Page 8 of The Death of Kisses

I looked up at him and my mouth parted as I tried to think clearly. He was about our age, more so Carrie’s age, since she was twenty-two. I wasn’t really sure, guys always appeared a little older when they were six-foot gods. Fuck, he was like a Poseidon type vibe, I could totally imagine him at peace in the ocean. The alcohol really fucked with my thoughts and I felt like a slow turtle. My mouth dried as I stood there looking at him, my tongue darted out to wet my parched lips and I swallowed. He stepped closer, with a look that practically could have undressed me. It was hot, but there was something off about him. “Uhh,” finally finding the words to go along with the question but the first thing out of my mouth wasn’t intelligible enough to be a sentence. Fuck.

“Only if you buy me one too!” Carrie nudged between us, placing a hand on his shirt. His eyes lingered on mine a moment longer than they should have and he disappeared into the crowd.

“Who was that?” I asked after I snapped out of the trance that he’d caught me in.

“No idea but he was cute at least, and he was carrying a good amount of cash,” she giggled, pulling out a handful of twenties.

“Jesus Christ Carrie, what did you do, grope him?” I laughed while swallowing the rest of my drink.

“Only a little, probably why he ran so fast. He only had eyes for you.” She teased me and I blushed, shaking my head.

“Come on, we have yet to be roofied and I am not leaving without some Molly.” She pulled me deeper into the club. I had a nagging feeling I was being watched but shook it off. It was probably paranoia and all the sweat from the warmth of the club.

The base thudded to an upbeat song I actually knew and I grabbed Carrie’s hand leading her to the center of the dance floor.

“Dance with me!” I shouted as my heart pounded to the beat of the drum. This feeling, this excitement and exhilaration had me swinging my hips and grinding against her. Our arms wrapped around each other as we laughed and danced. I loved it. The thrill, the beat, the adrenaline, staying there all night wouldn’t be a problem if I could just dance.

But like all good songs it came to an end. The rest of the night was spent in a blur and the last thing I remembered was climbing through my window and throwing my pillow over my head.

5

JUST A GHOST

Present day - October 15 - Town of PineRidge - Town population 5025 - 18 yrs old

The social studies teacher was some old hag that was all too eager to pawn me off on a student. I didn’t even care, it was only an education. I stood there in front of the girl, she looked so much like her. Her nose was the same button nose that turned upward at the tip. Her smile had the same dimpled expression and the glassy look she got when she daydreamed was the same.

“Oh, you must be Charlotte?” She spoke and that carefully constructed illusion shattered like glass.

“Charlie,” I forced out sliding into the seat next to her as she sat back down.

“Alright class settle down,” the social studies teacher spoke as everyone else filed into seats. I dropped my bag next to the chair as I watched her out of the corner of my eyes. My girl. Not that she knew it yet. She was staring blankly into space as the teacher announced our seat partners would be our group partners. That was perfectly fine with me. As the class began I felt the need for a cigarette, maybe it was the stress of this morning or just the thought of having dinner with dad. I didn’t know so instead I pulled out my zippo and flipped the cap and closed it. Can’t smoke on school grounds, what a stupid fucking rule.

I’d been doing it for a good five or so minutes while the teacher droned on about the importance of the constitution. That’s when I caught sleeping beauty drooling on her cheer outfit. Her head slumped against her arms as she lightly slept. Instead of taking notes I ended up drawing her. Lilly hated social studies too. The thought tore through me as the pen shredded the paper beneath me. Her eyes flew open catching on mine. I ripped the page out and turned toward the front of the classroom again. A new page in hand as I began writing.

She swiped at her mouth and then pulled out her own notebook. Her hands moved in cursive loops across the page, it was hard not to notice the way she presented herself. Tidy hair, neat wrinkle free clothes all of it too perfect. It irritated me, I wanted to hold her down and pull those perfect blonde curls while I whispered how pretty she looks coming on my fingers. Her cheeks reddened when she glanced at me, and I grinned pretending not to notice. Sleeping beauty would soon meet her beast and I couldn’t wait to ruin her.

