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"perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. that a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. an that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house-the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture- must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. preserved. accounted for."
— arundhati roy, the god of small things
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When she stares directly into his pooling eyes, she can see the absolute vacancy of her own gleaming right back at her; she wonders if he notices, too. He moves slickly across the couch to slide his arms comfortably around her icy shoulders, her knitted sweater skating across her bare back and scratching her in the process as she tilts her head into the crook of his neck. His unshaven face—marking the fifth day he has refused to take a razor to what he calls his pride and joy—tickles her cheeks as he peppers kisses from her forehead down to her neck, and she wonders, oddly enough, if he even really cares about the fact that she's shivering and sniffling.
Snow is falling behind the battered windows that surround them, the wind screaming different names from her past—a past that, conveniently enough, was here only three short months ago and has yet to stop haunting her. The television set drawls on about some old holiday classic his mom had stacked neatly on the coffee table, and she begins to realize the pattern of background noise he usually carelessly puts on before he moves in for a cuddling and kissing session. She vaguely ponders whether or not she should care as flashes of blonde hair and forest eyes traipse through her mind.
His unnaturally smooth hands suffocate her own frail and delicate ones, and she can't help but notice how he still isn't accustomed to her cold touch as she sees the slight quiver his shoulders give. The lingering smells of peppermint and tree sap fill her nose and her brain immediately connects to the memories of Christmas Carols at the nursing home with her rock star best friend.
241 more days to go.
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Ethan isn't bad, honestly. He cooks her warm meals on cold nights before they curl up on his leather sectional and read to each other. They have more than a lot in common and quite frankly, her crush on him makes the most sense out of all of her love life secrets. His eyes resemble molten honey being drizzled over pancakes, his spiked hair fun to ruffle in moments of laughter and ridicule. He wears the same beat up leather jacket everyday he meets her for lunch in the food court, and still gives her the formal kiss on the cheek goodnight after he walks her home—she appreciates that, because she knows Lester is watching from the bay window and knows that her father prefers a gentleman. She could really see a future for them; she really could, if her life wasn't already sold away to her best friend and his booming career.
"Hey, you," he greets as he makes a surprise visit to the store, swooping her up onto the counter and lightly pecking her chapped lips before intertwining their mismatched hands. She bites back a smile in that way only she does, and ducks her head shyly as he fills her in on how he missed her through the morning; sometimes, she wishes he wouldn't lie, even if it is cute and romantic.
She stops by the library every day to pick up a new book to read to him that night, and once and awhile the burning in Dallas' eyes will die down enough for him to say a civil hello and goodbye to her; another part of her past she desperately misses. His mom chats her up nicely, oddly enough, and tells her stories of how the weather is so incredibly cold this year—'I mean, really, snow in Miami? This is one for the history books, I'm telling you!'—and how Dallas really does miss her, no matter how foully he glares at her throughout class lectures or how much his face cringes when they make eye contact.
Trish can never find the time to pull herself off of Dez's lips or take a break from her very first steady job to stop by, but sometimes they all manage to schedule double dates and those are funny enough she supposes. Dez makes a habit of stealing her away to get some apple cider and walk up and down the coast line while talking. She figures it's because he knows how hard this is for her, and how she craves a simple guy friend that can let her be the goofy and awkward Ally that is vastly maturing these days. Other days, she wonders if he is just preserving her so when the missing link comes back to the forever foursome—tick, tock, tick, tock, is graduation here yet?—there will still be some of the Ally Dawson that made up half of the partnership.
"My dad asked about you last night," she says after he ends his monologue about how much he hated mornings unless she was there, waking up with him. His eyes flicker to curious and a lazy smile slowly starts drawing across his defined features.
"What about me?" he questions in response, his voice animated while hers was rather clipped.
"He wanted to know if you were free over the upcoming break," she answers with a hint of flirtation, batting her eye lashes dramatically and trying to draw out the thoughts of where they would actually be going over the winter break.
"Well that all depends," he said with the same amount of playfulness, her response appropriate with a raise of eye brows and quirked lips, "it depends on what my girlfriend is doing."
"Well, I can't speak for any of your other girls, but I know this one happens to have an extra plane ticket if her boyfriend wants to accompany her to, I don't know, New York City for New Years."
She can practically see his heart start to accelerate, what with his dilating pupils and then she feels herself in his arms, not quite like a fitted puzzle piece but close enough and she soon is dizzy once his spinning stops. His eyes are crinkled from smiling and she knows he is formulating a list of what he needs to pack, so she pecks him on the lips and tells him to get out and go ask his parents for permission. Sighing, she unfortunately knows the answer will be a yes, and curses herself for making his parents like and approve of her.
Then again, though, for now it's only rumors that he is indeed playing Times Square that evening and it's a slim to none chance that she would see him regardless of Ethan tagging along. She knows that if she does see him that night, it will most likely be from about half a mile away or on a titanic sized LED screen, so it can't even really count.
