by Azzurra Nox
Then he stopped. Pulled his hand away from her eyes. She blinked. Michael stood before her with his torso exposed. The black shirt he had been wearing only moments ago, was on the ground, crumpled in tiny pieces.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. None of this ever happened,” he suddenly let go of her. She didn’t know how powerful his grip had been till she noticed the bruises on her shoulder.
She was silent for a few moments. A part of her wanted to flee that very instant, but the other part of her wanted him to kiss her again, wanted to feel his strong hands on her once more.
“If only you could be my phantom,” she referred to the recital.
“Be careful of what you wish for, pretty girl” and pulled away, leaving her in a state of muted desire. She was deeply afraid of him. She was also deeply in love. Gorgeous timing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sun was setting along the coast of Malibu. Jon focused his Nikon D7000 digital camera on Sydney laying supine upon the white sand that had acquired a golden reddish tint from the sunset. She wore a white flowing chiffon dress, and black tights underneath. He wondered why she did that, especially since from the form of her legs they looked long and slender and very well worth showing off. The only way he managed to talk her into posing without wearing the usual veil, was to have her press the right side of her face against the sand, concealing the birthmark. He snapped away. She was incredibly beautiful, and even with the blemish, he thought that it wasn’t too terrible to mare the rest of her beauty.
“How are they turning out?”
“They’re gorgeous, I’ll print some when I get back home, but let me take a few more,” he snapped away, and she sat up, allowing her hair to fall over the right side of her face, a smirk forming on her lips as she looked down upon the sand. The sun seemed to kiss her cheeks, creating a golden hue. He captured the moment magnificently in freeze frame. The wind had begun to pick up and he called it a night.
“Maybe we should head back, it’s getting cold,” he said putting away the camera in its case.
“Let’s stay a little longer,” she pleaded.
The way she curled her lips into a pout, he wasn’t able to decline.
“Okay, but just for a little bit,” he slid out of his red flannel shirt, remaining in a black Nirvana band t-shirt layered over a white long sleeved cotton shirt, resting the flannel upon Sydney’s bare shoulders.
“I’m happy that we’re friends,” she told him, resting her head against his shoulder, her finger tracing on the letters printed on his shirt. “Do you and Lena talk much lately?”
“No,” his response was quick and curt. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Okay,” he watched her hand reach down for his long sleeves, tugging, “Why do you always wear long sleeves?”
“You’re not the only one who thinks they’ve got an imperfection. But at least you were born with yours, I made mine,” he rolled up the sleeves, the bandages had been taken away from his wrists, although he still had stitches whilst he showed off his arms adorned with faint red and purple burnt scars along with bright red marks from recent burns. Sydney was silent for awhile. She then brought her lips down to his arm, kissing his scars, “I love your imperfections.”
He couldn’t help but smile. It was easy to be honest with her. She could understand his sense of inadequateness that seared his existence. There had been a part of him that wished he could be this vulnerable with Lena, but it was difficult. She was perfection to him. The way she looked at him with her intense brown eyes and the manner in which her pale lips free of artificial coloring moved whenever she spoke. The way she seemed so exotic in the Gothic Lolita dresses, frilly feminine frocks that made her look like a pretty anime doll. Thinking about her yanked at his heartstrings in a terrible, painful way, to the point that now at night to ease even that affliction, he’d gone back to burning himself. He was ashamed at how he had reacted to his brother’s photo with Lena. But he couldn’t bring himself yet to explain to her what happened and he didn’t blame her if she avoided asking him about it.
