by Janice Ross
Chanel was capable of wiping all of that shit away. To hell with my craving of the "perfect, all-American girl." She didn't exist. Chanel made me long for a real American girl, the one I found in her. Sadly, she fed me a dream, then pulled back. I got left conflicted, left to wander around in a lonely nightmare.
"I knew Maggie wasn't right for you." Jenny, or maybe her name was Jillie, giggled. The reference to Maggie briefly caught me off guard, though I was able to play it cool. She wrapped her lips on the rim of a glass, notably bit down to sip, then giggled some more. She puffed on a tiny white object, then laughed harder.
"What's your name again?" Other than really not knowing, I made things evident. She was about to realize how irrelevant the observation was.
"Silly, it's Jen." She had a nasally type of voice which made you want to tell her to shut the hell up every time she opened her mouth, or every time you'd think she was getting ready to. "I always thought you were hot. Maggie didn't deserve you."
We were standing on the upper level of a club looking down and out to a crowded nightclub. My mind was heavy. Not a second passed where I wasn't compelled to think over the things that had cut me deep. I'd come to realize life didn't only flash in front of your face when you were dying. The reminders were always there. Those situations, those times where everything shifted against you. Even the moments when you couldn't see beyond the bullshit. Yeah, I carried it all.
"Fuck her!" I replied, unsure of my victim. In truth, I was beyond annoyed by Jen. Besides, who the hell was she to make observations on my life? This chick was lost, her only purpose was in downing a glass of some thick pink shit and inhaling her kush. I never would've looked in her direction before now, though I couldn't say she wasn't somewhat hot. There was all this crap around her eyes, not even by design. It was smeared from her rubbing the back of her hand against it. Then when she got ready, she wanted to rest her head on my chest. Wild strands of hair flowed down her back. Her lips were lined and filled in with dark purple lipstick to match a skin tight, mini dress.
"Dance with me." Her voice cracked as she stumbled in a circle, resembling a drunk whore.
"Dude," one of the bastards I used to call friend wrapped an arm around my neck.
Yeah, this crowd. I bet any amount of money these bums were pitying me over the whole Maggie BS. Can't say I blamed them. I pitied myself for being a tool.
"You good, bro?" Dan was the type to set everyone up, to play the host when it wasn't his place to. "Relax. Life's too serious. This ...this is what living is about."
After nodding, I shoved his arm from around my neck. The club seemed to grow more and more as everyone squeezed in. Looking down from our exclusive spot, I was relieved to not be caught up in the sweat and grind from down below.
"C'mon, Rhys!" Jen shoved it all on me. She was the type of chick that saw what she wanted and claimed it. Eager...especially for me. Her eyes sparked with the reflection from one of the spotlights overhead.
Damn, I wasn't the type of guy to hook up with these desperate chicks. If I wanted to keep it real, I always considered myself above that. In fact, my shit rolled downhill. I was Rupert Colburn's son in that aspect. Yet standing there, feeling like a dweeb, I couldn't help but wonder if life hadn't handed me my balls. So I stopped being a dick, and stopped trying to manage everyone around me like a high and mighty bastard. I even forced my mind off of the woman I badly yearned to touch, to taste. Then I remembered, she dismissed me. Chanel chose to ignore our fire in lieu of something liquid with another guy. And so that night, I became just like the next guy.
"Come here, girl."
Jen removed the kush from between thin lips. Wrapping my mouth over hers, I inhaled. As the smoke filed through my senses, my reservations ran like hell. Keeping one hand on the back of her head, my tongue whipped around her mouth. With my other hand, I held onto the back of her head. She accepted this by opening up wide to take in my tongue as far as it could go.
Only then did I pay attention to the lyrics in the background, the ones glaring about loyalty. The message was perfect. This was far from my speed, but more than appropriate for where I was mentally. My body moved against hers as we backed away from out in the open. She was the first to release for air.
"Damn boy," she called out before gasping. With the smoke still between her fingers, she lightly hammered at her chest.
