by Azzurra Nox
“Right,” he said a little defeated, and picked up his pen trying to scribble down his thoughts.
Maybe if she had grown up differently she could dare to think that someone like Jake could like her, but she didn’t want to fool herself with such mindless rootless thoughts. Nothing suggested that he did. He was a popular lady’s man, she was only one of many. He probably wouldn’t even think of flirting with her if they were at school.
Hope’s feet grew tired from walking through the mud, the trail coming to an end. There was a rustle in the bushes and for a moment she thought it would be the mysterious girl again, showing up to tell her one more thing, but instead to her relief she noticed that it was a possum. She laughed out of nervousness. A terrible ominous feeling gnawed at the pit of her stomach and she willed it away enough to continue her walk out of the park.
Chapter Twenty-One
The city never slept. It was typical for Sunset Boulevard to be packed with people at all hours of the day. Even as the sun set, the crowds of tourists and street performers didn’t diminish. The streets were adorned with stars of all the artists who had reached a level of popularity in their lives. The Walk of Fame, as it was more notoriously known as. Michael drove along the boulevard in his silver Ducati motorcycle, his hair flying back behind him like a cape. People dressed as Marilyn Monroe, Superman, Roman gladiators, and Elvis walked back and forth attempting to gain the attention of a passersby as a means to grab a few dollars from them, if they were feeling generous. Sometimes it ached him to see the deep contrast between the two worlds that counter-existed in this city. The ones who were on top, and the ones who could never be nothing more but cheap surrogates of the original. He would’ve kept on driving if a familiar girl hadn’t caught his eye. There in the distance, towards the Kodak Theatre stood Lena. His heart did a strange figure eight, and he brought his hand to his chest wondering what was going on. This was a first. He smiled at her particular clothes, thinking how her unique style didn’t look out of place in a city like Hollywood. She wore a short black taffeta dress with silver stars strewn across it as though she had decided to cloak herself with the night sky. On her feet, a pair of gold chunky shoes with a rubber sole.
He drove closer to the sidewalk, letting his foot down, and pulled up the visor on his helmet. “Lena!” he shouted. She looked around herself, and then turned around. That’s when she noticed him nearby.
“Michael!” even her running had an elegant demeanor to it, as though her whole body were dipped in grace and she didn’t own an ungraceful limb.
“What are you doing here at this hour?”
“My dad got invited to a showing of a film at the Kodak. It’s some kind of history documentary. Very boring. So I stepped out.”
“Wanna come for a ride?” he told her before he had the chance to stop himself. He wasn’t understanding why he couldn’t control his sense of speech with her.
“Sure,” her voice was too eager, but he didn’t notice. A part of him was relieved that she had accepted. He pulled out the extra helmet from the back of the motorcycle, and handed it to her.
“Put that on, and we’ll go for a spin around this crazy city.”
“Sounds awesome,” she said pulling the helmet down over her head and climbing on top of the motorcycle directly behind him.
“Hold on tight, I drive fast,” he cautioned her as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his back. A strange warm feeling entered his body, like a sensuous aroma sneaking into someone’s nostrils without notice and enticing them with its delicious scent.
The city went by in a blur of vibrant colors. Tall palm trees lined up the whole street. They resembled attentive soldiers at their places, keeping guard of the city. For a few minutes neither of them spoke. His ears seemed to tune in to Lena’s heartbeat, or at least he thought it was that. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump sounding like the beat of a drum. Her heartbeat was gaining momentum with each passing second, and he almost feared that her heart would explode right then and there. Splatter against his leather jacket, leaving remnants of pulpy flesh behind. Feeling queasy from the thought, he stopped the motorcycle.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I thought we should stop.”
“Um, okay?” There was uncertainty in her voice and he didn’t want her to question him, so he parked the bike, pulling the helmet off of his head. The night air hit him like a welcomed ice cold drink being thrown over his head as a way to keep cool.