He still wore his Ray Bans well after the sun had set and the sky was getting darker. The waves crashed along the sand, echoing down the beach in a solitary metronome. Getting lost amongst his thoughts and the ocean, he almost forgot that time was passing by, so easy to be lulled by the affectionate embrace and the hushed whispers. He nudged Sydney to stand up so that they could walk towards his car. She stood up, placing the black headband on her head with the veil covering half of her face. Her hand grabbed his, holding it in hers as they walked up along the beach. He didn’t mind the closeness. It felt comforting to have someone there with him. As they got closer to the parking lot, he noticed a figure standing next to the Mercedes Benz. A heavy weight fell to the pit of his stomach, plummeting free-fall and unexpectedly. He couldn’t believe she was there. He had been avoiding her for weeks ever since the Valentine’s Dance.
“So you replaced me with her,” Amelia’s tone was laced with anger and defiance. She came into view, standing beneath a streetlight. She wore her usual Ugg boots and short denim shorts with a large blue shirt, her red curls flying up behind her with the coastal wind coming up off the ocean.
“Milly, I keep telling you that it’s over. I don’t know how to get it through your head.”
“You also said that you weren’t ready to date anyone else.”
“We’re not dating.”
“That’s why you’re holding hands? You think I’m stupid? You must really think I am. I’d understand if you were going after Dior Fontaine but her?” she sneered looking up at Sydney with daggers in her eyes.
“Milly you don’t really mean that. Stop being intentionally cruel. Sydney doesn’t deserve it,” he felt Sydney’s hand get clammy in his as she held unto him tighter. He gave her a reassuring squeeze.
“I should’ve known better than to hook up with you. The rumors were true. You just use girls like we’re pieces of candy and when you’re done sucking the flavor you spit us out. That’s what you do, don’t you?!” he couldn’t see if she was on the verge of tears but the tremble in her voice indicated that she was.
“Milly, please. That’s not how I felt about you,” he tried to comfort her, his tone soothing. He momentarily let go of Sydney’s hand to approach her.
“Then what did you feel? What exactly did you feel when you slept with me?!”
He was grateful for the approaching night because it disguised his embarrassed face, that felt hot with anger. It would probably be bright red were they in daylight. How could she talk like that in front of someone else? What would Sydney think of him now?
“Please, Milly. Stop. I care about you, I really do. But you’re making this hard for me. Your incessant calls and your stalking. This is just nuts! What do you want me to do? I’ve told you a thousand times over that I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry. Okay? Now please, let me go home now.”
“You’re an asshole,” she told him, her tone harsh. “Why’d you slit your wrists, Jonny? Cos Lena crushed your worthless heart like a pathetic worm under her Docs? Is that it?”
He could feel the anger rise in him. It started in the pit of his stomach and surged up his body, reaching his arm, and giving it the force behind the slap directed to Amelia. Sydney let out a surprised yelp, “No! Jon!” But it was too late. The back of his hand had already made contact with Amelia’s lip. He heard her whimper in surprise, perhaps even in pain as she held unto her mouth.
“I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I just need you to stop being irrational,” he was at loss for words.
Sydney moved forwards to try to aid Amelia, but she pushed her away. Her fierce eyes set on Jon, moving her hand away from her mouth he realized that her lip was bleeding. A red line trickled down her chin, heading south in jagged movements.
“Are you okay?” he rushed to her feeling queasy. He cautiously touched her lip that was swollen and visibly bruised
. If he hadn’t had enough willpower, he was certain that he would’ve vomited right there on the spot. Cold sweat exploded in tiny beads of nauseating frustration on his forehead.
“Not only are you a heart-breaker you’re a twisted girl beater too,” her words were said in a hiss. He shivered from her accusation.
“No! I didn’t mean to! I just wanted you to stop! I didn’t want to hurt you!”Jon was moving his hands frantically in an attempt to emphasis his mistake. He had no true intention to deliberately hurt her, but he knew that he was only climbing on glass with that approach.
He could see her blink tears away, trying to keep her composure. “Sure, you didn’t.” Then she diverted her attention to Sydney who looked forlorn to be caught up in the middle of such a violent interaction between ex lovers. “You shouldn’t hang out with him. He’s an asshole, take my word for it,” she walked past them, her pace was fast.
