The whisky burned as it slid down the back of Sorah's throat. The heat, and the way the fumes flooded her nostrils was comforting, a familiarity that calmed her. One that softened the cold, hard world just a little.
Each sip scorched its way from the back of her throat right to the pit of her stomach where the tingling warmth spread throughout her entire body. Her senses were dulled but for now her mind was sharp.
What was left of the amber liquid sloshed around in the bottom of the bottle as she rested it on one knee; only a third of the contents remained. She squinted in the dim light, sure they couldn't have polished off that much already.
With a shrug, Sorah took one more swig before handing the bottle back to the blonde at her side.
A steady pulse droned from the stereo, reverberating in her chest. The room was blurred around the edges like a worn photograph, softened by the glow of candlelight. She focused on what she could see, hear, feel. It was all she could do to shut out the voice in the back of her mind reminding her that alcohol couldn't solve her problems. It was just a mask, a scab over a festering wound that refused to heal. But that didn't stop her, because for a single moment she could forget the wound even existed. And that was enough.
Words, sounds, thoughts. They all spun around in her mind, a loud chatter that began the moment Alyssa had mentioned her dead mother. Sorah's mouth dried up. Her tongue grew heavy, stilled by the memories she fought to forget. She wanted to tell Alyssa they were the same, that she knew how it felt.
"Sorah?"
Blurred senses sharpened as reality snapped back. Sorah clenched her eyes shut, climbing her way out through the tangled mess of images in her mind. She blinked. Once, then again, bringing herself back to the moment. The dimly lit room was now too bright to stand, the music too deep, too pervasive.
Alyssa stared at her, waiting.
Each sip of whiskey had now caught up with Sorah. The room spun, and her head grew too heavy for her neck to hold. She raised her brow in question, her mouth too full of cotton wool to speak.
Alyssa waited with a patient smile, her eyes lighting up when Sorah at last acknowledged her. "I know I've only known you a couple of weeks, but I feel like we've become really close."
Sorah forced herself to smile back. It was more of a grimace. It was hard to think of anything when her mind was swimming in the darkness she usually kept at bay. Often the alcohol helped.
And if she drank enough, she could forget how much it hurt. Only sometimes the alcohol made it worse. Sometimes it reminded her that she cared more than she'd like to admit. It reminded her she wasn't fine. Wasn't safe.
This time the pain hadn't been covered, but instead pulled to the surface. The near-photographic image splintered her mind and tightened her chest. So much blood, a scarlet smear against the white tiles. The horror-scene flashbacks were the only time she could pull her mother's image to the surface. The only time she could remember her face without a picture as reference.
It was the last image she wanted to see.
So when Alyssa leant up against her, pressing their lips together, Sorah welcomed the distraction. The fabric of the couch was cool against her back as she accepted Alyssa's weight above her.
The kiss was wet. It was clumsy and rushed and didn't live up to expectations. Whatever Sorah had expected, this wasn't it. It bored her. But more than that, the feeling of lips against hers grated on her nerves like a frequency too high to stand.
Cool air touched Sorah's lips as they parted, but as she shifted to sit up, Alyssa pinned her against the couch, kissing her neck and jaw.
Sorah ran her tongue over the surface of her mouth and swallowed, working to return it to the way it felt before the invasion.
Teenagers experimented. Normal teenagers at least, and Sorah craved normality. Needed it. But the feeling of revulsion never left her. Maybe it was nerves. A normal reaction to a first kiss.
Alyssa's muffled moans only made Sorah feel worse. Guilty for not reciprocating her enjoyment. So she pushed herself to stay in the moment, to stay present, but her mind wandered to the pink and purple streaks that littered Alyssa's messy blonde hair. Only it wasn't purple, it was indigo, and the pink was so bright and lush it had to be fuchsia. But the colour of Alyssa's streaks wasn't—shouldn't be—important, so she shook the thought away and tried to concentrate on the kiss.