“I figure we could take a walk.”
“Good idea,” this time she sounded cheerful.
He climbed off the bike, helping her pull the helmet up and off of her head. She made a face, “I bet my hair looks horrible now.”
“No, never,” he told her, “But you could always wear a wig,” he pointed at the novelty shop directly behind her. Colorful wigs decorated the display windows like vibrant Spring blossoms brightening up a park edge.
“Oh fun! Let’s go inside!”
The two of them entered the shop. Lena looked like a little girl that had just discovered paints. Her hands grabbed handfuls of rainbow wigs and began to place them on her head. Michael found her enthusiasm a little infectious and endearing.
“How do I look?” she asked wearing a neon blue bob.
“Like something out of a Japanese anime.”
“Maybe you’re into pink?” throwing on a hot pink wig with large sausage curls that would’ve put Marie Antoinette to shame.
“I’m afraid not, Barbie girl.”
She laughed pulling the wig off and grabbing another one. This time she selected a long black mane. For a moment he was dumbfounded. Her black dress and stark white skin against the backdrop of long black hair gave him the illusion that he was seeing someone else. Without thinking he balled his hand into a fist, as a feeling of overwhelming dread ran through his body along with a burst of adrenaline that made him feel ready to fight. But her black hair was gone before he had a chance to speak, and when he saw her natural blonde hair return, he took hold of her, pulling her towards him by her waist.
“You’re going to get me into trouble,” she whispered in a coy manner.
“What do you mean, you? Us,” he corrected her. His lips brushed hers in a tentative kiss, almost like he was trying to resist the temptation. Soon, that was all forgotten, because the second their lips came into contact there was no stopping instinct from taking over like a furious wave crashing against the rocks onshore. His lips were demanding, almost imperious. He wasn’t sure what was happening, only that he liked what he felt and tasted. Lena shared his breath long after they both became breathless, and gasped into each others’ mouths.
If he were paying attention, he’d know that the salesclerk was getting annoyed by their amorous scenario right there in the middle of the store, or how the radio in the background was playing a T. Rex tune to which he couldn’t focus on the words or the instruments. Lena’s fragrant skin seemed to weave an intricate web of desire around his being, and he found himself trapped under her power. Without much thought, he pushed her small frame against the mirrored wall. Shrouded by veils hanging down from the ceiling, he continued to kiss her, undisturbed.
“You’re crazy, but I like that,” she murmured upon his lips. He didn’t respond. His hands and his lips were communicating everything he wished to tell her but couldn’t explain. The desperate way his hands curled around the layers of the taffeta, or how his teeth bit down on her lower lip in frustration.
“You’re also bold. I like that too,” she added, licking at her lip where he had bitten down on her.
“Good, because I can’t seem to stay away. Not that I’d want to if I have my way,” he kissed her once more, but when he opened his eyes he thought he saw a dark figure reflecting from the mirror. It was a split second, and when he turned around to see if it was still there, the person was gone.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, I just thought I saw someone I knew,” he sa
id. “Let me take you back to the Kodak before your dad sends out the search squad for you.”
“He really would,” she laughed and stole a kiss from him before peeling herself from the wall.
There was something magnetic about her. The touch of her skin made him only want to wrap himself around her, like a second skin that she wouldn’t be able to readily escape from. Strange thoughts of possession inflamed his being, something foreign but at the same time thrilling enough for him to wish to seek it. A nagging thought lingered in the back of his mind like when someone forgets to tend to a business that they’re required to look after. There was something that he needed to do, and yet he couldn’t recall what it was. Lena had obscured all sense of notion, rendering him vulnerable. An emotion that wasn’t common for him and that he met with a wall of defiance. Just as quickly as he had brought her into the store, he rushed her out, and she seemed bewildered by his action. But Michael detested this sudden sense of frailty that passed by his heart, but at the same time yearned for it too. His feelings for her were still too fresh for him to properly place them on a scale.
