Remember, Whatever [closed]

Ghosts on the piano. That was the cliche, wasn't it?

Her fingers danced across the keys, off-time, off-tune, off-key, but she loved every second of it, giggling to herself with every fuck up. Okay, okay. So she'd had a little bit too much to drink, and maybe she'd gone a bit too far in a few places. She'd always been a bit strapped for cash, but she'd never been an idiot. Even if her math grade had tanked her to the bottom of the class, it wasn't because she didn't do her homework. She knew how to balance her tiny budget enough to get by week-to-week with her expensive habits. Cigarettes didn't help much either, but she could've made it work.

Call her impulsive, but she'd blown it all on a new wardrobe. She'd never cared much about how she dressed, and she'd never had much of a fashion taste, but she'd walked into the thrift store the day before with a full wallet and came back out without a dime to her name. It was like she'd been on autopilot. Honestly, she didn't remember most of it, but she still had the bag, she had the clothes, and she had the receipt as proof it'd all happened.

If she was happy, did it matter?

She'd wanted to do something dramatic. Something different. For fuck's sake, she was tired of dressing like a fucking hobo. The every day drunken monotony was starting to drive her insane. If she was going crazy, then this was better than what she'd had before.

Evelyn threw her head back to take another swig from her flask and went toppling off the piano bench with a crash. Evelyn sprawled across the floor on her back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Ow..." she laughed, rubbing at her flushed cheeks. "O-ow..."

A bomber jacket over a criss-cross top, a skirt that didn't pass the fingertip test, black socks that came just up to her thighs. Her snowflake pendant looped around her neck and pressed against her skin, a cold reminder. She'd even started wearing make-up, dark nail polish and eyeliner, a subtle gloss of lipstick. Did any of it make a difference?

No. Probably not. Evelyn pulled herself to her feet and leaned against the piano to support herself, pressing down on the keys.

There were a few things his big brother was good for. A few key qualities too. Sharing was up there.

Preston leaned back against the wall, sitting on the floor of some dusty, dark storage room. The school was fucking huge. If you really wanted some privacy, it wasn't all that hard to find. He hid between rows of old desk's and chairs and towers of forgotten paperwork. No one would bother him there. All he had to do was shut the door, open a window, and hotbox it to heaven.

Kayla wouldn't butcher him for smoking out the pillow fort and he would be able to just fucking relax for once, ever since the place was sent to Hell and back anyways.

It was tiring looking at all the memorial frames in the halls. He hated having to avoid the shortest walk to the cafeteria, just pass by Bird Boy's mug staring away at him. He hates remembered how easily he had fucking fried up. Alex couldn't have lasted more than a post. Couldn't have taken it like a champ. If only Hosa had died so easily.

He grimaced just thinking about it. Whatever. Such was the plan, anyways. This place had grown too fucking dark and heavy on top of an already fucking shitty year. It was a blessing to be able to finally loosen up and there were fewer things he could think of that could have made it better.

He'd been in the middle of a long drag when something crashed on the other wide of the wall behind him. "The hell...?" He pulled himself forward, turning his head and wondering what dumbass was dropping shit everywhere. Or had he just been imagining things? The young man frowned, listening, waiting, before he slowly began to lean back once again. Immediately, the shrill of piano keys hit him.

"Fucking, bitch..." He muttered curses under his breath, stubborn curiosity getting the best of him as he snuffed out his blunt. Pres curled the herb between his fingers and stepped out the door, pulling it shut behind him and peering into the next room.

"Whose fucking dying in here?" The Autumn called out, wincing his eyes away from the sudden light.

Someone's voice rang out through the room, right over her, unnoticed. She was just part of the scenery, wasn't she? Even with all this clatter. "M-me..." she slurred without looking up, and when it didn't come out as loud as she wanted, she swept her fingers across the keys. "I'm not dead yet." Another chime rang through the room, high and sweet, as she plopped down on the piano bench, wavering unsteadily from side to side. That was one way to catch someone's attention. There weren't any of the familiar symptoms, no rush of panic up her throat, no needles of anxiety down her spine, no knots or butterflies in her gut. Did that mean anything?

No. Probably not. She threw her head back to take another drink and finally looked the stranger in the eyes.

Oh. A familiar face. It'd been awhile, and she'd almost forgotten his voice, but not his face, his celery green eyes, ruffled up chestnut hair. And he reeked. Something musty clung to his clothes like perfume and made her wrinkle her nose. "P-Preston...?"

Ah. With there no need in hunting down a nurse or start wiping the place for prints, he would have thought it appropriate to fuck off and head back to his dirty-ass closet, shooting the girl a simple dismissive nod and beginning to turn away. That was until this chick had called him out. Preston stopped himself, rolling his joint around in his hand and glancing back over her way, actually pausing to take in a decent look.