200 more days to go.
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Fire is dancing across her tongue as his lips tangle themselves up in hers, and even through closed eye lids she sees the reflection of the crystal ball on the resplendent city street. In the background he's there haunting her with his melodic voice that's harmonizing with backup singers and for some reason this is better and worse than all the scenarios of New York she had planned out in her mind. She can feel Ethan's laughing smile moving against her slight grin, but as she runs her hands through his hair and down his structured jaw line, mental images of bleach colored tresses with a broad nose and perfectly chiseled cheekbones blocks her vision no matter how much she fights to see Ethan.
Her father's back all by his lonesome in the hotel room, and she can hear his heart crying out for her mother all the way down here on the street, and she wonders if that's hereditary for the Dawson's, this oh-so-common heartache. It's now 2015 officially and she's pretty afraid of the deadlines she is required to meet and how much longer she'll be able to survive without his glowing warmth next to her—but then it's all too much bearing down on her so she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to create forever in this moment.
She can hear the guffaw running along in his soothing tone as the sound carries throughout the entire street, maybe even the entire city, and even without vision she still sees the smirk firmly planted on his features. The cameras are clicking off for the night—or, wait, would it be morning now?—and she starts getting giddy over thinking about how she is about to experience whatever after party Times Square had to offer.
Somehow they manage to break up their connection but she still strings her linked arms over his head because, well, she still does love him in another way. Austin clears his throat and earns the attention of all the prying eyes, and the next thing she knows her perked ears are greeted with her own name sliding off of his tongue with nostalgia and familiarity. He dedicates the next song to her—"And I know it's not the most popular of my songs, but still,"—and says how he doesn't want her to forget what it really means. The melody of very first song she ever officially wrote for him started pouring from the piano and she tucks herself even further into Ethan; he pretends not to notice how glassy her eyes become because he knows he has no right to tread into the Austin Moon waters. She tries to remember how he had first gotten her to break down those walls of hers, but then it becomes more of a when question and time is too fragile of a thing for her anymore. People sway slightly back and forth and the scene playing out in front of their curious eyes is picture-esque and quite frankly, it scares her just a bit. She doesn't allow herself to be vulnerable and meet his eyes; see his face, check to see if there are tears—but he's a good distance away and will never even know how close they were in this moment. She's pretty sure he saved this until after the main event because he didn't want to be vulnerable, either.
They eventually stumble their way back into their hotel rooms, and she can't help but slip into Ethan's bed because he brings her a promising and rejoicing warmth that she can't manage by herself. He strokes her hair and the back of her neck and she finds a moment to appreciate how he knows that soothes her more than just about anything; she also takes a moment to appreciate how he'll never know Austin's smile has just the same effect, and the effects last a bit longer with the accompaniment of an aftershock.
180 more days to go.
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She spins around in her sky-high cherry heels and giggles just a tad, a little bit too caught up in that giddy state the Valentine's Day Dance gifts every girl with. Her mirror reflects a wild and exotic creature clad in a tight fitting pink dress with silver accents along the edges, her hair blown out around her entire head and her face was framed with a mass of wispy ringlets. She twirled again, the music that consumed the house ensnaring her into a blissful state as she impatiently waited for the familiar sound of his hand-me-down pickup truck to match the volume of the speakers as it would roll right to her front door step.
He knocks on the door as if it's a rare thing for him to be at her house, and he formally bows slightly as a greeting. She can see the heavens in his eyes as they train over her body, and then he takes her hand and kisses it while calling her beautiful in Latin. Again, she conforms to giggling and starts to wonder if she was adapting into some ditzy air head, but shakes off the thought due to the chills that chase each other down her spine. He intertwines their elbows while gesturing out an arm, and he even opens the passenger side door for her—nothing new there, but still—and she gasps as the strong aroma of roses fills her lungs, and the petals are strewn on both the seat and the floor. She turns around to murder his lips with her own glossed ones, but finds nothing but empty space. She turns to look back around the other way and he's there, smiling like a child while twisting the key and then the radio pops on; only it's not the radio, it's a mix tape he made for the evening and she loses the ability to see straight with all of the emotional tears lodged in her eyes. He takes her hand and squeezes it while he drives her to the pavilion the dance is being held at, and she refrains from commenting on the fact that his scarlet tie doesn't match her fuchsia dress.
She inclines her head towards him with her glistening pearly whites on full display while she feels the light momentarily blind her throughout the process of entering pictures. He turns to face her and she sees his lips atomically twitch up into an elated grin, and then she fully turns to him with a similar dopey expression adorning her face. He kisses her lightly and fleetingly, and they both forget to realize that the photographer took a picture of them but also forget to care. He holds her close the whole night and eventually Dez cuts in for a dance or two—the freshman on the yearbook staff had trouble containing their squeals at the ten dollar bill Trish had slipped them to get more than a few photos of her two most valued people together—and for a slight sliver of a second, she sees the ghosts soaring high throughout her best freckled friend's eyes and she knows that he's actually seeing her dance with Austin instead.