Jon wished he had it in him to stop her, but seeing her leave only allowed him to breathe out a sigh of relief. No more crazy Milly. It’s strange how only a month ago he used to refer to her as his sweet little Milly, and now his nickname had changed. He could almost feel sorry for her if he wasn’t so angry over the public outburst. In front of Sydney of all people!
“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t mean to hit her…” his excuses were sounding just as feeble as his voice so he didn’t even make the attempt to list them.
“It’s okay. She was pushing your buttons, I understand,” Sydney went up to him and hugged him. “She’s just hurt that you left her. Love makes you do crazy things so I don’t judge.”
He thought about Lena. Wondered what he could do to re-establish their friendship again. It seemed so difficult. Especially now that she was so preoccupied with Michael. He never saw her with anyone else. It was hard for him to sit next to her in Algebra and watch her be intent on writing love notes to him. As cheesy as he could imagine the notes to be, he couldn’t help but wish that he was the recipient of them. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around Sydney’s body holding her close. She was the only warmth he had left in this brutal winter that had become his life.
“You’re so beautiful,” Sydney whispered against his ear and he was jerked back into the moment, having to abandon thoughts of Lena.
“You’re blind,” he told her with a chuckle. He smoothed her hair down. It was soft like a butterfly kiss, and lingered with the smell of freesia. Even if his heart hungered for Lena’s habitual cherry blossom scent. His hands ached to touch her long blonde hair that reminded him of summer days when the sun is bright and the flowers are in bloom and you wake up with the exhilarating sensation of feeling alive.
Her lips pressed against his, and he fell into the kiss. The black veil falling over the right portion of her face tickled his cheek but didn’t distract him enough to break the lip-lock. He cradled her cheek in his hand, deepening the kiss as their breaths mingled. His hand moved down from her back to her hip, pulling her to him. The curves of her body becoming too tempting for him to resist. This is always how it happened. His unquenchable desire to learn everything about another girl’s body always got him in questionable predicaments later on. But there was so much he could learn from the way a girl kissed or the manner in which she discarded her clothes. His mind was running wild with thoughts of how Sydney could be like. The figure promised well, but he could never really tell for sure how well fit a girl was until she was naked. He had been let down a few times to find out that the breasts that seemed so supple were only fabricated creations of a well endowed silicone bra, or that the flat taunt stomach he admired had only been an allusion created by an efficient set of Spanx. His hands were itching to explore when Sydney pulled away, and in an almost apologetic tone she said, “It’s getting late and I should be getting home.”
“Sure. Hop in the car. I’ll drive you back,” he managed to mask his disappointment with a flash of his killer smile, even if he would’ve preferred to be ripping through the flimsy garment that was keeping her curves a secret from his vision. The night of the Valentine’s Dance he had acquired a little taste of what could be expected. His hands had traveled over her body, reading her like a blind man deciphers Braille. But even then she had backed off once things had gotten too steamy for her to handle. Not that he expected her to be an easy conquest. He knew that someone in her condition didn’t easily trust people in general. Not to mention that Connor Reynolds was almost as prominent in the picture as Michael was with Lena.
“Can I ask you something?”
Sydney paused as she was getting into the car. “Sure, what is it?”
“What’s the deal with Connor?”
“What do you mean?”
He got into the car, starting it up, and she followed him inside. “I mean, does he like you? Do you like him?”
Sydney’s initial worried expression quickly faded as she let out a hearty laugh.
“You really think that someone could like me? Come on, you can’t be serious.”
He put the car in reverse, and began to back out of the parking space trying to measure his words before responding, “He seems pretty chummy. You two hang out a lot. I can’t imagine him hanging out with you so much and not trying to bone you.”
Again, she laughed once more, shaking her head as though what he was saying was pure lunacy.
