Chapter one.
Paige.
I’m getting ready to go to a party, which is such an unusual thing for me to say. You could say I’m awkward, introverted; not the conventional girl you see going out every weekend. But it’s Halloween, and my friends are dragging me along to my first ever fancy-dress party. I normally hate interacting with half- drunk youths, trying hard to figure out how to respond appropriately in social situations I am sorely unprepared for. But I’m actually quite looking forward to this party. The thing is, Halloween is one of my favourite holidays, and although I’m not an active participant – I don’t trick or treat or give out sweets- I do really get into it. There’s nothing better than sitting in the dark, watching a scary film, waiting to be frightened half to death. It really is that simple. I look at myself in the mirror, relatively impressed with my last minute, thrown together, costume. The mirror shows me my reflection, and for once, I don’t feel like I look absolutely hideous, which on most days, I can’t help but feeling that I do. For once I’ve been able to tame my otherwise frizzy brown hair, which I’ve left down with the addition of a laurel of flowers atop my head, and left my eyes unadorned by make-up, as always, because the blue shade seems to stand out all by themselves. If I’m honest, the only thing about my appearance that I’ve ever really liked are my eyes, they are the one thing about me that isn’t plain and a boring; a blue so light that, at times, they seem to lack any true colour. I’ve decided to go as a hippy, original I know, but it was the only costume of which I could use my own personal wardrobe for. I’m dressed in a blue dress with concentric circles making up the design, brown boots, and a metal belt to tie it all together. Granted, I would never typically wear a dress, but I found this sitting at the bottom of a draw and thought that it would be perfect for the occasion. I give myself a once more look over, and then head downstairs. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, car lights shine through the glass window of my front door, signalling the arrival of my friends. I use the word ‘friends’ loosely in this context: we associate occasionally at work, but rarely do we hang out outside a work context. So, you could say I am both excited, if nor slightly dubious of how the night will unfold. The doorbell rings, as if on cue, and I hurry off the stairs to open the door.
‘Wow, Paige, you look amazing’, Ari says, making me blush. Ari is built like a tank, 6ft in counting, arms the size of tree trunks and a big smile to match. His dirty blond hair sits flat on his head, like a veritable grandad cap, accentuating the curve of his jawline. He’s dressed in camo green, obviously using the mass of his body to his advantage.
‘Hey commander’, I laugh, locking the front door behind me as I follow Ari to his car. Ari looks over his shoulder at me, dazzling me with a rare smile. I guess it has never occurred to me before that Ari is good looking, but now, outside of the yellow shirts us lifeguards are mercilessly forced to wear, he has a subtle charm that is comforting. I open the back door of his car and slip inside, putting my seatbelt on because I am nothing if not safety first. Inside the car I’m greeted by the familiar smiles of Brando, Willis, and Lilith, all three of whom have coordinated their costumes, dressing as no other than the three musketeers- hardly original, but who am I to judge? I nod a hello at each of them, and turn towards the window, more interested in watching the scenery blur past, then try and maintain dull conversation. It’s pretty dark so the only tangible thing I see as the car speeds down the road is the light grey curb, rushing past like a river of unmoving concrete. I concentrate on the blurring of grey and night sky; the longer I stare aimlessly at the curb, the closer it seems to get to the window. So close that I lift my finger to the window, greeted by the cool surface of glass, my finger skimming the outline of the curb outside. The coolness of the glass shocks me back to the present, refocusing on the current conversation at hand.
‘This is going to be so much fun, Paige, I can’t believe you’ve never been to a fancy-dress party before!’, Lilith exclaims. I don’t know if god exists, or if the universe is a physical being that forces each person down certain paths, but I thank whoever, or whatever, it was that forced my attention back to the people around me. If there’s one thing that Lilith abhors, is having to repeat herself.
‘If you say so’, I say dubiously. Honestly, I can’t decide if I’m even excited anymore. The longer I spend in the car, the more dragged out this ride to the house is, makes me more nervous than excited. As if sensing my regrets at deciding to come, Ari pulls up in front of what can only be described as a palace. I step out of the car, awe-struck, trying my hardest to not gape too conspicuously.
