdy in my arms and yet I’m terrified to break her apart. Her heart beats, and I’m afraid that the glass within her is about to shatter. I kiss her words apart.
Forever - Flo
I feel tethered and torn apart. Bruised and injured. I turn so that our chests are pressed together. I’m only in my white bra. It has been turned grey with blood and dirt. Brain matter.
I left this boy with a broken heart.
I died and yet I didn’t go anywhere.
I still haven’t gone anywhere.
I haven’t done anything that matters.
I'm kissing my best friend, and I feel alive right down to the tips of my fingers. I open my mouth and feel devoured.
I want to devour Mal forever. I feel his hands leaving my hair, moving down my back to the clasp of my bra. He unhooks it without a care, and I try to pull back to let the fabric slide down my arms, but Mal won’t let me go anywhere. The straps slip and suddenly I am still covered and yet I’ve never felt so open before.
I grind my hips against him when he asks for more.
I’m close, and I still want closer.
I’ve never felt like this before. I kiss him once more because I’m terrified of this moment being over.
I want to stay with this boy that I adore. I want to stay forever. I want more. I don’t want to talk anymore.
I’m not here. I’m nowhere. My life is over. I’m doomed.
Dead from the start. There are no chances to start over.
I want a do-over.
I want-
Before and After - Mal
I felt her. I felt every inch of her, and I want to roll us both over. I want her beneath me. Green hair is spilling out everywhere. I want in her God damned underwear. I want her forever. I shiver and feel as if my body has been forced into a cold shower.
I open my eyes, and I’m alone in here. Flo isn’t with me anymore.
I’m naked. My hands are resting against the shower. What am I doing in here? Where am I? Why is my face covered in tears?
How did I get here?
“This isn’t funny.” I cry out, spitting blood out of my mouth. I feel like I got punched in the throat. It hurts to blink, to talk. I might choke if I try to shout. I can’t stand still.
I need to lie down.
I am alone.
“Hello?” no one responds to me, no one at all. Like I always said and thought a hundred fucking times or so: I am completely alone.
I don’t have Flo.
Fuck.
I need to lie down.
No! - Flo
No! No! No! I have been turned backwards and inside out. I fly into the wall of Mal’s dark bedroom and feel my heart give out.
I’m dead. I’m cold.
No!
My ass lands against the hard ground. I have reached out and pulled a handful of posters down. I look at the crumbles mess of cartoons; super hero and super villain’s. None of these means anything to the man that I’m in love with. He collected them when he was a kid because of his dad. His dad loved comics.
Mal loved singing. Dancing. Math. Mal was a weird kid. That’s why I loved him. That’s why I still love him and scream until my voice threatens to shatter my head. I need to stand but instead I slam my body back. I felt him. I was back, for like half of a hot second, but I was still back. I felt it. I had it.
Just like that.
I felt my body being pulled apart like a rubber band. It hurts, and my jaw feels slack. I think I busted my hip. My tooth stabbed through my lip. I’m a mess.
Mal groans and rolls over, rubbing at his face as if I wasn’t just with him, on top of him, topless, and under him, kissing his neck.
He’s in pain. I can hear it.
What the hell happened? I try to stand. Something loud has stabbed into the palm of my han
d. I try to focus on it but the frame starts to fade to black, and I know that this is almost it, but I’m not about to let myself burn out like that again. I don’t want to fade to black.
I want to be epic and ever-present. I want a second chance. I see it, and I know that I have to grasp it. Just a random image, like a PicChat. I know that it’s about to be deleted, but I hold my thumb down to save it. I see a lifetime flash. The possibilities. A chance. I have to take it.
The universe doesn’t have to ask.
I stand and watch the world as I know it fade to black.
The First Kiss of Death - Cadence
I woke up on my back in my kitchen. I was staring up at blank ceiling that stared right back. My heart was a hammer in my chest, and I had no idea what the fuck had happened.