“You either flatter me too much or you’re completely nuts. Jonathan, in case you haven’t noticed I’m not Miss World. No guy is dying to ‘bone’ me, not even an outsider Goth like Connor. No guy even tries to touch me, let alone anything more intimate,” she paused for a brief moment until she murmured, “You’re the only one who’s touched me that way. The only one who’s dared to kiss me.”
He put the car into drive, turning on the radio to Jack FM, the final notes of the Rolling Stones Sympathy for the Devil played before it switched to David Bowie’s Heroes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” was all he said. Before he added, “So what exactly happens when you hang out with him?”
“We go surfing together.”
“Connor surfs?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I’ve never heard of a Goth who surfs.”
“You really think that we all fit into the box people have selected for us? His Goth exterior is only a disguise. It makes him feel tougher if he can look scary.”
He turned to her, “Well there’s certainly something wrong with him if spends so much time with you and hasn’t even tried to kiss you.”
“Why would he do that?”
“You’re a hot girl, whether you realize it or not.”
“You’re the first to think this. I’m just a weirdo that doesn’t fit in anywhere.”
“But I like weird. I adore weird.”
“Again, Weirdo Nation, population one.”
“Wouldn’t that make population two? I mean, I’d have to be a weirdo to like one, don’t you think?” he flashed a smile in her direction.
“I guess you’re right,” she smiled in return. “Whatever the case, please don’t change. I like being in company.”
He reached over to take her hand in his, and gave it a slight squeeze as he drove in direction of her home. For the moment he wasn’t quite sure what his intentions were. His heart bled for Lena, but he felt attracted to Sydney. Maybe if he were older and wiser he’d be able to curb his attraction, allow himself to be directed solely by his heart. But he was a teenager, and lust often misguided him, made him see beauty in the strangest places. It’s what made him desire to conquer the affections of a girl whether or not he intended on keeping her. It was all about the chase and the consequent catch. He was like a lion who waited upon his prey, ready to pounce on them at the most opportune moment. The first sign of weakness was his usual cue to go in for the kill. Sydney wouldn’t be any different from any of the other girls he had before her. Except for the fact that he was forcing himself to be cautious because she seemed so fragile compared to the others. Lights adorned the trunk
s of palm trees, lighting up the city like multicolored Christmas bulbs, creating an aura of gaudy surrealism. He tried to banish any thoughts of Lena from his mind as he loudly sang along to the final chorus of Heroes, pleasantly surprised that Sydney joined along, her voice blending beautifully with his as though she fit into his life like a missing puzzle piece that was meant to remain. If only it were true, for however long she could.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The sun wasn’t quite out yet when Connor set out for Zuma Beach. He had thrown his surf board in the hearse and headed out. Ever since he was thirteen, he always enjoyed being able to catch a wave before having to deal with school later on in the day. It made having to spend seven hours at St. Lucy’s almost tolerable. His face was still fresh with no signs of his iconic black liner smudged around his eyes like two black coals, nor was his midnight blue hair styled in its usual scene layered look that stayed in place with gallons of hairspray. No, when he went to surf he preferred to be simple. Not a soul was in sight when he arrived at the beach, finding ample parking. He pulled the surfboard from the hearse. It was a convenient mode of transportation, because he didn’t even have to worry about the board not fitting. Grabbing the wax, he made sure that the board had no sand or impurities before beginning to apply it. This was a relaxing ritual. His hands pressed the wax against the deck of the board from nose to tail, while his I-pod blasted industrial house music. Miniscule sparks of light were creeping up from the horizon like little hands that begged to be rescued.
He set the board against his car and slipped into the wetsuit. He knew that the water temperature would be low at this hour, especially in this part of the coast. Before setting out for the water, he made sure he had put on the leash that kept him attached to the board. Then he scanned the ocean, watching the waves roll in and out. It was time. He pulled his earplugs out, throwing the I-pod in the car, and set forth towards the beach. The sand was cold and wet. Maybe it had rained during the night. It was very possible for this time of year.