‘Paige, close your mouth, I think you’re drooling’, Ari winks at me. I blush profusely, wiping the corner of my mouth, only to find it free of drool, which only further embarrasses me. Ari, the bastard. I shake my head at him, failing in my attempt to be angry at his rubbish joke. He punches me on the arm, heading into the house. I don’t follow, not immediately. Instead, I take these few moments to calm my nerves, and take in my surroundings. The gravel path that Ari just walked up is lined by small conifer trees with leaves of the deepest green. The wind is almost not existent, so each tree stands somewhat clinically, unmoving in the dim light of night, casting hollow shadows on the path ahead. The house is so big it could rival a castle, a white brick building with creeping ivy and balconies on each side of the house. As I walk up the path, I hear the low beat of music pounding out of the windows, so loud it’s a shock that the windows haven’t cracked already. As I near the door, people stream out, in varying degrees of undress, chasing each other with water guns and shouting nonsense at the top of their lungs. Cringing inwardly, I walk through the threshold, wholly regretting my decision to part-take in normal adolescent activities. Inside is a sea of unfamiliar faces, bodies pressed up against each other, moving rhythmically to the music provided by the DJ at the front. I scan the room looking for Ari and the others, but I can’t see them anywhere. Not the best way to start my foray into socialising. I try not to panic, and weave my way through the crowds, taking note of the faces I pass and the costumes I see. At least half the girls are dressed in skimpy bunny outfits, or catsuits, making me feel less than impressive in my clunky dress. Don’t get me wrong, I would never be seen dead wearing next to nothing in a crowd this big, but still I can’t help but compare myself to these irresistible girls, knowing that I’m nothing but ordinary. To the left of the dancefloor is what appears to be the kitchen, so I head in that direction hoping to locate Ari and something to drink. The kitchen is relatively empty, granting me a reprieve from the claustrophobic heat of dancing bodies. I take a seat at the marble countertop, using this time to send my mom a quick text telling her I’ve arrived safely and to have a nice night. We always do that, my family and me. Text each other to let them to know we’re okay. And I love it. I don’t find my parents overbearing or restrictive. It shows how much they care about me. There’s nothing better than knowing you’re cared for. But sometimes I can’t help but wish for more; wish for the kind of love that takes your breath away, that isn’t expected but is given freely. The kind of love that slowly creeps into your soul and takes residence there, of its own free volition, not because you are family and so it is your duty to love someone. But because you choose to. And I think I could find that someday, couldn’t I? Who knows, my very soulmate could be out there dancing, waiting for me, but instead, I’m sitting in this empty kitchen, on my own, too scared of living to even seize the moment. I stand up with a hardened resolve, determined to enjoy myself. I head over to the fridge, a gargantuan beast of silver steel, and grab the first drink that I see: a mini bottle of wine. Not my preferred drink, if I could even claim to have any favourite alcoholic beverage, but it will do. Taking a large swig, and nearly spitting it all back out as the acrid burn of alcohol makes its way down my throat, I make my way back to the party. Too busy trying work the ache out of my throat from my near coughing fit, instead of passing through the door straight back onto the dance floor, I appear to walk into the door frame instead. Recoiling, feeling a mixture of stupidity and embarrassment, I notice that I have in fact walked into a person, not the doorframe, which, I personally think, is considerably worse.
‘Sorry’, I mumble out an apology, eyes trained on the floor, hoping if I stare at it hard enough, I’ll be swallowed up out of existence.
‘No need to apologise, you just couldn’t help falling for me’, the stranger replies. Gross. I cringe out an awkward laugh and try to sidestep him, but to no avail.
‘Where do you think you’re going, I’m not done with you yet, missy’, the random stranger smirks. He looks just how he sounds, greasy and desperate in a cowboy outfit, with trousers that are trying way too hard to be seductive- if you understand what I’m saying. And I don’t mean to judge, or seem too harsh, but surely the fact that I’ve barely answered him, and tried to move past him, are clear indicators that I’m not interested. His blond hair is slicked back from his face, with too much gel, the kind that gives way to a premature receding hairline. He looks at me intently, his eyes hazed over by drugs or alcohol, or an unhealthy mix of the two. Not knowing what to do to get away from him, I flounder helplessly, hoping for some divine intervention. If this is the universe’s way of telling me to live a little, then I’d rather stay inside and be an unsociable recluse.