Ethan sneaks her into desolate closet but his hands don't roam too far down her back or too high up her thighs while their lips assail one another. She's a bit too preoccupied with the perfection that is the night to care about the cliché that is playing out right in front of her—she doesn't do clichés, never again. The darkness didn't faze her like it normally did and her claustrophobia decided not to flare up along with it, and she began to question if he was really so impossibly good for her that he was conquering all of the lifetime traumas that haunted her without even trying. He continued moving his mouth against hers in sync to the beat that was whatever song that faded out into the background, and when he stopped his orbs illuminated all of the area around them, limited as it may be.
He said, "I love you," and then he kissed from her jaw down her neck further than he ever had before, and in a state of pure shock she simpered over knowing that she had made the right decision to wear a plunging neck line.
Somewhere in between a moment of forgotten afternoons of nothing with this boy, to forever memorable nights with the one and only blonde she's ever been prone to love and be drawn back too, she manages to moan out an "I love you, too," and somehow still mean it.
136 more days to go.
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Her hair glows under the all too bright sun creating a halo that's a bit too appropriate for her, being the angel that she is, and it's also sort of ironic because she has flowers weaving in and out of her braids. The air is crisp and not heavy, like the transitioning of the season fall is, and it's kind of funny because Miami never experiences this much of weather shifting and his absence of marveling at the strange patterns playing out is always present. Never the less, its spring and spring promises her some of the only things she has the strength to hold onto; rebirth.
Birds woke her up and she almost allowed herself to take a hold of this fairy tale moment, but long ago she had to abandon the hope of a happy ending to a crazed plot line. She is close to the feeling of spreading those wings that took forever to grow and chasing the clouds until she's just barely kissing the sun, but keeps her feet reluctantly planted firmly on the steady floor beneath her classical ankle boots due to the fact she can bathe better under God's good grace from a distance.
She finds the time to write a song while swinging her feet freely over the side of her elevated porch. Every once and awhile her squinting orbs will snap up at the sound of an ongoing car, hoping it's the two and half hour late people that she has the decency to designate as friends, but she always is met with a blur of a non‐stopping automobile and a slight tired sigh. She finds it curious that she suddenly has the capability of not only holding, but using that too‐common leather bound book that has all of her secrets concealed in a labyrinth of words and pages and lyrics. It's even more curious that she has an inspirational muse, but Ethan and his flickering eyes and lips that twitch up with oh so much ease, they're there for her and they swim in the vast clamoring ocean that is her brain. She can hear the guitar chords forming replacing the dull ringing in her ears, and she feels her heart rate accelerate with elation for the first time in too long. Once again something is funny, because she forgot how easy it is too miss something once it returns. She doesn't dwell on that factor for more than a minute because it seems as if it has the possibility to lead to a toxic future encounter that was coming up around a sharp corner. For even less than a minute, she speculates over the question that was if he and his quickening arrival were the reasons she was able to smile and not hear a single taunting voice in the back of her mind.
Eventually the Volkswagen with splatter paint littered over the exterior and cheetah seat and steering wheel covers on the interior pulls up, and she laughs because Dez is being Dez with his little carrot head popping out of the sunroof, and Trish is being Trish, slamming her fist pointedly on the horn even though she can clearly see herself in sight. She doesn't even have a spare second to regret skipping school, and then she remembers that this is her senior year and it's finally her chance to shine and blossom throughout the descending months of her high school career. It almost scared her, with the impending future and separations looming on the many horizons, but with acceptance letters to universities like Eastman and Oberlin Conservatory, she holds a bit of pride at the tip of her tongue.
She gladly scrunches herself into the car and is greeted with a radio blaring in her ears and squeals that sound identical to freedom. When she asks what they are going to do today Trish's laugh rings out with certainty and then she throws a map back in Ally's face; and then Ally has a hard time keeping a smile off her already glowing face as she sees the plethora of destinations circled. Dez dangerously climbs into the back with her even though they are currently in motion—motion almost a whole ten miles per hour higher than the recommended speed limit—and he slings an arm over her shoulders before swaying both their bodies to the beat and laughing, and then Trish is turning around and cursing at them with her trucker mouth but they know from her smiling eyes that she, honestly, could care less. It's really nice, too, because it's like a miniature version of all the endless and grueling road trips they had taken the prior year, and even making that comparison and freeing ominous memories doesn't leave a bitter taste in her sweet mouth.
