Was it Torrance? No. he won’t come in here again for fear of me becoming possibly unhinged. I don’t blame him. I’m scary as hell when I’m mad. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and roll out of bed. I am sure that I look like an ass and I feel like death. There is something gross about my breath. I look around my room and am briefly amazed by the niceness of it. I see neatness where yesterday I saw a mess. My roll-top desk is cleaned off. My eyes graze over the posters pinned up above it. Fan-girl images of movies I used to be obsessed with. I can see my laptop instead of all of the papers surrounding it. Manuscripts I never finished.
I used to enjoy writing; actually that’s complete and utter bullshit. I one-hundred-percent totally loved it. I was addicted to it. It made me sick. I dropped it; I killed it and after Alex I could never find the will in myself to pick it up again. It felt pointless. Selfish. How could I enjoy myself when my brother was dead? I would say that I got past feeling like that because I guess in a way I did, but grief is repetitive. It is a tidal wave, ever present but in some moments, more heightened. More intense. You always feel it.
I get up and head towards my closet. I need to get dressed, or re-dressed I guess since I’m still in my red shirt and skin hugging denim pants. They are very hard to sit down in. I have no idea how I slept in them. I see a grey sweatshirt hanging onto a hanger, and I pull on it. The hanger falls into the pits of my closet, and I let it, turning around as I start to strip off my pants. I need to shower, like bad.
I see something silver on the edge of my bed: a Swiss army knife like the kind that Alex used to collect. I have no idea why I have it so close to my bed. That could be seriously dangerous. I hate the part of myself that fears longing to use it, a fear I struggle and push against.
I will not hurt myself again.
I see a pair of camo shorts and pick them out of the overflowing drawer. I know that there’s some skanky underwear somewhere in there, but right now I’m just happy to wear a pair of my ex-boyfriend’s boxers. I think his name was Mark or Omar? I honestly can’t be sure.
I pick up the Swiss army knife and hold it with the blade pointed outwards, crossing my mirror I once again glance at my reflection and my hair. Burnt orange and falling well past my shoulders. I decide to do something that I’ve never done before. I want to cut my hair. I hold up my bangs and pull the knife backwards, slicing and trimming the hair at an angle that doesn’t hurt.
I want short hair. I don’t want my looks to matter. I want to be fierce, a true terror. I want everyone on earth to know that Cadence Smalls is here. I will be remembered, for better or worse.
I chop off the back until it is razor short, leaving the front part a little longer as I shape it over. I have a mullet, only backwards. Business in the back, the party in the front. I want the orange gone. I want to bleach and dye my hair and fry it a little more. What could it possibility hurt?
I head out of my bedroom after pulling on my sweatshirt; it’s so long that it covers way more than just my boxers. I have yet to pull on my camo shorts. I head downstairs. I know right away that Torrance is here. I can smell his little boy cologne all over. Like Axe™ and Old Spice™ mixed. He is trying way too hard. “Do you have a girl over?” I call, listening into the dead air. I think he’s in the shower.
Who in the hell is he trying to smell good for?
“Hello? Torrance? I know that you’re here so ignoring me isn’t going to fucking work.” I call over my shoulder before I head downstairs.
We have our own super small basement that is just as creepy as it dark. It’s more like a storage dungeon. The floor is little more than dirt with a piece of plywood placed down over top of it. The roof is low hanging; I can’t imagine Mal coming down here without hitting his head.
I have to flick on the crappy light halfway down the stairs. It flickers, I have to duck when I reach the bottom and jump over a patch of gross carpet from there. There is literally one square piece of red carpet someone glued to the wood at the base of the stairs.
It smells like mold down here. The walls are fake wood and dark all over, bending with the dampness that hangs in the air. I need to make this quick. I do not want to meander down here. I hurry towards a stack of old hangers and a bunny-eared television that no longer works. There’s also a green fridge that I’m terrified to open and the washer and dryer, both of which rest against the far corner.