Physical attraction was foreign for Sorah. She knew Alyssa was attractive, had seen the proof of it in the way their peers looked at her, but her body refused to respond to her advances. She expected to at least feel something.
The alcohol had filtered into Sorah's system enough that she didn't fight it when Alyssa pushed down the zipper of her jeans, but as her hand slid beneath the fabric of Sorah's underwear, she sat up and pushed her away. "I'm sorry..."
"You're not ready?"
"Yeah," Sorah lied. Except she was ready. Just not for Alyssa. She wanted to experience things. Lust. Sex. Love, eventually. She didn't want to be eighteen and closed-off to the experiences of her peers.
"That's okay." Alyssa's eyes raked Sorah's body, coming to a sudden stop at the mark on her left hip. "What's that?"
A brown, elongated triangle stood out against Sorah's pale skin. "It's a birthmark. I think it's genetic or something because my mother had the exact same one, in the exact same place. Don't you think it looks kinda like a shark tooth?"
Alyssa's harsh expression faded into a smirk. "A shark tooth?" She laughed. "Yeah, maybe."
Alyssa's stare was predatory, igniting within Sorah a desperate need to flee. She made a show of looking at her watch before refastening her jeans and standing, eager to escape the intensity of Alyssa's gaze. "I'd better be getting home, it's late and my aunt is pretty strict."
"You have no idea, do you?" Alyssa reached out and ran her hand through one of Sorah's golden-red curls. "It's okay. I'll help you figure out who you are."
"I have to go." Sorah stumbled around the couch and toward the door.
"Take your time if you need it. Destiny is destiny, no matter what happens in between."
What a strange thing to say—unnerving enough that a shiver crawled up Sorah's spine. She shook her head, forcing herself to keep her eyes in front of her as she escaped out the door and into the night. Her feet hammered into the pavement as she walked, the chill in the air prickling at her skin, reinforcing just how drunk she was.
The city lights were a blur as she turned, making sure Alyssa hadn't followed. Why was she so worried? Alyssa was her friend and yet somehow, after the evening's events, it seemed the warmth of friendship between them had cooled. Now the mere thought of Alyssa evoked feelings of revulsion. Feelings of fear.
It had to be the alcohol. Alyssa hadn't given her reason to worry before now, so Sorah shook away the thought and concentrated on getting home. The streets and buildings all looked the same as Sorah walked. She spun herself in circles trying to gain her bearings, but she'd wandered into an unfamiliar part of the city, too focused on evading Alyssa that she hadn't bothered to retrace her steps from earlier that evening.
Sorah was used to being mobile, but even a month in her new city hadn't been enough to explore the many streets and alleyways. She was too busy—hurrying between her university campus and home—to explore much more.
Admitting defeat, she leant up against the building beside her, enjoying the chill of the stone, before retrieving her phone from her pocket.
Beth wouldn't be angry. She'd be disappointed. Worried. And she was, but on the other end of the line Sorah could hear her gather her keys. Her aunt's devotion was enough to make Sorah feel guilty, even more so than usual. It wasn't enough that Beth, who was barely old enough to be her mother sacrificed so much for her, but now, and many just like many times in the past, Sorah had pushed that boundary by acting out.
The ten-minute wait was enough for Sorah's muddled mind to ruminate on the thoughts that often haunted her. Thoughts of her mother's death—of finding her on the floor of a house that was too new to call home. Or worse, the pleasant memories of what it had been like when she was alive.
She wiped away a single tear that escaped down her cheek as the dark-blue sedan pulled up. "You've been drinking again, haven't you?" Beth asked, opening the door.
"A little."
Beth narrowed her eyes; Sorah reeked of alcohol. "Right." She pulled back into traffic, speeding away toward home. "So, what happened? I thought you were at the library."
"I was at a friend's house but... I dunno, it got weird." Sorah pulled her sleeves down and around her bunched-up fists to keep warm.
"Weird how?"
