by Amanda Miga
"But that's what you're doing." I clench my fists. I hate seeing her at his side.
"Pete's dead. And you're still a liar. And you owe me money for the alcohol."
A sudden high pitch sound brings me to my knees. I cover my ears and open my eyes. Everyone is staring, laughing and their mouths are moving, but nothing I can't hear anything except the ear piercing ringing.
Someone grabs me. Their fingers tear holes into the ugly sweater. I slip from their grasp and run across Jake's front yard, passing the line of cars parked to the corner. The Crew is after me. I can't shake off the ringing sound in my ears. I make a quick turn on to a busy street. Somehow the Crew is still close at my heels. I dart into an alley and hop the fence. The damn sweater gets caught. I slip it off, leaving it hanging like a dirty rag. The Crew hit the fence like fish caught in a net and start climbing like rats. I flee out of the alley and head to the school.
The ringing seizes. The sound of my breathing and silence confirms there's no people; no sign of Hunter's Crew. I'm not taking and target the school doors. They're locked at this time of night but the windows in the music room aren't.
I jog around the building and climb in. I land on a desk, but not a school desk; an old fancy desk like the one in Jake's dad's den. Mrs. Rubio doesn't have a desk like this. Perhaps I entered the wrong classroom. I slide off the desk when something sharp hits my cheek. I lean away from the object to find my eyes adjusting at a taxidermy falcon. Its beak is open; the huge wingspan takes up my entire vision and its talons just inches from my neck. Perhaps this is one of the labs or science rooms. I slip by the still-life. There's cluttered things unrelated to school piled everywhere like a storage unit.
I follow a narrow and dimly lit path beyond a stack of chairs. I hear the type of bell that chimes when one enters a store. I proceed out of the strange packed room and it open to the outside. It should be the school hall but what I see is an empty town street and lamp posts. Outside of the door is a sign: Antiques. I'm in a store. There's no doubt this is a dream; the ugly sweater, Hunter's crew, Pete's death can't be real. I chuckle to myself—thank God.
Out of the shadows, across the street, Hunter and his crew appear. I back away into the shop and shut the door. I peep out of the window and watch the gang search the street. I have no choice but to stay in this smelly place.
I would never make the choice to enter an antique shop. Who in their right mind would go voluntarily and buy useless shit. The only thing I'd consider is vinyl; music and films are timeless, but who the hell needs a stuffed bird—really? The smell reminds me of Grandma Aisling's house where everything is old; stinks of dead flowers and mothballs. This place sucks.
Walking up the aisle I hear I'm not alone. A young scrawny boy with glasses and dark brown hair writes on a black board 'I will follow the leader' repeatedly. A man too young to run an old shop stands behind the counter. He clearly looks out of place with his trendy style jeans, simple black t-shirt, and a wicked looking belt buckle. He could model definitely. I can picture him at a hardcore rock concert not an old-hole-in-the-wall antique shop. The man's hair is incredibly black which reminds me of pen ink that once exploded, ruining a pair of my favorite jeans.
“What’s that kid doing?” I approach the counter.
The attractive guy's smile is incredible. “Carver, you may go."
The boy pushes his glasses up and the man behind the counter hands him a photo of a girl. "Don't forget your homework.” The boy nods and leaves without a glance in my direction. I try to listen to their thoughts, but I can't pick up anything. This is definitely a dream.
Hello Alex. The man's soothing voice calls to me like a lullaby. Like a mood ring his eyes change too quickly to recall the colors. I stare into the rotating color wheels for eyes. The man's smile is just as impressive. He's handsome enough to be a celebrity. I like him instantly.
Alex, you can hear me and I can hear you.
I'm confused. How did he know my name? Is he a telepath?
Yes I am. The man smile widens. Let's converse this way.
That's easy. Talk without talking. What did that kid do?
His path is none of your concern. I'm Red by the way. He holds out his hand. I take it. A strange current like a magnet clamps our hands together. It startles me so much, I let go.
