I’m not really sure how I ended up with her sprawled next to
me, drunk, driving down the road at midnight in my old, beat up,
Toyota. Don’t get me wrong, I remember everything, I’m
not one to drink. But of all people that could’ve been
grossly drunk in my car, Faith Starling was one of the last people
I would have expected. I mean sure, she was usually at these
parties that I went too but she’d never been like this. She
had always been more of a mystery to me, a gothic, amazingly
beautiful girl that seemed always to be walking in the shadows with
her head held high. Loved by some and hated by others with little
room for the in-between. It wasn’t until this very moment
that I realized I never really saw Faith as a person. She had
always been a figment of my imagination until now.
“Miles, you’re driving too fast…” she
slurred, giggling. “You should be a race-car driver…
“I’ll have to look into it. Now try to get some rest
honey,” I replied, glancing at her slightly.
“Okay Mr. race car driver. Nighty night!” Her body went
limp as her breathing steadied and within an instant she was
out.” I sighed and let a small laugh escape my lips, trying
not to dwell on the night’s events. For her sake I hoped that
she didn’t remember the night when she woke up. Hell, I
almost wished I was drunk at the moment. I could only imagine what
it would feel like for her to wake up and be forced to remember.
Thinking of what could’ve happened if I hadn’t stumbled
into the dark bedroom while trying to find some quiet space; if I
hadn’t found her with Bobby Jackson’s hands holding her
down and attempting to undo the button her pants. I hoped that she
wouldn’t remember the way that I pushed him off of her and
the way she bit him, causing him to slap her and push her
defenseless body to the ground. This wasn’t the type of thing
I wanted to be the hero for because this wasn’t the type of
thing that should be happening in the first place.
I wished I knew where she lived. That way I could bring her home
and maybe give her more of an opportunity to banish the memories
from existence. But instead I was forced to pull into my driveway
at 11:27 p.m. and carry her fragile body up the creaky wooden
stairs into my bedroom. I was grateful that my mom had cleaned my
room earlier in the day as I placed her body under the covers. For
a moment I debated where I should sleep. I had originally intended
on sleeping on the couch downstairs but then I realized that it
would probably best if I was there to tell her where she was when
she woke up in the morning. So I groggily dragged my beanbag from
the corner and curled up under a throw blanket on the floor.
After a while it became apparent that sleep wasn’t going to
be coming along for a while. So I went downstairs, made myself
some hot chocolate, and drew my sketchpad out from under my bed.
As the lines started to be etched onto the paper I wasn’t
exactly sure what I was drawing. My strategy was more just to let
my hand do the work while my brain is cleansed of all
perpetrating thoughts. Two hours later I had a black and white
sketch of Faith standing on a table with a beer can raised to the
air and heavy eyelids. Sliding the sketchbook back into its
permanent hiding place, I slithered to back to my bean bag and
allowed my now cleared mind to drift off into the dream world.
THAT WAS THE FIRST HALF OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY NEW NOVEL.