They manage to go parasailing and stop at a Dairy Queen in a whole two hours, while blasting all the heavy metal radio stations Trish has managed to get them hooked on at one point or another in the car. Dez throws his phone out the window the second he gets a text and smiles over at her with broad teeth, saying that she better live this up before it all comes crashing down. More than half the time Trish is pumping a fist out the window and screaming out cuss words paired with 'oh' and 'yeah' and for once, Ally isn't afraid to stand up and put her head out of the sunroof and scream along with Trish. They laugh like they are a lot more than drunk—though, they are drunk on life—and at one point, Trish swerved a bit and—of course, because their lives are just that predictable and cliché—a police car came chasing after, while they scrambled to shove their seat belts on and take a second to be serious.
He already has his pen and pad flipped open and immediately starts scrawling away on it, the scratching sound sending eerie chills down her spine as if it were nails on a chalk board. Before she can stop her mouth from moving, she's leaning into the front of the car beside a nervous wreck instead of the usual confident and bold Trish, speaking as if she was a god.
"You have to listen to me, it's all my fault. I thought I had seen a deer on the right, and last time we were driving back from Daytona, I was driving and we had gotten into a crash because of one. I'm really sorry, I just started screaming right in her ear and she freaked out and oh my god, I'm just so, so sorry." You could see honesty twinkling about in her eyes along with a slight collection of tears, and he had decided to believe her based on the click of his pen and the storing off his paper.
"Why are you coming back from Daytona?" He asked with a firm frown and crossed arms, his flat blue eyes demanding an answer but still somewhat forgiving. She had allowed a simper to pass over her face along with relief, and she could feel the two beside her lose a bit of tension as well.
With a hint of mischief entering her dark mahogany eyes, she replied, "We all attend DSC. I'm only in my first year and in the occupational therapy program, but he's in his second working for an Associate of Arts degree, and she's in her first with me in the culinary management program. We all grew up in the same neighborhood back in Miami and agreed that, well, knowledge is power."
His frown tightened even more as he nodded and bided them with a warning of safer driving before hobbling back to his car, taking off with the tires squealing for effect with all of his defeat. A brief moment of silence passed between the three before their guts busted with more laughter, congratulating her on such a successful lie and thanking her for saving them from both a fine and a heavy lecture from their parents. They continued on with more questions being thrown at her, like 'what was the whole knowledge thing about' and 'how did you think of that so quickly' and eventually, she just laughed a bit more and cocked a snarky voice while saying that she spent the last year tracking down colleges, not chasing down shots at random house parties. That got them too shut up before another round of laughter emitted out into the open air, and she took a deep breath with closed eyes and promised herself that she would never forget moments like these, where you could taste the smiles and hear the happiness.
102 more days to go.
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She's sitting as if she were uncomfortable, with her hair pulled up in an arching ponytail that still left curls spiraling down into forever, a long sleeved yellow cardigan pulled over a white shirt and anyone could see the weary lines resting just beneath her empty orbs. She manages to slap on a smile and participate in the egg hunt with the kids with some form of enthusiasm, but eventually finds her way to his Grandma's familiar couch while he reluctantly massages her feet and watches her in silence as she pummels through the plate of cookies she had brought to the event.
She tries to shove the thoughts of continuing on for a few more hours for the choir portion of tonight's Easter Mass and the bake sale prior to it—but they keep skillfully twisting themselves till they are right back to the front of her brain, and she has no choice but to inspect over the details she has carefully laid out in her clever mind. He takes her away for a moment of paradise in laundry room, her perched on the dryer with her thin legs tightly enveloping around his waist until they can't be any closer, and he's raking his hands down from her neck until he's tracing her thighs, and he repeats it all throughout their kiss. She almost finds it in herself to wake up, with all the emotions bubbling while his lips dance their way across her own and her neck, but then she feels extremely unholy, to be this passionate on such a day, and of all places where his Grandma washes her delicates.
She promises to try and make it back in time for the grand dinner, and she really means it because the scent filling the house is intoxicating, but with her busy schedule she thinks that she would be lucky to be able to return by midnight. The guest bedroom has a fresh plaid bedspread laid out for her, and she wonders if her father is having fun with her mother in Africa—but not in a bitter way, because she really does understand that Lester can't afford more than one plane ticket that will take him here and back, and she would much rather have them two be together on what is, actually, their anniversary date.
Ethan holds her hand all the way down to her car and kisses her on the check with the same softness their first had held, and that's what makes her want to stay more than anything. Still, she manages to scrape herself away from his embracing arms and drive away, but then it's reminding her that in a few more weeks this will be a more permanent situation and that really does scare her to the point of chilling her very bones.
She sells an appropriate amount of various baked goods and wishes everyone a happy Easter, but not too many seem to care. She's also one of the few that remember to split to the harmony section during all of the choir pieces, and eventually when she piles back into her car to travel back to the house, she's seriously considering heading off her own way for the rest of the vacation and spending her time a bit more wisely, like trying to forget to care about this hometown city of hers that she is going to miss so incredibly dearly or even attempt to leave another love in the dust.