Sorry about that. But Red doesn't look sorry at all. The glint in his eyes looks more like he's testing me.
What was that? I massage my palm.
I suspected you to be a certain way and now I know that you are.
I'm what.
Able.
That word means a lot; able to do; able to be; But I'm not able. I'm not anything. I find the word comforting for some reason. Perhaps is the messenger not the message that makes me feel this way. I'm not sure.
There is nothing in your life you don't have influence over, Alex. You've made plenty of choices where you reign supreme, but your burdens are yours to bear. It's the only thing you haven't chosen to master.
If you're like me, then maybe you'd understand how overwhelming it could be. All the lies, so many lies my head feels like it's gonna explode. I rub my head. Finally talking about myself to someone feels liberating but it's also makes me want to cry. I'm not sure why. Maybe I've held it in for too long.
I watch his eye color stop changing, rest on an ocean blue.
We are similar in respect to telepathy, but we're different, you and I. Where I've chosen control, you've relinquished your will to do so.
Are we talking about the same thing?
Yes. Telepathy and your ability are the same.
There's too many other things—outside things that interfere with my head, I can't control that.
You will. Red reaches under the counter and places a shiny gold box on the counter. I have something for you. The box has an open top to reveal smooth metal disks lined up like a cylinder. The inner workings look like clockwork; with gears that would move, but the parts are still. The outside has a lever in which to rotate the metal disks inside.
A music box. I'm proud I identified the object. Can I try?
Red nods and I crank the lever. A long rod with comb prongs wait to be set off, but there is no raised area on the disk for the comb prongs to pluck.
I look up at Red disappointed that it doesn’t play. "Such a pretty thing and it doesn't even work."
"You'll have to fix that, Alex."
Hearing his real voice suddenly zaps my nerves to life. The atmosphere of the dream seems real. Red seems real.
"But I don't know how?"
"You write music. Write a song."
A song. If I wrote a song the music box would work again. The prongs would play a song. I wonder what kind of a song I should write.
Maybe something... Romantic? Red tilts his head.
Yeah, for someone special. I add. But for who? Cher isn’t special in that kind of way. I can't think of anyone, all the girls I know are just… girls. Maybe that’s the problem. I don’t have anyone to inspire such a song. It's sad. There’s really no one I have in my life that I can call special.
I don’t think I can do it. I close the lid.
What about for her? Red's eyes turn in colors again.
A brief image of a young woman comes to mind. It's someone I have never met before. She has a bright smile; the kind that’s not afraid to laugh. Innocent brown eyes I could stare into all day. Her wavy hair bounces and her eyes smile just like her pretty lips. There’s gentleness to her face; kindness radiates from her. I think she's beautiful. I could see myself with her. I'm sad to see her happy face disappear from my mind. If I were to write a romantic song, then it would be for that girl, but I don’t know her.
I look at Red who pushes the music box toward me. "When you meet her, trust what she says. It's the truth."
“You mean I'll meet her? She's real?”
“Yes. Very real. Now wake up. You don't want to miss Jake's party.”
***
Alex
&
nbsp; I take great care in what I look like, making sure I won't be missed. The gold strands in my hair, shine, make my amber eyes stand out. No ugly sweater, only a crisp new shirt, new dark blue jeans, new sneakers, even new underwear. My parents left me a credit card which I use frequently. The spending can get out of hand. But I'm used to getting my way. My parents can't say no to a straight-A-student. 'A' for Aisling. My father says I'll pay it all back when I enter a good school. My future will pay them back all the money I've spent when I'm making the big bucks. I don't care about that. All I care about is right now. I spritz on cologne and I'm ready to kill. 'A' for awesome.
I jump into my car and my cell rings. Shit!
"What do you want, Cher?"
"Pick me up."
"Where's Pete?"
"What do you mean? We broke it off."
"Find another way." I end the call. There's no way I'm showing up with her—is she crazy? I smile in the rearview. I feel more confident than usual. I have a feeling my dream has something to do with it but I can't remember at the moment.