I know exactly what I’m after. I packed all of my useless shit away down here, all of my nice makeup and concealer. Anything that made me appears prettier and or nicer. I tucked it all away down here to watch it silently burn. I wanted every part of the before to be shattered. My life in the after is a whole different world.
I find the box I’m searching for.
With Her - Mal
I took the brunette home after my third or fourth beer. I knew this was a bad idea from beginning to end. I found out her name was Emelia Winters, and she was hoping to get into doing hair full-time, out in the real world. I told her that I totally supported her. I told her I liked the way her thick brown hair rested on her delicate shoulders. Her clear blue eyes looked silver. I lied and said I had never seen anything as beautiful, I kissed her shoulder, stripping her.
And then I fucked her.
God, those are the wrong words. The totally wrong and hurtful words. I did not fuck her. I used her. I brought her home to my townhouse and bent her over after fiercely kissing her. I pulled down her corduroy’s and her soft pink underwear. I pulled down my jeans and unleashed my dick on her, forcing her legs apart as she whimpered, aching for more. I sought out her heat and entered her. I didn’t even make sure that she was wet enough first. Fuck. My knees are almost crumbled. She was so tight and so God damn warm. Fuck. I pulled out and pushed back in.
Gentler.
Harder.
Faster.
Heavier.
She was bent right over, precious little ass in the air. I reached down to grab her hair and smiled at the sound of my flesh meeting hers. We did not fit well together, but the sweat made us both stickier. This felt like heaven only purer. Real. Warmer. I could grab this girl and touch her. I wanted to do all of this with her until the daylight forced us to start over. I pushed my hands up and under the front of her plastic shirt. It felt like sort of thick rubber. Maybe Emelia was a hipster.
I didn’t care. I fucked her harder. I felt the end start when my body convulsed into hers. Fuck. I forgot to wear a rubber. I moaned and said the only name that truly mattered, thank God I said it as a whisper. I’m glad Emelia did not hear because of course; the name was not hers.
It belongs to a stranger. A girl who is no longer here.
She tossed her hair back and tried to push herself off of the armrest of my couch/love chair. I stepped away from her, looking her sweet ass over. She was short and curvy in all the ways that mattered. I pulled up my underwear after grabbing a tissue to clean my dick off, tossing the grossness into the trash.
Emelia turned and looked me over, her dark eyes seeming scattered. She pulled down her shirt and pulled up her underwear.
“Thanks.” She said, pushing up at her hair. It was thick and strong, and I wanted to pull it again as I fucked her.
Wait, what was she thanking me for?
“You’re welcome.” Okay, this was awkward. I had somehow ended up shirtless during this precious and not so precious sudden encounter. I suddenly felt like a dick for bringing her back here. I wanted to show her the door.
“I should probably go home and shower.” Emelia wasn’t looking me over; she just looked bored. I was anxious and unsure.
“Great. Yes, everyone loves a good shower.” I wasn’t trying to charm her. She pushed herself fully off of the chair and started back towards the front door. My entire place was pitch dark.
I opened the door for her, breathing in the cold evening air.
My lungs felt sore. My eyes tired. I hid my hand in my pocket and leaned against the door jam, just watching her, waiting for her to say someth
ing that I could remember. Instead she just nodded, as if I had just body charged her.
She was ready and warm.
“See you never.” She swore. Winking before stepping away and heading towards her car. Had she driven us here?
I suddenly couldn’t remember.
I slowly shut the door and leaned against it, hanging my head in the dark. For a moment, I allowed myself to feel despair. Only for a moment because I could not allow my emotions to take over, and once again, I headed upstairs, eager to fall asleep and dream of only her. The only her I was searching for.
Suicide Hair - Cadence
I dyed my hair. I actually freaking bleached and dyed my hair. I am currently standing in my bathroom mirror. It’s still partially fogged over from Torrance’s long ass shower. I know that he’s still here because I can hear him opening and closing doors, in a big rush to go nowhere.