She rolls up into their driveway before she can gain enough courage and nerve, and then she's all bells and whistles while the kids climb on her to say goodbye. She skips all the sorts of food they offer too her with far too much zeal, and the next thing she knows she's on the roof top, balancing herself on a tip toe and trying to remember what it was like to not even have to struggle to hold onto to something. She feels his saddened gaze as his orbs stare at her through the window, but she doesn't care enough to acknowledge him and simply continues on. She spins, a whole two times, on that same tip of her right toe that she was only balancing on moments before. Then she runs and leaps into the crisp night air and reminds herself this is how people should feel, all the time; constantly. People should feel too carefree to be afraid to fall, they should feel out of breath and dizzy, they should feel like they only belong out here in the world of only stars and distant dreams, soaring away into other galaxies awaiting their chance to be fulfilled. People should be able to feel this type of alive all the time, and even when she slips back in through the window like the graceful ballerina she has finally—after many salty, vision‐blinding tears and long practice nights with several instructors—become, even his steady arms with their normal amount of comfort don't bring her that type of alive.
She tries not to cry into his chest because she knows that all that will lead to is a very un-calming hand running through her scraggly dog-like hair and words that spiral together into nothing, and she just really isn't n the mood for any of that. He holds her shivering frame close with tightness, but she does not miss the cruel tenseness of his own form and does not fail to feel guilty that she is causing him to unfortunately feel this way. She thinks back to a time of where unicorns and butterflies were welcome to traipse through her mind at any given moment, and then decides that's when you feel the most of that certain individual type of alive. The next thing she thinks about is the blueprints for a time machine.
86 more days to go.
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She feels close to repetitive as she swivels in heels, only this time they are classic black with an extra inch or two. Trish stands beside her as her beloved mother snaps more candid shots of them, claiming that she is not emotional but the tears gleaming but refusing to flow are obviously evident and telltale. Her eyes crinkle as she forms another smile, only they lack a certain glow her Junior Prom pictures hold. This year, she's off to her Senior Ball as a nominee for Queen and for some reason, it's not all she's ever wished for, mainly because she's never gotten around to wanting anything as stereotypical and mainstream as this.
Her velvety purple dress is accenting the deep and swimming colors that complement each other within the complex mechanism that really only is a simple comb holding together her hair. The dress itself is strapped thinly and only tight around her fully developed bust, fanning out with mystical patterns cascading past one another to frame her feet. Long, glossy curls fall out of her insanity of an up do, bangs standing out to give her face a lift but her ears are no longer covered to reveal her silver hoop earrings. It's undeniable she looks like a resurrected Greek Goddess, with her golden shadows created cleverly around her eyes and the natural beauty ebbing off her skin with ease.
Trish is standing close to above her, clad in silver studded heels that no doubt were meant to impress her long love boyfriend Dez, her hair left crazily down with not a single strand being contained back with as much as a bobby pin. Her bronze dress does not fail to hold any of her curves, hugging her but with the utmost comfort, according to Trish herself. Her beetle like eyes went wide with the heavy amount of glitter framing them professionally, and it was hard for Ally not to think they would be the best dressed there.
The guys show up in a limo that is a fluorescent white in a blackening world, laughing before their jaws become unhinged and she giggles a bit as he has the need to steady himself against the doorway. Her family doesn't bother resisting taking more than enough photos of the four together, and at one point they all become so over whelmed they literally pick her up in the center as if she was a cheerleader about to be suspended out into the open air, and it's at that point her mother ushers them out the dorm screaming of the dangers of breaking china plates and how she would give anything to be back to the days were that sort of behavior was rational and sane. They don't exactly do much talking in the limo, simply because half the time their sucking their respective relationship partners face.
They get to the location the ball is being held at and she marvels how it's under the stars this time, and she knows the he doesn't fail to miss the child like glimmer sparking deep within her irises and before they know it, their kissing on the dance floor and creating another forever in another soon to be forgotten moment. People wolf whistle and even begin to cry, everyone finding the time to dance with one another while they manage to put off thoughts of goodbyes and worries of the future.
She can clearly tell he's at a loss for everything, with his simple demeanor and attitude, and for once it's her giving him a hug that is meant to will away tears. He doesn't sneak her away into another world, but he does hold her so close to him that she feels as if she's actually inside of him.
At one point, she finds the strength to look up into the eyes that became so loving to her, so comforting and familiar and blazing, and then she forms words that escape her fearful lips.
"Last time we were dancing we made some sort of promise to each other. We promised each other that we love each other. I want you to promise me something again."
He looked down to meet her gaze, orbs glazed over with sincerity. He whispered, "Yes," and did not even take a moment to blink.