When I get to Jake's, I park in my reserved space in the driveway. Herds of girls head to the front door. Most of them won't be leaving with their friends. One of them will come home with me later—if I'm lucky, two. I leave my car and retrieve the extra beer out of my trunk. Hunter's Crew immediately greets me. My stomach flips recalling a part of my dream I was humiliated by them.
"Alex!" Hunter's broad smile and hard pat on the back centers him.
"I got a little extra for you guys." They surround me but not to beat me up, but to praise me for extra beer. They leave howling and I make my way to the front door.
Jake's parties are known to go all night, attracting college hotties and occasionally cops show up and tear it down. His parents are never home, leaving Jake a giant empty house to trash every other weekend. The loud music is my focus most of the time, drowning out everyone; making a crowded room worth it. I'm able to enjoy the drinking, dancing, hijinks and focusing on individuals better. Individuals like Madison.
I spot her with her friends pretending not to care that I'm watching her; pretending to enjoy the beer which she hates the taste of; pretending to love the song played while moving her hips; and pretending she is hard to get. Like the others, she’s not hard to get. Her off the shoulder top accentuated her breasts and reveals nothing to the imagination. Her short pencil skirt was picked it out especially for me.
She bats her eyes and sips her beer—which she hates, but it’s the only thing to gets her drunk fast enough to shut off her annoying conscience. Only then will she be ready for me. Her thoughts are little, but loose which I like. She’s buzzed enough, giving me an early start on the night incase college girls show up.
"No den!" Jake shouts from across the room.
I don't waste any time, making my intentions known. I approach her from behind and lower my lips to her ear, "Hey."
"Hey", she sips her beer.
I lightly caress her waist. "Upstairs," I whisper.
She separates from her circle of friends as I take her hand and head upstairs. Except for the line for the bathroom, it’s quiet. Listening to Madison's unwound mind run on half drunken thoughts, I find an empty bedroom and close the door behind us.
She’s nervous. I ignore it. She won’t be for long. She’s just another girl who wants the same thing I do.
My lips meet hers without a single word. I will get to know her and she'll let me. Her submission is my addiction. There’s something about wanting it and the thrill of getting it.
Her hands find their purpose. I gasp as she reaches below my belt.
Pete is right. She’s as much of a notch in my belt as I am to hers. I'm not looking for a girlfriend. I think being young isn't about love; it’s about living in the moment and seeing how far I can push it. Knowing everything about everyone, I can see their flaws; their dirty laundry makes them not worthy to love. It’s not like the movies and romance novels; they're pretty much lies. Madison wants what I want. No one loses.
“Alex!” She murmurs. They always call my name.
Sexual gratification is everything. A good reputation is the reward. Who you are is what you do and who you fuck. Madison isn’t top shelf, but after tonight she will be. She can thank me for that. There’s nothing more important to a Rembrandt high school girl than to say she hooked-up with Alex Aisling.
She proves her worth by going down on me. The act makes me feel like a king.
I reward her with a kiss for her efforts and I place my hands under her skirt. No underwear is helpful. It’s pleasing to think she went through all of this trouble for me. They always do.
Her wet warmth between her legs jumps starts my need pleasure. I lure to the bed. Lift her skirt and slide down my jeans. I rush our connection. I thrust deep without hesitation. I watch her face as I do what I do well. She tries to kiss me but I bury my face in her neck and press deeper into her. I can't be distracted.
I make no effort to please her and instead focus on my own peak. Pleasing her involves emotions which I have none for her. She can take what she wants and I can take the same. There is no heart in the matter. I'm absorbed in my own pleasure and ignore hers. I listen in on the actions of my neighbors in the room next door acting on similar instincts.
It isn't long before I release. I suddenly want nothing to do with her.
She kisses me, but my lips don't respond back as the whole act is still incomplete somehow. I pull out of her and stand to adjust myself. She lies on the bed, enthralled in her own thoughts, replaying what transpired.
I kiss her once more to ensure her I'm not completely heartless. I don't care what she thinks once I leave the room. She’s history.