“I don’t know what just happened,” he said referring to his public kisses, “Something overcame me. I know I shouldn’t have….”
“Stop. Don’t apologize, you’ll ruin it.”
“Ruin what?”
“The moment. I don’t want you to be sorry.”
“I’m not.”
He saw her grab his hand. It was a simple gesture, one that should hold no significance, and yet it was like breathing for the very first time, intoxicating and thrilling all at once. His usual controlled manners had gone out the window with Lena. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize himself around her. It was as though she had the ability to unleash a part of him he never knew existed before. Michael could read danger on her lips, and disaster in her eyes, but none of that discouraged him. If anything, it made her seem more appealing. It was like courting a beautiful succubus that preyed on his soul. Once outside, their lips met again in a crescendo passionate kiss that had him an addict of this feeling he couldn’t quite dismiss. His hands wanted to know all about her, they longed to read into her soul so that he could nestle into the pit of her chest and never remove himself from there.
* * *
Bethany still had that vile taste of vomit in her mouth when she flushed the toilet. She promptly filled a glass with water from the running faucet, and swashed it around her mouth for a few seconds before spitting it out in the sink. She stared at her reflection for a moment. Her impeccable blonde bob didn’t have a hair out of place, but her eyeliner had run when she induced herself to throw up her dinner. Annoyed, she wiped away at the black imperfection with a cotton swab.
“Bethany!” her mother called out, knocking on the door.
“Give me a moment!” she shouted back to her, trying to recollect herself, smoothing out the wrinkles on her white button down shirt.
Ever since her mother had discovered that she was a bulimic, going to the bathroom after dinner had become tricky. She was always fretting over what she was doing in there, wondering if she had fallen back into her old habits. Her mother just couldn’t understand how difficult it was for Bethany to keep her weight down, especially since rehearsals for Phantom of the Opera were in full swing. She needed to be as light as possible. Like a feather floating across the stage. It didn’t matter that Lena had gotten the lead, people could still notice her captivating performance.
“Honey?”
“I’m coming out!” she shouted annoyed, and slipped a wad of spearmint gum into her mouth to camouflage the scent of acid in her breath. “What do you want?” she asked once she stepped out.
“Open this,” her mother said with a bright smile pushing a pink box with a satin bow on it towards her. Claire Thomas was a petite woman with light brown hair pulled away from her face in a chignon. She was a concert pianist and was often away from home whenever tour season began.
Bethany took the box from her mother. She undid the bow, quickly discarding the colorful tissue paper, exposing a beautiful white tutu. It was adorned with pearls around the bodice. A pair of white en pointe slippers right beneath. She couldn’t hide her feelings. A pleased look overtook her features.
“It’s beautiful!”
“Try it on, and I’ll play some music so you can practice.”
“Okay, I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she promised. “Thanks, mom,” showing some emotion as she faintly kissed her cheek.
Bethany wasn’t one to easily disclose her feelings. She always wanted to be in control. Strong emotions could lead her astray, making her lose control. She was the complete opposite of careless spontaneity.
“You look stunning,” her mother told her when she walked back downstairs to the designated room they both practiced in that they had dubbed as “the music room.” The music room was a spacious room that had a white grand piano in the corner whilst the walls were covered in full length mirrors with a ballet bar running along one length of the wall.
Bethany had pulled her bob into a tiny tight bun. She positioned herself in the center of the room, avoiding her reflection and waited for her cue to begin. Her mother rummaged through sheets of music before she began to play the intro of the dance.
The steps came automatic, without much thought. Her legs and arms moved with a mind of their own, as she did pirouettes around the room. She had been dancing for eleven years, and her limbs knew exactly how to move without any technical errors. Bethany knew that her dancing was impeccable. Error-free. Perfectly flawless. What had her losing out the lead for many recitals was her lack of emotion. She concealed her feelings so well that even whilst dancing no one could understand what her character was emoting.