She was a mess. Her hair was strewn all over the place, not surprising considering she'd just falling off a piano bench, somehow. Not a moment later, he spotted the gleaming flask in her hands, and found himself admiring how high her skirt seemed to be riding up. A party girl, for sure. A piano room was the last place he'd expect to see someone like her. Then again, he'd never seen himself often in the studios either...

"That's my name," Pres called back, stuffing his free hand in his pocket. Had they met before? "Do you need some company, Sweetie?" He allowed himself a small smile. Lest she drop on the floor again, he made his way over to the piano bench.

Sweetie. Not Evelyn, not Snowflake. There wasn't any recognition in his voice, or in his eyes, and he didn't even use her name. Of course... It'd been awhile. Too long. She should've expected that. Evelyn huffed as he made his way back over to the bench, rubbing her knees together as she took another sip from the flask, not caring if he saw. He'd promised her a drink once, an eternity ago. Even if he didn't remember, she wasn't going to fake new first impressions. That was too much effort for something that'd be washed out of his head again in a week or two anyway. "Couldn't hurt," she said, numb to the sting. Why not? Maybe not that long ago, she would've been dying inside or fumbled for some excuse to leave, or barraged him with 'sorries' for bothering him, but nothing like that came to mind now. It was too much work to care. "I-I'm... nnnot much f-fun, though," she murmured, the words tumbling out her mouth when she should've kept them bottled up in her chest.

Preston made himself comfortable on the small bench beside her, leaning back and near resting his elbow against the smooth piano keys, hadn't he thought better of it at the last moment. He smiled through his scoff. "You don't look like the dull type," He mused, his voice dull as he eyed the flask in her hands again. Pres couldn't think of many others who had the balls to drink out in the open. "Here, I'll trade you." He flicked out his blunt, holding the end of the herb out to her. Fuck, if a drink didn't sound good anyways. If she really was such a lame girl, then hell of a solid high couldn't make anything seem like a parade of a day. It'd fix her up and he didn't have to deal with being so damn alone.

There wasn't that much room on a bench like this. She shifted uncomfortably where she sat, not looking up from her lap as she fiddled with the lip of the flask. Dull? No, she was pretty dull. Evelyn only looked up at his offer, from his face to the roll of brown paper in his hands, confusion written across her face for just a moment. A snuffed out cigar, or... Oh. Oh. The smell clinging to his clothes suddenly made sense and registered in her mind. Before this, even with her worse habits, she'd never even really been around something like... well, like this.

Evelyn picked it out of his hand, pinching it between thumb and forefinger like it was poison, and slipped him the flask with her other hand, looking the blunt up and down. She did her best to pretend she'd seen it all before, but this was new. Even if she drank, this was... huh. Her mom would've flipped.

Just that alone sent a small flitting thrill of exhilaration through her heart.

Hey, why not? A part of her had always been curious. She'd always been the type who'd sit and absorb every detail in those lame anti-drug assemblies when she was a kid, but she drank, she smoked, so why not the full nine yards?

She didn't have anything better to do anyways. And what? Would someone catch her? Fat chance.

Evelyn patted for the cheap lighter in her jacket pocket and slipped it into her hand. Was she even holding this thing right? What did it do? Would she hallucinate, or freak out or something? What if she smoked too much? This was pretty sudden, wasn't it?

Burying her doubts, she brought it to her lips, mind whirring at the dank savor and sparked up the lighter, lighting the end and inhaling deep. The taste... was different from tobacco. If she hadn't started smoking a few weeks before, she probably would've hacked her lungs up. She held it for a second before breathing out, light clear smoke rising from her lips. Huh. Was... she supposed to start feeling something? Did she do it wrong? Evelyn took another hit, deeper this time.

So... Evelyn fumbled for something to say, but no words came to mind, just a settling calm.

It was a slow rush up into her head, her thoughts slowing, just a subtle change in the air. She shifted on the bench again, all too aware of the hard wood underneath her legs, feeling ten pounds heavier like someone had filled her jacket with rocks. Like slumping down in bed right before you passed out, but she was wide awake, staring at the dust motes suspended in beams of light.

A light smile grew on her face as she held it back out to him. "Th-thanks..." she murmured. There was a floaty, lifting sensation that pushed up at her cheeks, a pressure in her forehead, and she let out a small giggle as she set her hand down, running her fingers along her legs. Tingles traced up across her skin, and she swore she could've picked up on the sound of her nails trailing down her thighs.

...Huh.

At first, he thought it amusing the way she stared away at the thin wrapping, twisting it around daintily in her fingers. Shit, he'd taken her for some sort of hidden party animal, yet she acted as if she'd never seen a blunt in her life. In a way, it was cute, and it provided a well enough distraction from himself as he took a blind swig from her flask.

And God Almighty, did the woman not fuck around with her drinks. His face twisted up something sour and he forced himself to look away. He at least managed to regain his composure soon enough to take another bitter sweet shot or two by the time she'd seemed to gotten into the swing of things on her end. Whilst he relished in the pleasant burn in his throat, he couldn't help but admire the girl all the same. The trees seemed to have hit her quick.