Mike picked me up before the final bell so I skipped the award winning twenty questions regarding him and the bike. Whether we were dating or if he was single. Apparently slightly bigger towns still had the same vultures and gossip queues as the rest of the small towns. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of that school. I held tight to Mike as we drove out of the school parking lot back towards the gym. He had been my babysitter in Lee’s absence and I didn’t mind Mike. Mike and Lee were the same age, and sadly that was a year and a half older than me, I couldn’t help the resentment at that. If I had been any older I would be in prison right about now. Murder. Mr. Wyatt deserved to die. That would always be the one thing I did right in life. I shook my head. It was getting harder to keep her out of my thoughts, like everything I did reminded me of Lilly. Lee and I should have been closer, hell we used to be best friends never apart — before Lilly. I sighed into the headset, it wasn’t getting any easier. The way everything in my life was connected to her. I wanted to disappear into the depths of her.

“What’s up buttercup?” Mike chuckled into my ear, and I pinched his ribcage. “Dammit Charlie I am driving here,” He veered right as he jerked away from my fingers.

“Do not give me a pet name. I am not your pet. Next time I’ll jump off and you’ll be responsible.” I replied with a grin on my face. Not that he could see it. No longer stuck in the perpetual loop that was her.

We somehow made it to the gym, nearly silent in our quiet struggle, and I didn’t hesitate before I dove right into my workout. It became another one of those desperate routines I clung to since Coldwater—Mr. Jacobs called it a way to cope, a way to channel all that raw, unfiltered grief that tore through me. I used to dismiss it as bullshit, but truthfully, nothing surged through my veins quite like the hum of pushing my body to its limits, as if sheer physical pain could drown out the ache inside. Maybe it was the absence of intimacy—sex, connection—that kept my mind so damn preoccupied; I had no idea anymore.

By the time I was finished with my sets, every muscle in my body was crying out in exhaustion, sweat dripping down my face as I caught a glimpse of that faint blonde streak out of the corner of my eye. I blinked, and it was gone in an instant. It’s crazy how much someone can embed themselves in your soul, rewiring your entire being to fit their presence. Lilly would’ve said it was some chemical reaction—the body’s way of recognizing a soulmate, of that profound connection when two hearts truly meet.

Soulmates. I used to believe it with everything I had, and now, she was gone—leaving behind this hollow ache that no amount of muscle could erase. Sitting on the gym floor, I watched the late afternoon traffic drift by through the window, a quiet reminder that the day’s chaos had settled, if only briefly. But I couldn’t stand too much of the outside world’s spectatorship. Turning away, I moved to the back of the gym and started doing pull-ups. I hated pull-ups. Always did. But they were the only thing that succeeded in shutting my mind up, forcing me to hang by a thread of effort, drowning out the endless storm inside with each desperate grip.

“Charlie, let’s go.” Lee hurled my helmet toward me, and a surge of longing shot through me. I missed my bike with every fiber of my being—the raw thrill, the freedom, the rush of wind against my face. That stupid crash haunted me, a shadow I couldn’t shake. As I stepped outside, he was already waiting in the back, silent but steady. Without a word, he climbed onto his bike — an unspoken bond, a shared hunger for escape. I followed instantly, my arms wrapping tightly around his waist, a desperate, bear-like hug from behind.

He sped through red lights and onto the open highway, and in that moment, all I could do was hold on tighter, clutching him fiercely. My mind flooded with memories—the first time he bought me my bike, the way my heart blazed with pure joy as I raced him down those winding backroads, the laughter, the teasing about who would win in a car, the simple happiness of those days.

A heavy sigh escaped me as I asked, voice trembling, “Do you wish things could be different?”

He grunted in response, mid-turn, the intensity of the ride making my eyes pinch shut as I leaned into him, seeking solace. Being the passenger, not in control—feeling entirely dependent on him—was an ache I carried deep inside.

“I just—” I hesitated, words thick in my throat, “I wish we could change it. If Dad wasn’t so rich… would we be here now?” My voice broke, a heartbeat of raw longing.