Bethany continued her graceful dance, the music flowing into her, as she responded to every note. The tortured tune took her back to her stay in Florence, when she spent her days reading books on folklore and listening to all the sad, sad songs that reminded her of home.
One time she found herself walking the streets of the city near dusk. She crossed the Old Bridge, looking over the stone medieval majesty and gazed at the Arno River. Florence was said to be a magical city and she believed it. Everything about it breathed a sense of enchantment. The doctors had told her mother her body was very weak. She was too underweight. At sixty-six pounds she was at risk of heart failure and respiratory problems. Her body felt exhausted. Every step she took was an excruciating effort. But she knew that she had to cross the bridge at that exact hour. Her hands clutching a little bottle as she inhaled the Autumn air. That’s when she collapsed to the ground, and the world dropped dead.
“Are you all right?”
The music had stopped. Bethany was jerked back to the present.
“Why did you stop?” she questioned her mother.
“Honey, your foot….” her mother stood up from the piano, and approached her.
She looked down to see that the white en pointe slipper was soaked in red. A bloody trail sketched the macabre dance on the floor.
“It’s no big deal,” she shrugged it off. For a seasoned dancer, seeing a little blood never alarmed her. She should’ve felt the pain, but after many years of abusing her feet all she had was scar tissue and unhealed fractured bones. In a matter of moments she swiftly untied the silk ribbons and pulled her foot out of the slipper. It was bloody. A cracked nail. Multiple blisters around her toes. Something caught her eye. A strange black thing protruded from the side of her foot had caused the bleeding. She pulled it out without even wincing, as her mother gasped. Her heart was still, and the world dropped dead.
Chapter Twenty-Two
With the windows rolled down, Pink Floyd poured out into the night as Jake drove along Mulholland Drive. Letters of acceptance to various colleges were scattered out on the passenger seat next to him with empty miniature liquor bottles. The wind tousled his blonde hair, whilst thoughts of how to approach his father hammered him. One of the letters of acceptance was from Yal
e. His father had graduated from Yale as a lawyer, and had always wished for his son to graduate from the same university. Instead, Jake had wished to be declined admission so he wouldn’t be obligated to go. All the major universities in the nation had granted him access to their campus. Something that he should be rejoicing over, not feeling asphyxiated and nervous whilst driving around Hollywood in hopes that the feeling would diminish. Only thing was, it still hadn’t.
Comfortably Numb was running on repeat but the tension didn’t cease. He couldn’t go home right now. Not with all those letters welcoming him to all the different top colleges of America. Jake hadn’t chosen any of this. A part of him felt obligated to choose the path that his parents and teachers had set forth for him to follow. It was the obvious road of excellent education. The best that money could buy, and to be carefree for four years. With his ability to play formidable football, he wasn’t even required to be intellectually smart. All of this kind of saddened him.
He wondered why no one ever stopped to think about what he wanted. His heartbeat fast as the speed increased and he took a swig of vodka. There was a sharp turn up ahead and he didn’t even attempt to slow down, but rather made a jerky movement to maneuver it around the loop. A strange sound, like that of flapping wings could be heard above him. Damned crows, he thought, they don’t even sleep at night. He shifted gears as he pressed down on the accelerator, watching the speed move up to 100mph. His black Jaguar sped along the bends of the poorly lighted road. Something large and heavy fell on the top of the car, and he swerved out of control. Jake quickly braked and the large object rolled on his hood. A book fell forward. Cut Here. Bethany had given it to him.
“WHAT THE HELL?!” he shouted when he saw the white glistening skin of a girl and her black hair spread across his windshield. The glass cracked upon impact, a jagged line slithered down the center. Fear of having perchance killed someone crept into him. It paralyzed his limbs not knowing what to do. Then the girl lifted her head. She was dressed in black. He couldn’t make out her shape but it seemed as though she had a large cloak over her shoulders and it hung down along the front end of the car.