I always dream of Vi. Her smirk, her long hair, and her brown eyes waltz with me under the moon.

Of course I love her. Of course she tempts me. Of course I wish to have sex with her.

God, do I wish to have sex with her.

But I can't. For the same reason I won't date her.

I rub a thumb and forefinger against my eyelids to get the sleep out. Dawn's soft light is welcome; I've survived another day.

I sit up. My empty room is no longer shocking. I can't bring myself to regret the decision to eliminate everything materialistic. It's better this way. It's always better this way. Just follow the rules.

The red blanket lays alone on the bare mattress, striking in the depthless room. After sliding into a pair of black jeans, I creak the door open and listen for my mom; I know better than to leave that blanket out where she can see it.

Silence.

I tip-toe out with it bunched behind my back and freeze when I see my mom and Violet on the couch.

My first reaction was remembering I'm shirtless, conscious of Vi tracing the muscle bred from stress-relief. Then, my mind begins to tick. I slowly realize why this sight sunk my heart to the ground. The bomb erupts, trickling black tar into every crevice of my body.

"Hi," Violet says tentatively. "I hope we didn't wake you."

I simply shake my head.

"Locke, go put a shirt on!" my mother scolds. "Don't embarrass yourself in front of such lovely company."

I rush back to my room, stuff the blanket down the hamper, throw on a shirt, and hurry out to the living room.

Seeing them sit there, smiling and chatting over cups of coffee, twists the nerves in my chest.

"Let's go." I bark before storming outside.

Vi quickly dismisses herself and follows behind me.

"Shut the door," I shout over my shoulder as I hit a far-off bend in the sidewalk.

My chest continues to sting. My damp palms clutch at my ribs, which thunder from every heartbeat. Small circles on the floor reveal the tears that seem to leak out at any mention of pain.

When I hear Vi's hurried footsteps behind me, I spin around and charge at her.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?" I scream.

She flinches, truly terrified by my demeanor.

Watch it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I bark with less volume.

"I-I thought I'd give you a ride to the café on my way to work." she trembles.

"I told you to never come to my house."

The desire to hit her is pathetically present. I just wish to show her a fraction of the pain she's inflicted upon me.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! I won't do it again!"

"It's too late!" I cry. "She was never supposed to know who you are!"

"Oh, Locke!" she yelps, holding my face.

I wrench my lids shut, squeezing warm tears onto her slender fingers.

She pulls me in, soothing the ache in my chest with her warmth. The second she does, my body is hollowed out by agony, because I remember why the sight of them together ruined me earlier.

Because I remember what I must do.

"Vi, I have to let you go."

She stops trembling, only to quiver even harder.

"It's over, Vi." I repeat.

She cranes her neck to look into my eyes.

Are you really leaving? She seems to be asking.

The curve of her back against my hand, the pleading in her eyes, the urgency with which she clasps my face all sway me towards breaking the rules.

I could kiss her right now. If I plan to leave, what's stopped me before, the fear of endangering my only life-support, is gone. If I only remember this one forbidden kiss, life after her might be bearable.

But I can't, because I do plan on leaving, and augmenting our mutual feelings will only harm her, regardless of my benefit.

Without another word, I unclasp her hands. I meet her pleading gaze, shamefully but determined.

I can't break the rules if I wish to survive.

After a final glance, I turn and leave.

It hurts.

I miss you already, Vi, and it hurts.

It takes so much effort just to stay in this café and not beg for her forgiveness. She can be the one exception, can't she? Maybe Mom won't do it, and if she did, Vi would be worth it, right? Worth the pain?

No. No. Nothing is worth it. Loving her saved me, but the sword was always double-sided. These things, these feelings, only created an opportunity for tragedy! I knew that when I decided to keep her a secret. I knew that when I accepted her existence in my life. The rule with her was to let go should I ever be in danger.

How utterly selfish.

With the days well into winter, monstrous clouds always watch over the city. Ray, the goateed manager, lets me answer hygienic calls in his office.

It's a good thing I didn't kiss Vi, because my breath was hot.

I chuckle darkly at the humor.

I know I won't be able to survive without Vi. I plan on committing suicide at twilight. Moments before I met her, I set the same deadline. She truly did save my, simply by being my friend.

And now, my savior is gone.

The only thing that kept me alive before her was pride. Suicide is cowardly. The act states one's inability to conquer despair.

But I don't give a shit.

This café feels haunted now. Everyday, Violet would find a way around her job to meet me here, even if for just a few minutes. She's only a year older than me, but she never let me hear the end of it. I swear, it took me a week to get her to stop calling me junior. And-

No.