I still don’t know what happened.
I haven’t found the strength to get up just yet. I was facedown into my vomit, yeah that was fantastic. I rolled over and wiped my mouth off, ridding my face of most of it.
My mouth tastes fantastic. Like ass. Old food and teeth that haven’t been brushed since…God I can’t even remember when. I have become that much of a mess that collapsing in my vomit wasn’t the surprise that it should have been, but waking up like this is.
I heard a voice I didn’t recognize, a scream that didn’t make any sense and a strange pressure in my chest.
I felt like I had invited some ugliness in.
Yeah, that makes no sense. I blink and blink again. I feel like death. I almost always feel like this the day after well, that. That’s what I want to call it, just that. Not my drunk sluttiness. Not a night out on the town that always ended up with me on my back on a mattress. Not me regretting my choices. Just that. It happens again and again and I am not powerless to stop it: that thing that happened and cannot be taken back.
I just don’t know anything different. Hello, my name is Cadence Smalls. I’m twenty-seven. Five-foot-five-and-a-half, my hair is dyed a terrible red and my gel nails desperately need to be filled in.
I am an addict.
I am desperate. I am a fuck up. I am hardly ever missed.
I move my hands to the floor to push myself off of my back; I turn, and my hair falls on my face. I blow on it, trying to brush it back with the back of my vomit-smeared hand. I’m not wearing much, a slinky black dress and some sandals that are only hanging on now by the thin silver straps. My ankles are in a death trap. I try to slide them off with my hands but fail quite epically at that.
My kitchen is a mess. The floor stained with remnants of last night party fest. You know, just the usual events of me and a bottle of vodka cuddled against my chest.
My roommate is MIA again. Not that I should be at all surprised by that fact, Torrance doesn’t like to come home if he can help it. Not that I blame him. I wouldn’t come home either if I had a different option, but I don’t. This apartment is my prison. The pale green walls I painted with my best friend during a night high on energy drinks and sedatives. The door has ten deadbolts in it. The fridge is filled with alcohol.
I make myself stand and almost stumble backwards. Reaching out to the kitchen table, I slap the wood with my hand. It stings for about half a second. I live in a small two-bedroom basement apartment just off of campus. I have lived here for a year and a half with Torrance.
He is my younger brother’s best friend. He’s a good kid. I am an awful influence for him. He knows it. I avoid it.
My hair usually reaches my shoulders when it isn’t in such a mess. I desperately need to wash it and brush it. Possibly untangle it, spray it down with some super disinfectant. I am totally the definition of a hot mess, Only without the “hot” part.
The bathroom is located right off of the kitchen. My bedroom is next but the door is closed, and I don’t want to risk opening it.
I don’t know if I have any more guests. I don’t want to risk running into any of them.
I need to strip and shower, wash myself of any and all sins. I need to rinse off the evidence and shave my armpits. They are starting to inch.
As is my lady business.
That’s right. I said it. Deal with it.
I turn on the bathroom light and glower at the disgusting damp towel and piss puddle mess that has now soaked into the small shower mat. It used to be purple; at least it was when I was regularly washing it. The laundry room and I are no longer friends. I look into the mirror, and the death of my best friend looks back.
I didn’t ask for this.
No one asks for life to end, but the world is a cruel place and change only happens when you least expect it. My usually happy brown eyes look black, and my face is a blotchy, red mess.
It has been like this since the moment that I found out my little brother, my best friend, wasn’t coming back.
Every day I think about Alex. It has been like this all of the two-thousand-five-hundred-and-fifty-five days since it happened. He is every pain in my chest and everything about my old life that I miss.
He was my best friend. My only sibling. My other half. My better half. I was supposed to protect him, and take care of him and keep him sheltered from all of the bad. Instead I pushed him into it and failed at being a big sister, I failed at being the person he needed me to be, and now he’s dead. I did this.
Everything that happened? Well, I’m to blame for it.