"Give me." I took the kush, only to place it on my lips. Even though I let go of the reserved me, I still needed to choose how far I would push the limits. Taking in the noise and excitement of the crowd, I needed to experience what everyone else was feeling, which appeared to be absolutely nothing. They'd let go of baggage I still so easily held near.
Get over yourself, Rhys.
I inhaled as hard as I could, even kept the smoke marinating inside to prove a point to myself. It let me believe I could be a different type of guy. One who didn't get crapped on by life. When I exhaled, all that shit blew away.
"Yeah boy..." Jen thrust her waist at me.
"Let's go."
And we did.
"Who's driving?" Jen asked between giggles. Since I felt somewhat calm and over the influence of anything I'd taken in earlier, I was the obvious choice. On the way to the front door, I caught a glimpse of my face–serious as hell. I resembled a dude with a vengeance to the point that I had to pause for a second. My eyebrows furrowed and lips turned downward. This man staring back at me seemed foreign.
"Second thoughts?" Jen shouted above the noise.
Her question was more relevant than I wanted to admit. Of course, I had second thoughts about taking off with a stranger. She could never be the one to fill the void of my recent past, or even overshadow the painstaking urges rippling inside of me for Chanel. But, I needed something...someone.
"No second thoughts," I declared. "I want this." The lie burned all the way from my throat into the pit of my stomach. With each step we took toward the Range I'd convinced the driver to confiscate from Maggie’s domain, I felt empowered.
One minute, this insignificant girl and I were groping each other while pressed up against the side doors. The next, I was steering us along the streets of New York City at a smooth pace, whipping through the three am darkness. Nasally laughter flowed through the cabin of my ride. I cringed.
"Shhh..." My left pointer finger pressed to my lips. "Don't make a sound."
"Rhysss!" she sang.
Jen's hand palmed me, squeezing and running along my shaft through my khakis. This was the type of shit every man should live through; the danger of getting off from behind the wheel. However, her touch now made me nauseous. Not like when Chanel had been running her hands over every inch of me. But it wasn't Chanel here with me, demanding I give in. Jen was a damn maniac, willing to live on the edge and fill a void I only just realized existed.
"Don't stop now..." I eased the seat back using my left arm as I held onto the wheel with my right. I swallowed, forcing down the discomfort of possibly being with a chick I had no feelings for.
"Ummm..." Jen proceeded.
Chanel's bright smile, and the way she unknowingly ran her fingers through her thick hair, danced in front of me. I wanted to touch, to taste, to hold, to own a girl who knew how to be loyal. Her loyalty cut away at my hopes to have her. So, Jen needed to step in, to make up for the rejection. I knew my decision wasn't fair, but I wanted to be alive. To know I mattered to Chanel.
"Jen, wait up," I pried at her fingers. She'd just began unzipping my fly.
She giggled.
"I'm sorry. Let's go back."
But she wouldn't listen to reasoning. Her head remained low, plastered to my crotch. Laughter swarmed throughout my ride.
"Enough!"
For one second, I turned away from the road. My head shot down. Some of us only have enough sense to live in the moment. We are able to reflect beyond the issues we've deemed as debilitating, those dark areas where we've been wronged by others and how we've been disadvantaged, never the other
way around. I didn't stop to think about the fact that I was driving through traffic. There were tons of cars on the road, but damn, this was the city after all. When your mind was bogged down with tons of crap, and the only way out was through reckless means, nothing seemed insignificant until the moment life changed.
Boom!
Crash!
Shards of glass shot at my face, neck, arms and chest upon impact. The seatbelt kept me secure in the seat. I grabbed for Jen, and pulled her close to my upper body in a wide hug. All this as my ride flew into the air, turning and eventually landing upside down.
Jen's screams filtered through the air like dozens of pins piercing through my skin, reflecting my fear. Sorry would never be enough for being a dumbass. For once, my anger didn't matter. Self-pity was a sorry excuse. I only thought of my mom and my childhood. I hadn't lived long enough to reflect on anything of significance. There weren't many happy years of reflection, just a few good ones to remind me that I truly didn't have a care in the world.