I push off the table and rush to the door.

I knew letting her in was a mistake!

My hand falters on the handle when I see my reflection on the glass door.

I've never seen someone look so…lost.

I rush outside.

The cool air soothes my creased forehead. The navy v-neck I threw on earlier gives into the muscles of my body under the breeze.

I walk down the empty sidewalk, uncertain on my destination, but clear on my intentions.

The world dims with each step. Over the past few years, I don't think I've ever felt more serene. With the end in sight, the air I breathe is laced with relief. It's as if all my effort was wasted, not because of this decision, but because it wasn't worth it. Surviving through so much pain was never worth it.

The desolate sidewalk and the surrounding buildings are now graphite. Everything is coated with a blanket of gray.

Metallic shadows.

The sun begins to rise over the curve of the sidewalk, refusing to acquiesce its domain. This sun is strange, though. Smaller. It's a floating splash of subdued yellow. Its color matches that of butter more than a star.

It drifts towards me, and the closer it gets, the more its shape changes. It began as a soft, faraway glow, but now that it's only a few meters away, ribbons of light tumble down its sides, like it's leaking.

When it's near, hovering at eye-level, I stop walking. A wisp of light on its front holds my attention; it falls for a few inches and twists into an elegant curl.

Quickly, my gothic world regains all its light. My gaze refocuses to discover that the light is not at all what I imagined. The ribbons of butter are the hair of what I immediately deem as the most exquisite girl I have ever seen.

The soft blonde is lovely beside her light, olive skin. The curl in the front is her bangs, ending at the side of her left eye.

This all happens in, roughly, two seconds, yet this beautiful girl has me rooted in place. My movements have not ceased because of her beauty, though. No, what has me frozen is the expression on her face. The set of her lips, the tiny furrow between her eyebrows, yes, I have seen this look before. Only minutes ago. In my reflection.

Her foot is out as if to take another step, and a vehement twinge strikes my chest. It's as if I wish to yelp like a canine whose paw has been crushed, because the thought of her leaving is utter agony.

"Excuse me." the words escape my lips.

She stops, brows furrowing a fraction deeper with curiosity.

"Yes?" she asks.

Rather than scrambling for a response, I'm mesmerized by the movement of her pink lips. She has the type of lips with no marks or creases. Just two smooth, lovely planes of pink.

"Do you, um, have the time?"

The time!

She cocks her head a bit, pouring her gaze into me.

Slowly, very slowly, her expression eases.

It's painful how lovely she is.

I blink when her hand finds my cheek. The contact is barely more than a whisper, but the warmth is phenomenal.

She rests her palm right under my cheekbone, brushing the corner of my left eye with her thumb. My lids lower, enchanted by the heat she blankets my cheek with.

I turn my head to kiss the base of her soft, light hand.

"What happened to you?" she whispers.

Her anguished tone opens my eyes. The soft scold she wore is now one of concern. Of compassion.

A part of me fears that she's addressing the abuse shed on my face, but my mom never leaves marks. She's good at that.

So, she must see in me what I saw in her.

"I tore my only friend from my heart because she became a weakness." I lament.

When I said the word "weakness," delicate tears brimmed her eyes. The canine desire to yelp returned at the mention of Vi, but her free hand rose to kiss the pain from my heart.

Standing like this, her hands cupped on my face and dormant on my chest, I feel my very being rise above my skin and meld into this beautiful stranger's warmth. Her breath becomes my breath. Her burgeoned tears become my tears. And the agony that has permeated my entire existence and riddled every cell I contain with pain has now become her pain.

"You know." I accuse gently.

She barely manages to nod her head.

Our bodies are only centimeters apart, so the torment amidst her lovely features is horridly palpable.

Her blue eyes harden with determination, and, slowly, the pain slithers out from under her fine skin.

"You need time." she declares compassionately. "Your heart will sing its dirges, but you must not kill yourself."

I blink.

"Please." she continues.

How did she know?

"Why not?" is all I can muster.

"You cannot leave me!"

I stare at her, surprised and utterly infatuated.

She's right. It's impossible to leave her.

I nod.

"It will hurt. Horribly. But you will need to endure. And if you are not here tomorrow at precisely this same time, I will be furious."

I laugh, surprised by the unfamiliar sound.

She steps closer to stare deeply into my eyes and says, "Please."

Her words brush my lips as a faint whisper, warm and intense.

I was wrong. It was worth it, all of it. All the beatings and fear and isolation and effort were all worth it.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"I'm Sky." she smiles.

Sky.