She whispered back, "Promise to love me forever, no matter what. Promise that we'll have a happy ending, even if the story ends without you and me together."
She hopes that he forgot about the twinkling lights above them and the laughter from their fellow classmates. She hopes that in that moment they were both as secluded as they were during the time the spent in the closet, loving each other in every way.
He responded with a weak, "Promise," and she tries her very best not to care about the fact that she knows he was lying.
29 more days to go.
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It's done. Her diploma is clutched ever so tightly in her left hand and her cap is on its descent down from when it was recklessly thrown from her right hand. She sees the camera flashes out of peripheral vision and feels the firm lips planting themselves on her own, but suddenly they feel fake. The tears coming from her eyes, were they fake too? Abruptly, though it should not feel this way, though it is not this way, the whole day seems fake to her.
She shakes hands of people that she's positive that she knows, but has a hard time placing a name to a face but winds up not caring in the end, anyways. Other people, the people that she knows better, throw themselves at her like barbarians in chaotic embraces, and once the sky is folding into pinks and oranges, people begin to disperse from the football field—the location the whole ceremony was held at—and he loops his arms loosely around her trim waist, kissing her with no regret or sorrow laced within, and that's one of the very first times she can't bring herself to really feel anything with any of his kisses.
They break apart and rest their foreheads together, and somewhere in the not so far distance she hears a girlish squeal through her closed eye lids and over her heavy panting. A clearing of someone's throat breaks their sound barrier and she looks to where the noise was emitted from, directly into the eyes of her past.
He's standing there, just being perfection with his hands tucked away in his denim pockets. His telltale blond hair is flashing a rainbow of warm colors, reminding her of a halo reflecting the heavens. He looks sheepish, almost as if he was awkward, but then she just bursts right out into loud tears and Ethan doesn't even get a chance to put a consoling arm around her before Austin is wrapped her swiftly into his arms, fitting their two lost puzzle pieces together and sealing up her entire world.
All the moments that she was living for, all those happy moments she had scrapped up from the very bottom of the barrel, they were nothing. They were nothing now, in his arms with his hot breath hitting her back. They didn't compare to his warmth, his trickling voice that managed to actually stop her from excessively crying, they were disintegrating into bits of old, washed memories that were only to be told once rearranging a scrapbook layout. He kissed her forehead and said hello, laughter erupting from her lips as she tried not to grow accustomed to that like she once had.
She switched back into her boyfriends arms, his jealous glare not to be ignored by Austin. She reintroduced the two—"You remember Ethan, right? He was your chem partner sophomore year"—and they stuttered out gruff 'hellos' with a threatening handshake. Austin was quick to flee, stating that he would most likely be sightseeing for his first night back in his hometown and she was welcome to join. She felt his presence as she walked Ethan to his car, and as she leant through the rolled down window he gave her a nervous and sloppy kiss that involved too much tongue and too much territory marking for her liking. She felt as if she had been robbed from a peaceful graduation night, sinking into her own cars driver's seat with thoughts of driving off the nearest bridge racing through her mind. Before she could turn the key in the ignition slot, her phone rang into the deadpan silence, successfully interrupting her session of brooding.
From: Austin
To: Ally
Meet me at the stars in five
Received:
Tues, June 30 7:56pm
Within seconds, she was off to their old spot; where they shared secret hugs and words on secret afternoons, where the boundaries of friendship were tested and the teasing talk of work was forgotten into the howling wind. It was where the horizon met the glorious stars, the city lights becoming nothing more than fireflies in playful portrait. It was where dreams were made and kisses were kept, where lies were told and when love seemed real.
He stood there, too, pride etched into his flawless face as her headlights traced over his smirking figure in the complete blackness. He opened her door for her and she hoped out reluctantly, refusing the hand he offered and also neglecting his attempts at eye contact.
"I knew you'd come," he revealed to her, his liquid voice dripping with the conceit Hollywood had gifted him with. "Even after all this time, I'm still your drug. Still your addiction."
She felt a strong urge to slap him, to kick him and to make him feel what she had felt for the past months—the burning of abandonment, the sting of being forgotten, the horrors that entrap the withering broken heart; she wanted him to feel it all, tenfold. Still, she resisted the moment of another cliché—hitting the returning hero—and bit her tongue until she felt the surprisingly sweet tang of her own blood.
She assessed him, finally, not letting him contain any more satisfaction over breaking her will. "You're different," rang from her lips, but from his flashing eyes she knew that was not what he wanted to hear. A chuckle or two danced into her ears, shivers galloping down her back as a result.
"You are too, Ally. But I'm not sure if it's good or bad yet," he answered, walking away from her and sitting on the slight ledge that would allow them to dangle their feet, but only had a four foot drop.
She scoffed, moving closer and sitting directly next to him, making sure to close any space and tuck away any feelings of awkward for later.