Three years later ...
"I don't believe in destiny. What I do believe is that some things are unavoidable."
-Anonymous
XVIII.
Chanel
~
"We should've been mermaids or at least born in the water." I giggle to myself. Although the statement sums up my feelings towards one of our biggest connections, this might be the reason my friends say I don't fit in.
"Chanel, life's going to drift away from you," his words cuddle me from behind. He is observant, and oh so right. I can stand, sit, or lie still for days. It is easy to get lost in my mind, just by simply taking in the simplistic appeal of life. To breathe and walk and talk and see what gifts I've come to crave.
I stand right at the edge of the water, at the intersection where the sand maintains its density and the lukewarm moisture just barely lashes against the tip of my toes. This always gives me a rush and further entices the bottom of my stomach. Moreover, I love to gaze as far out as possible, even as I am forced to squint from the sun's brash burn. It's later afternoon. The sun prepares to set. The rays have a marvelous time revealing their wretched glory.
"Do you promise to drift away with me, Zachary?" I love his name and the vibrations of the syllables as they flee my throat. It makes me feel alive. I reach out at the sides, spanning my fingers wide. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me securely into his chest and groin. I am only five-feet two inches to his six-foot-two, so I can easily snuggle into him. As far as I'm concerned, the entire world can disappear and leave us behind.
"We have a lifetime, you know."
I blossom at his reminder. We've always believed in savoring our time together. After all, we have plans for a lifetime. Inhaling the light aromas of the sea mixed with his thick body spray put a smile on my face. And I allow my eyelids to drift shut for our brief interlude.
"I wish we had a camera," I reflect out loud.
"We live here," he teases. As if it wasn't at all possible, his arms tighten further. "Personally, I'd prefer a painting. It's raw that way. It'll show our love in the purest form."
How can I not be in love with this boy? Zachary Marlowe is the perfect guy, and he was made just for me. I drop my arms and instead wrap my fingers against his wrists. His skin isn't buttery soft or anything like that...he feels like a man, firm. And every time I think about just what he brings to my life, I can't help but get all fuzzy inside. That part of the fairy tale is real. I've always heard about young girls being fed false hope or ideologies about "The One." People say that no such thing exists. All of the songs are lies. The movies are deceiving. There's no hope for true love.
I'm calling bullshit on those modern beliefs. As I turn around from the barely there subtle lashing of the waves, I look into the charcoal pupils of Prince Charming. He promises me forever in everything he does and refutes the shameful lies that modernization has produced.
I raise my chin, the sun beats down on the back of my wavy mahogany hair. But I'm a mere distraction because everything will always shift to accommodate Zach's presence. His lips are a tender pink with the right amount of flavoring. He gifts me on a daily basis, reminding me that I am no longer a child. Zach's promises are genuine, his affections real. We are on the verge of certain freedom and our bodies have developed into lustful havens.
"Your lips are sexy," I whisper, reaching up to caress the bottom half. I slide my pointer from one side to the other.
"Everything about you is sexy, Chanel." He grasps my fingers to move them each across his lips one after the other, after the other. Instead of just kissing the tips or the pads, he slides the very finger between his lips. I tingle when his heat and subtle moisture transfer to my body.
"How'd you learn to be such a bad ass?" Funny thing is, I've never had sex and as far as I knew, Zach has never crossed the line either. We'd made the decision to abstain. After all, I'll always be his and he'll always be mine. "Do you have another girl at Vasser, or maybe you had a fling?"
I pout, playing the jealous girlfriend like a spoiled brat. I know he only has eyes for me, but sometimes I can't help but wonder. Zach isn't just a girl's dream come true. He is more than your average crush and stalker's target. He's the type of friend everyone needs, a guy who would genuinely celebrates your wins and defends your losses. He looks for the good in every situation and in everyone.