‘I was just going to go dance’, I force out. ‘Alone’ I add, with a pointed glare. He moves aside, though somewhat reluctantly; I can feel his eyes trail me as I weave through the crowd of people to a relatively quiet spot on the dancefloor. I refuse to give him anymore of my time then those few painstaking minutes, so I keep my back to him and try to do what everyone else around me is doing: dancing. I feel silly and inept, not feeling confident enough to actually dance, I settle for just moving my feet from left to right, nodding my head unceremoniously to the music. I can’t help but feeling dejected and unwanted. Ari and the others left me the first opportunity they got, and now I’m standing here like an idiot with no clue who anyone is, and no clue why the hell I’m still here. I survey the room one last time, my eyes snagging on the deep cerulean wallpaper and crystal chandeliers, details I’d failed to notice in my earlier anxiety-ridden state, and decide to head out. Needless to say, I wouldn’t make a habit out of going to parties and being left on my own- if I wanted to spend some quality time with myself, I could’ve just stayed at home with a good book and a cup of tea. I make my way over to the front door, hoping the walk home won’t be too cold, when, from the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of tousled dark hair. I turn around, my back now facing the front door, a low breeze from outside flitting past, causing my hair to fall in my face. Across the room, sitting on a low sofa, head angled to the side, is the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen- his beauty is unconventional, haunting in a way that radiates deep from his soul. He stares at me intensely, as though I’m the only one in the room, and though it’s crazy, that stare seems to awaken a warmth deep inside me. His eyes lock onto mine and it’s as if something inside me seems to click and unfurl, like clouds finally shifting to reveal the sun. I swallow, trying to rein in this sudden flood of emotion, but seem unable to look away despite myself. His dark hair is haphazardly pushed back from his face, accentuating his sharp jawline. Despite his attempt to push it back, the careless waves fall forward, sitting dramatically on his high cheekbones in a flurry of un-tempered control. He seems a sort of enigma, the burnt coffee of his eyes overwhelms me, tinged with a sad note of bitterness that lingers despite the smile that creeps onto his face. The costume he wears mimics that of a skeleton, his cheekbones hollowed out by black paint, making the contours of his face even more stark. As I look at him, my eyes can’t quite settle on his face- it blurs between human boy and skeleton as though he’s a living depiction of a holographic image. Weird. I unconsciously take a step towards him, my body drawn to him by some unseeable connection. The moment my foot moves forward though, he seems to blur, his body and face becoming a shimmery intangible thing- as though he isn’t really there at all. I frown in confusion, unsure if my mind is playing tricks on me, and resume my walk towards the front door. As I walk out of the house, I can’t help but glance behind me, some desperate, growing light inside of me urging me to look back once more into those deep dark eyes. But as I turn around, the boy whose eyes seemed to bore right into my soul, has disappeared. As though he was never there to begin with.
The walk back home seems long and exhausting. I’m not sure if it’s the small volume of alcohol I consumed, the fact that the night turned out to be a bust, or the lingering dark brown eyes that I can’t seem to shake, or a combination of all three, that leaves me jittery and on edge. Walking alone in the dark also doesn’t exactly inspire comfort. I’m acutely aware of every sound around me, from the rustle of a tree, to the low whistle of the wind through the bushes. Despite my anxiety at being out this late on my own, the night air is refreshing, relaxing in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Being the kind of person who needs constant distractions, I tend to fill my day with endless tasks to keep myself busy, as a way of minimising the chances of being overwhelmed by my own thoughts. So this chance to just breath in the night, without any distractions, without feeling the need to put on a happy demeanour to please those around me, hits me in a way I wasn’t anticipating. The concrete under my shoe grounds me, making me feel every bit as significant as the sun, whose energy we all need to survive. In the dark, it is almost as though I could be anyone, and there is something deeply invigorating about that. Don’t misunderstand, it’s not that I’m unhappy with myself, it’s just that sometimes I struggle so completely to feel at ease with those around me, that I can’t help but think of myself as broken- a vast pool of inadequacies with no route to a solution. And I’m sure many people all over the world feel this way, struggle to be happy with the world they live in, but even though many other people possibly share my conflicting emotions, it doesn’t make my own struggles any less hard for me. I feel my own feelings, my own doubts, and just because other people may be worse off, doesn’t make my own sadness any less significant than theirs. I’m suddenly pulled out of my thoughts by the bewitching cry of a crow standing no less than two feet away from me atop some shrubbery outside someone’s house. It watches me as I move past, and though its head continues resolutely looking forward, its eyes move with me, slowly tracking every step my foot takes on the worn pavement underneath. I can’t help but feeling overcome with trepidation, as though I’ve outstayed my welcome, and the night is not so subtly telling me to get inside. I look around me, suspicion rising with my every breath, but see no one, nothing. I quicken my pace, knowing I can’t be too far from home now, keeping my eyes ahead of me, eager to see the cherry red of my front door. As I turn the corner onto my road, lightning zaps through my veins, thrumming through my blood, leaving a trickling warmth throughout my body. I’m reminded of the same feeling I had when the boy with brown eyes looked at me, safe and content despite having no idea who he is. I look around hopefully, secretly yearning for just one more look at those dark eyes to satiate the unfathomable desire that stirs in me uncontrollably. I don’t see him, again, I don’t see anyone. But in the air behind me, I swear I see the glint of haunting brown eyes, hovering in the air without a tangible body, whispering to me words that I cannot decipher. But that’s crazy, isn’t it? Surely the late hour and lingering alcohol are stirring illusions out of thin air, because eyes cannot exist without a body, can they? And yet, there they are, daring me to disagree, to disregard them as a fantasy conjured by my mind. I bit my lip, turning back towards my house, smiling despite myself, indulging myself in the possibility of such strange things. And, as I pull my keys out of the discreet little pocket in the front of my dress, and open the door, I know that those really were his eyes. Something deep inside me cannot explain it, but with a certainty I don’t quite know how to put into words, the coffee eyes of that stranger followed me on my walk home. And there is something absurdly comforting about that.