“Dude! Get your ass in here and look at my hair!” I squealed and then shut up because embarrassment had taken over. I never made happy noises anymore. I never got excited over my hair. I wasn’t that girl.
I looked down at the cluttered bathroom counter until a weary Torrance appeared just over my left shoulder.
I looked up and met greenish blue eyes full of so much hurt and torture. I knew all of it was directed inwards. He was sweet and kind enough to pretend to care about my new hair. Over the years his once youthful face had turned rock hard. His blond surfer hair didn’t make him look like a child anymore, his broad shoulders took up every inch of space in the mirror, and he was a mountain over my shoulder.
“Look’s good sissy.” He smiled, he never smirked. His endearment of talking to me as if I was his older sister was intended to heal—never hurt. But I could not help but flinch at the constant reminder. I was no one’s big sister anymore.
“Thanks squirt.” I stuck my tongue out at him in the mirror, even though he could never be defined as a squirt, which to me meant tiny and unable to cause harm. Torrance’s body begged to differ. He was tall and strong. I could see his muscles under his shirt. I always felt safer when he was here. He could take any intruder with one arm.
I smiled at our reflections in the mirror. At the moment, the deep purple bruises under my eyes and my makeup smudged from the evening prior made me look old enough to be his mother. How had a four-year age different made us so vastly different? I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t excited about my new blonde hair anymore.
I Know You - Cadence
I left Torrance at home and headed out, grabbing my keys and my favourite coat. I wore my favourite dress that I never had the courage to wear out. I was always scared of standing out, a troll who is trying to play dress up in a hot girl costume. I looked terrible and felt wonderful. How was that possible?
I got into my old beater and turned the radio up to full, in search of something old and beautiful. I did not want powerful right now. I wanted to listen to someone sing about missing another soul. I wanted something real. I wanted to smile. I wanted it to start raining and simply listen to the downpour pound against my windshield, but it’s sunny out right now so I just roll the windows down and hit the gas pedal, cruising towards downtown.
Downtown is the divider of the good and the bad side of town. I live in the middle. So like twenty minutes from downtown on a good day without a lot of traffic. The kind of day when I can put the pedal to the metal—kind of like right now. I dream about getting out of this town. I often do. Filling up my gas tank and just hitting the road. It seems simple, it’s not. I know. I have bills and responsibilities to other people aside from myself. People that I hope would call and try to track me down.
What if they didn’t though? What if they just left me alone? What if I could drive for miles and miles and until the sun fell? All by myself? Singing to the radio. It sounds cool.
I ease on the brake as I cross out of downtown, the pretty part away from the bus depot. Every building is brick and beautiful. Large picture windows abound. Traffic is parked sideways on either side of the road. The thick lines painted yellow. I stayed in the middle lane now, not knowing where and when I would need to turn or if I needed to do so at all. I just wanted to drive until I hit a dead end and was forced to turn around.
I leaned my head back and moved my hand outside of the window, lifting my fingers against the wind’s push and pull.
I have never felt nor have I ever been, extraordinarily beautiful. I never worry about someone looking at me and being like “oh wow.” I only keep men’s attention long enough for whatever we share to become worthwhile. I am an average woman, and I was an even more average looking girl. I am nothing special.
Until I met Mal. I don’t even know the dude and somehow he has become everything I think about. When he looks at me, I feel full. Even if the words he’s saying are cruel and or unusual. I still feel well. I feel new. I don’t know how this is possible. Compared to me Mal is nothing more than a heartless, cruel and fucked up man-child. He’s two years younger than Alex would be right now, and that fucks me up more than you will ever know.
I’m twenty-seven. He is barely twenty-two. This cannot and should not be legal and yet I find myself at his door anyhow, knocking nice and loud. I’m biting my lip and willing myself to turn around, but I don’t move. I just dance myself into a circle. I left my coat in the car. I push my bangs out. Fuck. He’s going to think I look terrible. What grown-ass woman gives a haircut to herself? With a Swiss army knife no doubt?
