ETHEREAL

CHAPTER 7

Damien texts me the following afternoon, what are you doing?

I put my novel down. I'm just reading, I reply.

Hang out with me & Travi's friends!! I roll my eyes. I really don't feel like meeting Travi or his wayward band of wannabe hippies.

I text back, text me the address, and Damien replies, =).

I get dressed in my dark blue skinny jeans with a black top that has studded shoulders, touch up my swoop bangs and layered Joan Jett-inspired but longer mullet with a flat iron, and swipe on some NARS Turkish Delight pale pink lipgloss, then change my mind, wipe it off, and slather on MAC Pink Nouveau lipstick.

I pull up to a modest one-level ranch-style house, and call Damien. He walks outside to me and he already looks extremely high, with how he can barely open his eyes. He smiles and slurs, "Heyyyy, Skyyyyeeee."

I follow him into the basement that already has a cigarette haze, and see about ten people sitting around. Most of them look barely eighteen, and we are only twenty, but that feels like somewhat of a difference to me.

A dark-skinned, short, and skinny guy with dreads walks up to me and exclaims, "Skye! Wow... you're so hot and exotic-looking, what's your story?"

I questionably look at Damien and he minutely, quickly shakes his head to me.

I start with, "I-" and the strange guy picks up a red solo cup of beer, then walks away. "That's Travi," Damien whispers to me. Well, that makes a lot of sense. "And that's Toni, his on-again off-again ex-girlfriend, then there's Scarlett, and..." he continues to name their names, but I don't really listen. They all look the same, with their solo cups in one hand and weed bowl in the other. Some of them are playing beer pong, and others are watching tv with their glazed-over eyes.

Toni saunters up to where Damien and I are standing and looks me up and down, "Yeah, she's hot, like you said. I like your heels, girl."

"Um, thanks?" I look down at my Jessica Simpson light gray, suede Mary Jane six-inch platforms with a sharp, black lacquered pointed heel and snakeskin-printed insoles, then cluelessly, back at Damien again. I feel grossly overdressed, but that is nothing new, as it is my armor against the world. Toni jumps on Damien and practically pants all over him. He neatly pushes her away. "Do you want to get a drink, Skye?" I would actually want to leave, and do something more fun with Damien, like eat sushi for dinner, go to the movies, drive to the beach and stroll on the sand, or even jumping off a building would be more exciting than watching this slutty girl, with her messed-up eyebrows, straggly black hair, and tan foundation that is three shades too dark for her pale skin tone, hang all over Damien.

"Yeah, sure," I reply and squint my eyes at Toni. Damien leaves to get me some cheap backwater beer that I know will inevitably taste like cat's urine and cigarette ashes swirled together.

Toni opens with, "So, Skye, are you like in college? I just graduated high school and I'm a dancer, now."

"A dancer? That's actually really cool. I love to do ballet - what do you do?"

She looks at me excitedly. "Oh, I'm a dancer at a club! It's so cool, I take off my clothes and just sort of twirl around in a cage all night, and people pay me for that! You should come apply!"

I look down at her, as my highest seven-inch black studded heels, put me squarely at 5'10 (but, still shorter than Damien, which I love), "I'll have to think about that," in my syrupy sarcastic voice.

Toni stares at me, and Damien pops up with the cat piss beer. She walks away.

"What did you say to her?"

"What makes you think that I said something to her?" I sneer, sweetly.  "We were just talking about her profession."

"Oh, my ex used to be a stripper, too, then she got addicted to heroin and kept cheating on me. I found out that a lot of Travi's friends are actually friends with her, too."

Damien looks spaced out now, like his mind isn't even here. I put the beer down. "Do you wanna go back to your house?"

"Sure."

We walk up the stairs to leave, and Toni calls out, "Meet me at the cemetery again tonight, Damien!" with a wink and a devil's smile.

"Y'all hung out at the cemetery last night?" I ask, once we are out of that wretched house.

"Yeah, but everyone was there," he explains.

I look away and think about how I wasn't there.

We go back to his trashed room, and he steps out of black leather low-top Converse. I admire how long and sinewy his limbs are, but I feel like I'm blatantly staring and I look away, at anywhere but him. His hot fingertips brush my freezing cold hand to pull me back towards him, and I already feel that magnetic connection; the one that I felt in high school growing stronger, and it is absolutely terrifying to feel such a powerful, indestructible pull towards someone. I've never felt like this with anyone else before; like we are meant to be together - maybe even forever. I barely know him, but I feel like I have known Damien's soul throughout my entire existence, if that even exists. Standing on the tips of my toes to reach his height of six feet, I put my arms around him, and kiss him. He tastes like weed, mint cigarettes, sour patch kids, and alcohol. I suck on his tongue, hard, and Damien grabs my butt. I'm on the tops of my toes to even reach his height, and he's bending down to me. I love kissing him. We make out for hours, with no television or music on, just the constant blinking of his Christmas lights in his darkened room, made even darker by his blackout curtains. They circle around and around, and reflect off even the inside of my eyelids. He sucks on my neck, which makes me feel instantly turned on, and then he sucks harder. I feel mesmerized and dazed, and like time doesn't exist with him. Pain and loneliness doesn't exist. He understands me, more than anyone. I'm finally no longer misunderstood, and I feel our connection deepening, even though it scares me. I don't ever want to leave him. I couldn't survive that - I never thought that I would be one of "those" girls. He makes me want to believe in him; in us; in love itself, when I never did before. I never wanted to give anyone the chance; the power to break me.

Suddenly, it's 1 AM, and I'm out way past my curfew of 12 AM. "I have to go," I breathlessly try to tell him. "Don't go, don't leave me alone," he whines. "I won't," and we keep making out. I suck on his bottom lip and then bite it.

He jumps back and screams, "Ow! You actually drew blood," and I laugh. "It really hurts, Skye!" Both of us smile and continue kissing each other, everywhere.

Before I leave to go home, I leave a good-bye note written in lipstick kisses on his bathroom mirror, and I walk out of his door, as he is passed out drunk on his bed. On the way home, I think again about what I got myself into.