Chapter Ten
Gabriel
I'm still wondering what this is all about. I haven't said a word to Violet, just followed her across town. 'We can help each other'. Her words feel like they have weight to them. Maybe she can help. Maybe I'm being hopeful. I'll stay with her because I have nowhere else to go and nothing better to do.
"Alexander Aisling is in there." She glances at a piece of paper and folds it back in her pocket. I wonder if my name was on it too. I wonder if Alexander has the same condition as me. By looking at the loud house party, I figure this Alexander must have a different problem. I can never be in a crowd without everyone attacking me.
Violet takes her sweat shirt off and her ball cap, revealing her face. I recognize her from a memory that decides to unveil from the depths of my mind. My heart skips as emotions for this complete stranger build up in my chest. I don't know her, yet these feelings are hard to ignore. Red must have done something to me. Maybe the clash into her messed me up.
"I can't go in looking like a bum." She drops her sweater on the curb. "How old are you?" The question takes me by surprise as I eye her figure.
"Ah, s-sixteen." Without an oversized sweat shirt hiding her body, I'm distracted by her curves. She's definitely older.
"So young," she says under her breathe.
"What?"
"I thought you'd be older." She adjusts the hem of her top.
"Why? Does it matter?" I try not to sound desperate, but my hands fumble my backpack to the ground.
“I’m not sure.” She combs her fingers through her hair. "I'll be right back. Promise me you won't leave." She fluffs her dark hair.
"I promise." I try not to stare. She's really pretty. I can't believe I could have done it with her if I hadn't held back. I should scold myself for thinking it. I could've hurt her.
I want to go with her, but the party is packed with people and I would be touching everyone. I wonders what’s so special about Alexander Aisling and why does she need him? Why am I 'so young'? She doesn't look that old. Watching her walk to the house, I already miss her. I take her sweatshirt, bring to my nose for a whiff.
***
Alex
Jake nudges me. "Dude, look what just walked through the door."
I catch sight of her
. No one can miss her. She’s more beautiful than all the girls at the party—any party; all the girls in my school; this town, this... world. A whole flood of memory comes seeping back—my dream; the one with Red; the one with her. Holy shit!
"There's your college girl," Pete raises his beer.
"No way. This is my house." Jake backs away, flipping us off. I'm awestruck by my own walking, talking dream girl as she gets corned by my best friend. Jake introduces himself to her. I try to focus in on the girl, but my mind's ear is too distracted by the God damn music. The one time I wish this place to be empty—just me inside of her head.
I saunter over, but Jake pulls her into the corner—the bastard. He must be trying his best lines, but she doesn't seem interested in him as her eyes wander the room.
He offers a beer and she doesn't take it. She’s asks him something, but he shrugs. She walks away disappointingly. Jake stops in front of her for another try. I hope his persistence doesn't pay off as it usually does with hot girls. Thankfully she's not falling for his charm and walks away. Jake rakes his hair in frustration. My eyes follow her while my peripheral sees Jake tell Pete something to make his jaw drop. I wish the music would stop to give me a leg up with her thoughts. I feel nervous which is not what I'm use to feeling. I want to approach her, but I convince myself, not yet, I need something to bait her.
Pete appears at my side. "Dude, Jake just told me that the girl was looking for you. You know her?"
"No. I mean—I don't know." I watch her cross the room. I'm too shocked to move. "She's looking for me?"
"Go, before she leaves." Pete shoves me. My legs bring me behind her. I raise my hand to her hair where her chestnut tendrils hang a little past her shoulders. I imagine entwining my finger around one of those soft curls. She turns suddenly and I swipe my hand away as she looks curiously up at me. Her kissable lips part, a reaction I'm used to with females who find me attractive. She has the kind of face I could stare at all day. She's beautiful, but I can tell she's the type that doesn’t know it. Her clothes scream practicality, not personality. The lack of make-up is surprising since I usually prefer it on girls; they're usually unattractive without their faces on.