I feel like a clown and a fool and then he opens the door, and my entire world is turned around and upside down. I don’t bother introducing myself. There isn’t a point. He already knows me without a doubt. The way his green eyes darken at my approach has me shivering with a suddenly dry throat. I try to swallow. Mal is the only guy I’ve ever known that could ever be described as beautiful. His cheek bones sharpen as he scowls. Looking down at me through eyes already narrowed.
His shoulders were wide yet I could see his bones. Hallowed and sticking through golden skin that now appeared pale.
He didn’t look well, and yet, he looked wonderful. My mind felt torn between the two.
“How are you?” I asked once I was already in his living room. I had to yell seeing as he just totally left me alone.
Smooth.
I take another gander around, my hands on my hips. I slip my feet out of my two-dollar sandals and kick them against the wall. I should have kept them on for an easy getaway, but it just seems rude, even though it seems like Mal’s carpet has never been vacuumed.
Who am I to judge though? I haven’t put laundry away since I left home. Eons ago.
“I’m great,” Mal calls. “Now if you want to be useful, go into my bedroom. Find yourself some clean clothes. I don’t care what you borrow just don’t touch any of the girls’ clothes. Only mine, is that cool with you?”
Girls’ clothes? Why does he have girls’ clothes?
“Sure.” I keep my head down and head towards the dark staircase. Posters line the walls. Movies I’ve never heard of and books I would never own. Girls in hilarious looking bathing suits.
I know that I don’t like Mal at all, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to. I want to be surprised by everything I find and figure out.
I can’t believe I’m going into his bedroom.
Oh lord what on earth is that smell? It smells like mold. Or wet clothes that dried in a gross and disgusting pile. Everything smells like a dude. Torrance has never smelled like a gross dude. He keeps his room neat and his clothes, washed, dried and folded. I’ve never had to bitch him out for not caring about his side of the house. Things are usually the other way around. I’m a slob but even for me, this seems way out of control. I put my hand out to lean against his bedroom wall. His door was wide open instead of tightly closed. It was easy to intrude. This felt normal.
His rug was a deep purple; from what I could see of it anyhow. The ground was covered in clothes and towels. I kicked at a few with my bare toes. I don’t know wh
at I expected to find or do.
I wasn’t stripping in here. No way, no how.
Still though, my mind clouded with doubt. I looked back down. I needed to change into something comfortable. I wanted to make myself useful before Mal kicked me out. I wanted to be in control; I wanted to feel normal.
I wanted to laugh. For some reason I felt like I could laugh a lot around Mal, I hadn’t felt that way in a while.
Even though he was as cuddly as a cold, electricity flooded pole, I still wanted to get close. I wanted to feel. What better way to warm me into his tight little bubble? I picked up a shirt off of his bed post, feeling the soft material and lifting the fabric up against my nose. I inhaled.
Wow. Whoa.
Memories blurred in the back of my head like I had shaken a snow globe. Soft and cold. I knew right away that these memories were not my own but still, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.
I saw Mal. I saw him the way he was now and the way he must have been months if not years ago. I saw him so happy that he had glowed before his eyes became overshadowed, and he once again became miserable. I saw him looking at me like I hung the moon and felt his body curving against mine within the snow. He was my warmth in a cold and cruel world.
I saw him smile his smug smile and felt my insides twirl. I felt him controlling my every mood and sentence without having to try at all. I saw him making me cry when he didn’t pick up my hundred-and-forty-two calls. He sent me straight to voicemail.
I felt it all. I felt myself being let down and pulled back up only to be thrown over a waterfall. I felt myself drown. I felt myself let go.
I drop the shirt back onto the ground, stepping back. No longer being careful I bump into his dresser and knock over a lamp and a bottle of very girly looking perfume or cologne. Honestly, who the fuck knows.
Ache for You (Trapped in Three Hill Book 1) Page 12