"You occupy my mind. I couldn't give another female the time of day. Besides, anything I do to you only comes natural." His fingers massage my lips as I'd just done with his. But instead of my weak attempt at seducing him, his virgin skills are as great as everything else he's done.
"And there's more that we can test out too." I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth.
The corners of his lips curve upwards–perhaps a subtle attempt to mask his hunger. Nothing can match this type of desire. Instead of giving in to my hunger, he avoids intimacy. Zach mates his left fingers with my left, and twirls me around. I don't have a choice but to cozy up to his chest and waist, since this is the closest we have ever gotten to "the next step."
As before, I allow my lids to shut and listen to the mini waves creeping against the beach. This way, I become more in tune with the few other occupants and their need of enjoying this last bit of autumn warmth. We escape into a world of hope and love, one that is made for a boy named Zach and his wishful girl named Chanel.
"Chanel, one day," he promises. No other words are required. This is our secret, specifically my hope to solidify our relationship. There is no one else on this earth I've known in the past or would ever meet in the future that I would want to give my body to.
A knot forms in my throat. A gush of tears lingers in pockets at the corners of my eyes. If we were meant to be together, and meant to build this incredible future together, then why not now? I always wonder.
"Why?" I barely squeeze out from my lips with just enough room for a teeny tiny question. Yet it holds so much promise. "Why not now?"
Zach’s chest contracts against my back. I immediately spin to his eyes in order to determine his level of annoyance. The thing is, he hides it so well. I'm always determined to find the loophole to our love, or some sort of breaking point. In all fairness, my doubts have little to do with him and everything to do with me. Instead of scolding me for an innate desire or shunning my needs, he feeds assurance. Zach's lips saturate my face. I draw energy from his love, and this reminds me that I am truly desired.
Up to this moment, we've tried to forget our surrounding public. The beach has entire households from toddlers to the elderly, enjoying this last bit of summer, though we left them further along the sand. The scent of the season might've been fading away, but I breathe in the goodness of love. My bare toes continue their dig into the sand, not afraid of the grainy feel against my skin. In fact, it sort of provides a torturous type of abrasion, one which tickles my insides to cause raw pleasure.
But our moment is disrupted when a gurgled shriek sounds from the still wa
ters. The unexpected sound rushes through me, all at once. It literally causes my grip to become momentarily weak before I scramble to hold onto the love of my life as before. While I look to his face, begging to ignore the distant cry, Zach couldn't. He became like the few others on the beach, alert and focused on the disturbance.
"Someone's stuck out in the water!"
"Are those children?"
"Help! Help!"
Everyone but me prepared to toss aside their calm afternoon. It's not that I was uncaring or untouched. My senses, my female intuition suddenly warned me that this episode in time would change my life. Although I'd fought the tears of joy only a handful of minutes before, I couldn't now. Tears stream along my cheeks to soak up my chest. I squeezed onto my boyfriend, even being pulled along as he approaches the noise. I still haven't turned to gaze in the direction of the calls, my limbs just about to cave.
"Stay here, Chanel," Zach pleads, undoing my clutches.
"Zach..." I whisper. My throat is constricted with an emotional firestorm of fear and anger, pain and uncertainty.
"I'm going out. I'll be right back, baby." He finishes the last word in a hurry, "Promise."
Of the others on the beach, why does it take for my Zachary to be the hero? I spin slowly, shooting out blame to each and every person. They wear expressions of concern–crinkled foreheads, troubled brows, awestruck mouths and wide, alert pupils. Yet for all the damn concern, they only observe from a distance; from a safe, secure distance on dry ground. When I focus on the catastrophe out in the deep, I catch a glimpse of my lover first. He fiercely swims towards what appears to be swatting arms of young kids. Their hands splatter against the surface. Seconds pass before they dip under to be seen no more. Muffled voices overtake my space. They're only observing. All the while, Zach swims further from me. With each stroke, my chest pounds from an exploding heartbeat. Those surrounding me continue to stare in awe.
