I sleep another fourteen hours, waking only to shovel cinnamon swirl buttered toast into my mouth, drink OJ, and use the bathroom. I hear my mother exclaiming to my father, "Do you think she's ok?! She's slept all day!"
"Honey, if I could, I would sleep, too, instead of going to work. This is a huge time difference. Once she's awake, she can research going back to school."
I turn over and pull the damask-printed black and white comforter over my ears. Bored and listless, I'm uninterested. My iPhone vibrates. Skye, do you want to go on a date with me? I reread the text from Damien five more times to make sure that I'm not hallucinating.
A date? Damien Brandt is hot, with his light mocha skin and slight beard. I'm such a sucker for a six-foot tall lanky, muscular guy in skinny jeans, with that whole brooding vibe and a slouchy beanie. I feel myself being sucked into a dangerous, ethereal daydream. My very own rebel without a cause. His hardened muscles; his slowest saunter of his long, sinewy limbs. His chiseled model cheekbones and pouty, bee stung lips. His wry smile and our eyes meeting; an electric energy between us that sparks me alive and literally jump starts my heart. I hate how I swoon over him, unlike with anyone else that I've ever encountered. The all-encompassing love that I would have for him would probably ruin me.
He seems funny, nice and sweet. I think of how in high school, I would try to jump on his skateboard with my six-inch high heels and he had to catch me one time as I was about to fall, and I felt his hot calloused fingertips on my cold skin... Back then, I brushed off the abrupt, jarring connection that I felt with him.
I think of the promise that I made to myself in high school. The first time that I really looked at him, at that moment in the emptied-out hallway and no one else around, but us. I felt like there was this audible "click," however trite that may sound, like our souls, once lost, wandering and languishing, had finally found each other. I felt like his piercing black eyes saw right through me, and his entire being echoed the loneliness and sadness; that never-satisfied hunger and wanting that was buried within me.
In one gaze, he told me that I didn't have to pretend to be someone else with him; that he saw me for who I am and accepted me, as I am.
I felt like I was looking at myself, or at least the first person to ever understand me; to ever want to understand me. But, I saw our entire future in that glance: I saw myself falling and being actually happy with him - the only person that I've ever truly wanted. I saw that I brightened the darkness within his self, much like he would do for me. We were the same; as one. I saw that he could break me. He could ruin me, worse than any other person ever did before, because he would be the only person that I ever really cared for, and truly loved. I'm his and he is mine, and I can only resist for so long. I wanted him more than anything or anyone that I've ever wanted in my entire life. I could see giving all of myself to him; something that I've never wanted to do, until now. It felt like fate - the last miserable 13 years that were full of fake friends and a barely adequate education in a smothering, backwards small town that I've always wanted to escape from; the longing that felt almost palatable and made me want to jump out of my own bones every single day until I clamped it down and kept myself locked away - all of it felt worth it just to be able to meet him.
My infernal curse would curse us, and I couldn't - I wouldn't do that to him.
Through my stare into his considering eyes as I watched them assess me, I locked away all of my feelings; pushing them down until I closed all of it away like a vise - I watched the bright hopefulness flicker out of his eyes, and I told myself that it was for the best. I couldn't stand to see the end like how I had just watched our destiny play out in my head, and I let him walk away from me. I silently willed him to walk away from me, using that strange energy that I have to compel anyone, even though I didn't want to do that to him, although it seemed as if it barely worked on him, as if our connection is stronger than the curse placed upon my head - the heavy albatross around my neck that I actually forgot about, around him.
I actually felt weightless for the first time, with him.
It seems like he saw that part of me too, like he recognized how people are or act around me - the blind adoration or pure hatred. The last thing I wanted was for him to walk away from me. I knew that if we would randomly meet again, and I felt our connection lock into place once more, I couldn't resist him. But, I thought to myself back then, when would we ever meet again?
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Whoever Skye's parents prayed to for eight long years until they were able to have their sole and only child, the wrong person was listening. Skye was a beautiful baby. It got to the point in which they couldn't even leave their house, because random strangers would fall in love with her, become enchanted by her, and clamor to implore them to spend simply a few minutes gazing into Skye's face. They were stalked by a model scout for weeks.