"But it's true," he quipped, sensing her dissatisfaction with his statement, "the Ally I left would never date a guy she doesn't like."
She laughed, feeling as if her ribs were going to burst with the sudden pressure being forced upon them, and happiness began to spark in her eyes. He had laughed a bit as well, and for some reason they weren't miles apart even though they really should be, even though they were maybe even meant to be.
"So you're still deciding who I like, I take it?" She answered, tilting her head forward to look at him and she could see his throat muscles tighten and she knew something about her took his breath away.
"Of course," he answered with the signature smirk that graced so many magazines, and she shoved him in that platonic way that somehow was suddenly not even close to friendly, passing flirty, entering seductive even though that makes no sense and doesn't belong in that territory.
"Well then, please enlighten me in who I do like, so I can be on my way," she replied while looking under her thick lashes. He slightly applauded, his beat of silence taken to show his pride in her for accomplishing the fine art of flirtation.
He leant forward and purposely let a steaming breath escape, letting it roam her face and tickle her lips. She refrained from letting him see her quiver from the mint scent, but her eyes did squeeze shut in a way of pleasure and when they opened, he was closer than he had been all night.
"Me," he huskily got out, and she knew he meant that she liked him, and the next thing she knew she was turning her head to reject his kiss and in a full on sprint back to her car. He caught up to her quickly, however, and she cursed his physical fitness.
"What the hell was that?" He asked in an irritated tone, his eyes completely black and she could have sworn she even detected anger within their mysterious trenches, which sent her completely over the edge that she had been weary and cautious of since the day they met.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot; the big Austin Moon, platinum album and award winning recording artist has grown such a big head he forgets that some girls aren't exactly unfaithful sluts that bend over backwards to his every command. What did you think, that you would swoop back down into Miami and finish the goodbye kiss you gave me? Sorry, Austin, life stopped being a fairy tale when you stopped being a prince. I have a boyfriend, as hard as that may be for you to comprehend, and no matter what you think, I am in love with him," she sputtered out, opening her car door only for him to slam it shut once more.
"That's where you're wrong though, Ally," he answered with smug, through gritted teeth and tears that she knew he was embarrassed for.
She felt her fists involuntarily clench, her hold body a live wire and not in the good way, either, as began her responding tangent, "Wrong? How am I wrong, Aus—"
"You love him. Of course you do. You've always needed something to keep you busy before the main event. But you are so not in love with him. If you were in love with him, you'd be with him right now, instead of here with me. I mean, you graduated with him, Ally. He's what you thought was your world for the past few months, but I doubt you even know where he is right now. The truth is, sure, you might love him. You might want to kiss him and hold him and be with him, but he'll only ever be another star. A dime a dozen thing that glows in darkness and once and awhile shoots through the sky, being beautiful and perfect, but then it's gone forever and won't ever come back. But you're in love with me. I'm you're moon. I hold you steady like you were a tide. I'm always with you, out there somewhere, even if it's completely dark. Your sunlight reflects off of me for the whole world to see. I'm not something as easy replaceable like a star, Ally. I'm the whole moon and you're so far in love with me, you can't even deny it."
She's uttered speechless with frustration for a moment, but it's only a moment and then she's yanking open her car door and steeping in while saying, "That's where you're wrong, though, Austin. I'm not in love with you and I never was, and I never will be, because I wouldn't ever love something as horrible as the moon. The moon grows two inches further from the Earth every year. It keeps distancing itself and going completely dark when we need it the most. It's a fake. It only reflects something that actually is alive enough to produce warmth and light. But a star, a star, they burn years after they die. They don't leave us until we leave them. And that's the kind of thing I love, Austin, because I've never had someone in my life besides Ethan that would never give up on me."
She slams the door and drives away with tears pouring down her face, trying to ignore that pesky voice in the back of her head that chanted at her, 'he's right, he's right, he's right.' She always did hate the way lies tasted on her unforgiving tongue.
No more days to go.
.
.
She hears the ugly sound of lips smacking together roughly while she's walking discreetly up the stairs to his bedroom, and she only has a short second to pray that for some reason his parents are making out heatedly on his bed. All too quickly she throws open the door and sees his hands tangled within a mass of straight, red hair, and once their eyes meet she's smiling sweetly and even laughing, barking out a 'have fun in hell' before closing the door lightly and exiting the house. She hopes that the echoing sound of wood hitting wood haunted him while he stole the girl's innocence, but for some reason even the thought of this floozy doing it with him in a nicer place than a closet did not spring tears to her eyes.
She waited for sadness to hit her, for realization to dawn on her, but nothing came to her but a few humorous lyrics and longing for Austin's laughter in the background. She began to sit by the phone and wait for Ethan to call and apologize, so she could zip over to his house and laugh about his mistake and hear him promise not to do it again while she cooked him his favorite homemade meal. They would make up with light kisses on the forehead and cheek and wouldn't worry about how he had spent his afternoon, even though mental images would flood her poor, scarred mind every time he groaned against her lips.