"Kinda like she didn't just want to be my friend."
Beth nodded, but kept her eyes on the road as though she understood what Sorah was saying without her having to explain it. "And you don't feel the same?"
Sorah's mouth squirmed to the side, exposing one of her dimples. "No... I don't think I do," she said, and stared out the window. "I tried. I liked her as a friend, but..."
Beth nodded again. "There's someone out there just for you, sweetheart," she said with certainty. "And when you find them, you'll know. Your world will stop on its axis. Your heart will leap from your chest." She stole a glance at Sorah. "You'll know."
"Because that's what love feels like?" Sorah asked, tearing her gaze away from the window to look at her.
"No," Beth said. "Because of destiny."
Destiny. Sorah ran the word over in her mind. It was the last thing Alyssa had mentioned. "What do you mean?"
"Well you're—"
"Special?" Sorah finished the sentence with a smirk. Her green eyes shone bright against the streetlights as they drove. She'd heard the words many times before. In fact, it was Beth's answer to almost every question she asked. "You only say that because you love me. Everyone thinks that about their kid."
Beth grinned, her eyes still on the road, and shook her head. "It's not just that, but we'll talk about it tomorrow." She narrowed her eyes. "When you're slightly less intoxicated."
Sorah's head fell back against the chair. "I'm not that drunk." She watched the street lights approach, bite at her eyes, then fade, just in time for the next.
"No? Then why are you slurring your words?"
"I didn't—"
"You need to be more careful, Sorah. And you need to tell me where you are. No more lying. I don't care if you want to go to a friend's place, just keep me in the loop, okay?"
There was so much worry in Beth's voice it hurt. Sorah wanted to do the right thing. She wanted to stop disobeying Beth's rules, and yet she kept going. Kept pushing the boundaries.
"I'll try." She lolled her head to the side, taking in Beth's appearance for the first time since she'd gotten in the car: the way her dark, wavy hair was smoother, more defined; the way her porcelain features shone with a little extra make-up; and the clothes, all the way down to the high-heeled boots. "Were you on a date?"
Beth didn't take her eyes off the road as she wound her way through the streets. "No."
"No?" Sorah smirked, looking Beth up and down. "You look like you were."
"It's not like that."
The tone halted Sorah's next words. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"
Once they were parked securely in the garage, Beth pulled the hand brake up, turned off the engine, and dropped her head back against the seat. "I'm tired, Sorah. I'm tired of trying to protect you when you have very little interest in your own safety. And when you just keep pushing back every single time I try."
The car was silent as Sorah stared into her lap. "I don't mean to," she said, her voice small and wavering. "I did plan to go to the library, but then Alyssa invited me over for a drink and..." She shrugged. "I'm eighteen. I'm an adult. You don't need to protect me anymore."
"It will always be my job to protect you. Never think for a second that you growing up means I won't look after you."
Even though Beth was so young, she'd never hesitated to put Sorah's needs first. "Don't you resent being stuck with me?"
Beth shook her head, brushing away a strand of Sorah's hair as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Never." She pursed her lips, wiping away the tear as she sat back. "I do wish you'd make it easier on me, but I've never resented you.
Sorah's own eyes watered. She stared at Beth, her mouth open, ready for an apology, for an acknowledgement, for words of substantial worth, but instead she asked, "Would you still be here if—"
"Yes." Beth stared out over the dash into the darkness of the garage. "Even if Orla were alive, I'd still be here. I'm not just your guardian, Sorah. We're family. And you're so much more to me than you could imagine."
At the mention of her mother, Sorah wiped her tears and opened the door. "I have classes in the morning... I should get to bed." By the time she walked around to the other side of the car, Beth had stepped out and closed her door with a thud. Sorah stopped. She hesitated, fidgeted with her hands, before diving into Beth's arms. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice muffled against Beth's chest.
"I know, sweetheart." Beth pulled back far enough to wipe Sorah's cheeks clean. "Let's get to bed."