"i think about you
can't dream without you
i always want more
trance to the dance tune
under a full moon
and freeze in time"
--"Sugar Cube" by Porcelain and the Tramps
first stab at a short story...pretty much ever.
attempting to fuck up any idea of love you can fathom.
It was getting darker and all I could think about was getting home. Wherever that was. Not the house--I was the last thing mom wanted to see, let alone take back. Not Keith's--I was dead to him. Nyx's...
I jumped as a car shrieked by, my jutting thumb useless as it swerved around the highway's hip. I lowered myself onto my suitcase and set my chin in my left hand, right hand propped on my leg, miserable thumb wiggling away to the empty road.
I had picked the wrong suitcase to run away in. Instead of clothes I had opted for books, paper, pens, cartons of cigarettes. Heavy things. The clothes on my back--stretched-out wife beater, tattered bra, jeans saggy around my hips, wilting flip-flops--were filthy and embarrassing. Not that Nyx would've cared.
I wondered what she was doing. Not thinking about me, obviously.
But there on the side of the road, my mind wandered. Up and down her painfully pale legs, the long hair she neither cut nor brushed, ever. The way her eyes would vibrate when she got too high. Those eyes. Greener than fuckin' grass, just gorgeous, but she wouldn't hear it. She's close them if you told her so, raising her eyebrows and grinning. She was always such a tease.
Nyx would've been right here with me if I had stopped that from happening. That. The thing. The one incident that will forever stain my brain, reminding me that I was no good, nor worth anyone's time, not worth a second glance, much less a third date.
"Hey, you hitchin' or what?"
I looked up, realizing both the car stalled in front of me and my eyes fogging up with memories. I sniffed, wiped my dry nose on my sleeve and stood up.
I'd mastered the technique of picking cars: you favored women, the more money, the better. Older? Perfect.
I straightened my shirt, flinching at the long red stain by the hem, and peeked through the window of the car.
"No fucking way."