I can’t stand my own reflection.
I pick up my toothbrush and soak it under the tap before covering it in my favourite minty goodness. I stick my toothbrush into my mouth and give my teeth and gums a good bath. Rinse. Spit. Rinse. Spit. I do this like ten times just because I know that I need it.
I close the door with my foot and peel off what’s left of my tiny black dress. I’m not wearing a bra, or underpants. I have no class. I’m spastic. I turn on the shower and push back the curtain. Someone had sex in here last night; I can still smell it.
How nasty is that?
I don’t even know if I was a participant.
I step in and almost slip because I don’t have a shower mat. I used to; at least I think that I did. Torrance must have gotten rid of it.
Stupid kid.
The water hits me with a vengeance. I deserve every burn mark from it. The temperature scalds and I welcome it. I let it. I could kill it. But that would be bad.
It’s while I’m standing naked, letting the worst of myself in that I see it: a memory. A flash, neon green and vibrant. I see a casket.
It’s all gone before I can remember where the hell I saw it. Probably on Webflix. My laptop has become my only friend, my blood relative.
It’s always there when I need it. The relaxing hum of my favourite movie playing again. This week it’s a romantic novel, film adaptation. Next week it might be something so bad and cheesy, I can’t even watch it.
I’m freaky like that.
I wash my hair about ten times; I just want to make it soft again. My constant dye jobs have almost killed it. I have wicked split ends.
I turn off the water even though there are still bubbles on my skin. I reach for a towel and pull it on, wrapping the towel around my boobs, the soft fabric hanging right below my ass.
I forgot to shave my armpits.
Fuck.
I grab a pair of pants off of the magazine rack we keep in the bathroom, loaded down with reading material for my many male guests. Not all of which are mine. Some belong to Torrance.
I pull my pants on under my towel. I do not even believe that they are my own. I think they belong to some random dude.
I swap out my towel for a shirt that I found in the hall. It’s light blue and super comfortable, sewn together out of clingy material. I drop my still soaked towel onto the ground. I know that I need to check out my bedroom. The scene of the crime if you will.
One night stands are my thing now. It’s the only time that I don’t feel. The only way for me to let my mind go, blocking everything about me out. I don’t remember last night’s dude very well. I think he was cu
te, at least somewhat decent down south.
You know, dick wise and all.
I knock on the door just to be polite before turning the knob and stepping forward with both eyes closed.
I’m such a chicken shit I tell yeah.
“Come out, come out wherever you are!” I call, opening my eyes one at a time, and only after peeking through my fingers.
My room is empty, but the bed is a disaster zone if I’ve ever seen one. There are pink sheets and fluffy white pillows all over the ground. I check the garbage just to make sure that the condom got thrown out. I cover it with a tissue.
As if any of this will help.
I know that it won’t.
I’m Fucked up, and I Know It - Mal
I don’t know what happened. I remember being at school and coming back. I remembering being at the park, again and again, staring at a grave that just stares right back.
I’m in my bed again. I left the shower running and climbed into my sheets naked. My birthday suit is soaked in sweat. I’m sick, a demon that can’t be fixed. I imagined that she came back to life again.
How pathetic is that?
How twisted and sick?
I feel like a God damn idiot.
I breathe in.
I hear a knocking downstairs. Soft but persistent. I roll onto my back and reach for my phone. I think I left it on the table beside my bed, but I can’t find it. The sound knocks again.
My head aches. My chest is throbbing. I want to puke and piss. I feel sick. I reach over the edge of my mattress to pick up a pair of sweats. I don’t know what I find, but I think it’s blood red. I swing my legs around push my legs into the holes and pull the fabric up and over my dick. Tying the rope into a bow that looks more like a drunk ribbon.
I force myself to stand.
My bedroom is pitch black. I have no idea what time it is, but I push my curtains back. The weather outside is sunshiny and golden.
Ache for You (Trapped in Three Hill Book 1) Page 8