At the age of twenty, everyone wants her and/or they want to be her. They are beguiled by her charm and enchanted by her beauty. Her effervescence glamours them. Skye can have anyone she wants; any job that she wants; and she can get into any place that she wants to get into. Everyone wants to be her friend. Everyone wants to spend all of their time with her, and blissfully ignore all of the responsibilities of their own lives that have already been long forgotten by the mere sight of her. She is like no one that you have ever met, and she will remain a constant stain on your mind, like that insistent song that you can't get out of your head. She is the sunlight personified. You have never met anyone smarter, more fashionable, innovative, stunning or seemingly perfect. The mere sight of her will cause the words in your mouth to crumble, and you will forget anything that you were about to say, until you glanced upon her. Even in the darkness of the nightclubs, strangers would ask her to dance and proclaim, dumbfounded, as if they were the first to have this thought, "You are the hottest person in this club.. no, the most beautiful person that I have ever seen." She would cause car accidents and accidentally break up relationships, by one glance at her. Straight girls and gay guys would want her. Their lines would start with, "I've never kissed a girl before, but..." Children would stare and ask their parents if she is a doll, like Barbie, or a vampire, from Twilight - as they recognized that her ethereal, pale and forever youthful beauty is unnatural.
But, eventually, their reverence turns to disgust; admiration turns to blaring hate; and idolization turns to loathing. She has no real friends. She will only know betrayal and abandonment. They will want for everything and everyone that she has. A best friend will attempt to steal her boyfriend and spread lies about her. Another one that she once called a close friend will actually steal her boyfriend. Someone, that she once thought as close as a brother to her, will accept the food, shelter, clothing, money and transportation that she willingly gives to him, then he will spit in her face and demand for more. Her kindness will always be taken advantage of, and they will criticize her for not giving more of herself to them. The friends that she has, she has to put on a show to keep them entertained and maintain their favor. They have to feel like they're getting something out of this relationship to stay.
At the age of seven, this was revealed to her by a nun, whom she inquired as to why her friends were so cruel, and why it seemed like she will be alone forever.
"You will have anything that you want from this life, but you will never know true friendship, and once you get what you want, it won't be as you thought. You will even be able to evade and bend death to your will for a while, as like calls to like, but you know that by now, don't you? You have wondered how many lives that you have, or when all of your chances will be used up, when you are left alone with your thoughts, as you often are. They will only be entranced and charmed by you, until they hate you for almost no reason at all. They won't even remember why they love you, nor why they hate you. They just will.
Do they smell the death that lingers on your being? Is that what pulls them in, and further entices them? The slight danger and recklessness that is imbued within your being? The lingering promise of how you can do anything you want, and still evade that by which they cannot? Then, maybe they sense that all of it is vastly unnatural, and that you shouldn't even exist."
Their blind adoration; the endless compliments; the blatant, enamored staring - all of it makes Skye uncomfortable. But, she likes how much easier life is when the world is in love with you; how everyone wants to please her, once she glamours them with her compelling charm and looks - even if she knows that she'll probably never have a real, genuine friend nor relationship. All of it makes Skye weary and she also turns a blind eye to the admiration, as it is easier to pretend like no one notices her if she doesn't notice anyone else - until she can use it to get what she wants, then her endless charm pours out of her like a chasm of sweet, syrupy fantasies, in which she could convince you of anything and solve all of your desires solely by her presence, alone. She is grateful, but none of it is new to her - it is a lonely existence to be desired by all, truly loved by none.
She always gets what she wants, often to her detriment, much later on.
———————
"Mom! Damien wants to go on a date with me. What should I say?"
"Skye, a date?! You just got back, you need to focus on school and your future right now."
What future? Ugh, but I know she is right. I decide to listen to her, ignore my gut feeling that I'm turning down something amazing for me, but maybe, I am saving him from that monstrous, cruel fate. I long for a fictional happy and long future spent only with him, and the knowledge that I'll never get it, stings and depresses me further. I text back, sorry, do you want to be friends instead?