At night, a round of tears finally came as she thought of Austin not being there to hold her through her sorrows. It was then she found her numb state to evaporate, to come to the surface of how she had, for the first time, been cheated on, been disgraced and humiliated. The worst cut that went the deepest, however, was when she sat up abruptly and thought of how her star burned out and finally gave up on her. Looking out the window, the moon raised high in the sky among all the identical stars, and she composed enough of herself to gain the strength to succumb to him, once again.
She dialed the number through tears, it automatically going to voice mail and his velvety voice pouring into her ears was enough to spring more salty water works to her eyes.
"I don't know if you're home right now, or even if you care, really. Maybe you shouldn't, I don't know...," she trails off and vaguely hopes that he will be able to decipher words through her blubbering tone, "but, I don't know, I realized that you were right. And I thought that maybe, I don't know, that you could...," she trailed off again and felt pathetic. She felt almost as broken as she did the day he left her gapping like a fish, alone in the airport, not even bothering to utter another word to her after a sentimental kiss; not even caring enough to through a glance or even a simple wave over his shoulder and he departed.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called. I'm so stupid." Instead of clicking the red end button that stared up at her teasingly, she threw the phone with might at her lavender wall, and for once minded her father was out getting drunk or God knows what, and that her mom deployed herself to the middle of nowhere in Asia. For once, she felt selfish enough to want someone to hold her close when she accidently pushed them away.
Somewhere in between a tub of ice cream being drenched in a whole bottle of wine, she lost control of whatever sanity she had left. The last coherent thought she made and wasn't entirely sure if she had spoken out loud was 'promise', and maybe it was the alcohol taking over her damaged brain or even the sugar, but she would have sworn on the bible that she heard a voice answer 'anything'. She took that to mean someone out there in the world was willing to promise her anything.
14 more days wasted.
.
.
They met by pure coincidence in the stars the day before she left for her first fall semester. He was disheveled, his hair a good two inches longer and lacking the normal amount of gel and hairspray. She was broken, as anyone could clearly see, with her sunken facial features and her too-toned stomach that matched her frail wrists.
Her tinkling bell laugh rang through the atmosphere, all throughout the heavens that they were touching, as their eyes met and then they both linked hands and made their way to the ledge they had spent two years of their lives hiding away at. They leaned their heads together as the sunset and spoke in silence, getting off all last minute apologizes and regrets. She turned to him with her faded doe eyes and she saw the reflection of herself in his eyes, she saw how he saw her in that moment; not the porcelain doll that people were afraid of dropping, breaking, but the strong willed and capable woman that was on her way to a successful world.
She asked him, "Do you think if I chased those clouds long enough, I'd be able to find the sun?" He doesn't quite understand her metaphoric language, but she's always spoke in lyric and he's always admired her for that.
"No," he answers flatly, resulting in her to turn away from him in clear displeasure and annoyance, but he guides her head back to face him with a strong and steady hand, "But not because you don't have big enough wings or because you wouldn't be welcome. But you'd never be able to chase those clouds long enough because you'd never be selfish enough to leave."
She blinks back tears for the millionth time, and hates that this is the note her summer is ending on. "Promise?" She utters, her voice cracked and her mind expecting a specific answer that just barely makes sense.
"Anything," he whispers back, the same minty flavor wafting like a cool winter breeze over her flushed face that did the same only a few short months ago.
He kisses her, and she hates how he always waits till the last minute but also somewhere in the back of her mind knows that she isn't leaving tomorrow, that she isn't ever leaving him. She's back to living out a cliché and isn't afraid of that, either, because with Austin she feels as if she can do anything, be anything, have everything. His kisses aren't heavy and demanding like Ethan's, they didn't weigh her down and make her drown in a pool of expectations. They are butterflies, graceful and elegant while all the same being beautiful and pleasant, something to look forward to.
They talked easily, like restating the 'ABC's. They laughed in sync and sang in harmony, danced to a rhythm they created freely and basked in each other's life, feeling even more reborn than ever before and she knew, all throughout the night, these were the moments worth living for. It was as if neither one of them had ever left, and even though she never admitted it, he could see it her smile; she was in love with her Moon.
a/n: sorry its been so long! this was a toughie, and I'm not even that content with it, but I do like the layout and plot idea so I couldn't give up on it :) I was wondering, do you guys want me to start putting an authors note at the top as well? Idk, I've been thinking about it lately but I have such a hard time setting up my writing as is :p sorry for all the run-on sentences, its officially become a habit. Also, dont be surprised if there is a second chapter devoted to some sort of an epiloge, because I really hate the way I ended things :p Happy Belated Veterans Day! :)