"Feel good?" Preston laughed under his breath, taking in a deep drag for himself. There was a reason his brother kept so much of the herb stocked away, he knew. It was a pleasant distraction if there were any. It left you with no need to think, no room to worry, or any reason to linger without a smile on your face.

With flask still in hand, he swung his arm around his new friend, whatever her name was, leaning in close and holding the blunt up again to her lips. "Help yourself."

Good? Yeah... She felt kinda wavy. Bubbly? Rubbery? Fluid. Every breath felt cleaner, everything looked crisper, brighter, like she was looking at it all again for the first time. Like being buzzed, except... well, different. It was hard to put it into words. "Y-y-yeah, I fffeel pr-...pretty g—..." Oh! Her shoulders jolted as he slung his arm around her, pulling her in closer on the tiny piano bench so she wasn't riding the edge. "...good..." There wasn't much space between them as he held the blunt up to her lips, her head swimming. Evelyn tried to mumble out a thank you, but it was so quiet she couldn't even hear herself, so she just closed her eyes and inhaled deep again, letting the smoke fill her lungs.

What had she been missing all her life?

The way her mom and dad had always talked about things like this, she would've expected her head to explode or to go crazy on the spot, but there wasn't any of that. If anything, it was like a sleepy, peaceful fog had filled up her head, and everything else just faded away into the smoke, leaving just a warm pulse. She nestled up closer to the boy beside her, too keen on the way her jacket crinkled with every short movement.

When she drank, it was like peeling back a gray curtain, not held back by herself anymore. She could talk. This wasn't that much different, in a way.

She took another hit, curling her hands up in her lap.

What was with the way she talked? For some time, he pondered if he were making her nervous, or something else was wrong with her, but she otherwise seemed perfectly fine. It was fucking weird, but he decided then to think little else of it. Company was company, and for the time being he wasn't feeling particularly picky. "Shit, that's good." Preston laughed under his breath, pulling the joint back to his own lips. He found himself staring off to space for a moment, entranced by the thin wisps of smoke.

Everything seemed so peaceful then. He might have forgotten he wasn't alone hadn't the girl under his arm kept shifting around. The young man finally pulled his gaze back towards her. It was hard to get a decent view with the way she stared down into her lap. "Hey," He called, tucking his finger just under the cleft of her chin. "Look at me."

She could've just drifted off into space, drinking in the silence, but it didn't last forever. Evelyn sat staring at her shoes, admiring the way she'd knotted up the laces and doodled over the stiff rubber, when she felt him move next to her. Ah...? Her eyes shot open when he slipped a finger under her chin, firm but not rough, forcing her to swivel her head up to look at him. "O-oh, I-I, um... um..." Evelyn tensed up, correcting her slouch as he pushed up on her chin, sitting up straight to meet his eyes. Her bangs fell over her face, choppy and full of split ends and stray stick-out hairs. She shied away from his blue-green gaze, but all she could do was let her eyes flicker to the corner of the room. "Sss... s-sorry...?

Evelyn wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for, but it was the only thing that came to mind. She was conscious of how close they sat on the piano bench, of how close his face was to hers.

Her eyes were blue. Not brown.

It was the first thing he noticed, the prettiest thing about this girl, deep pools of blue that seemed laced with violet in the warm light. He couldn't place for certain why he was almost disappointed. Preston let his eyes droop, brushing his fingers over her cheek and indulging in her soft skin.

How long had it been since he'd been with a girl, he wondered, dragging the flat of his thumb over her lips. Before the bullshit with the school, before Des Moines... God, it had to have been months, at least.

There was a familiar shame that crept up behind him, past the desire for a bit of harmless fun. What did he have to lose? "You better be," He said. Preston never told her to stare into the corner. Still, he smiled. This girl had no name, and was hardly a face to him, but he found it sweet all the same once his lips met hers.

Oh. Just... oh. You could've cut through the tension with a knife. Maybe it was the smoke, but she swore she could pick up on every breath, every slight movement; you could've heard a pin drop in that electric silence. She felt herself stiffen up under his light touch, his fingers gliding over her cheek, leaving a trail of tingles that sent sparks racing up her spine. Her heart rate picked up, badum badum, drumming in her chest as his thumb brushed over her lips, not daring to breathe. Right now, she couldn't put two and two together, or think, or move, she was dumb, deaf, and paralyzed until he leaned forward to press his lips against hers.

The first thing to hit her, even before the shock, was a racing thrill that shivered up her back. She didn't move, she didn't even close her eyes, but she didn't stop him. An old face flashed through her head, and a pang of shame cut into her heart, cold as a blade, red hot guilt washing down over her body, but she still let him kiss her, and the face melted away as she focused on the sensation. Hey, he wasn't the only person she'd kissed. He wasn't even the first. Fuck, he wasn't even her last. How many was she working her way up to? Four? Maybe five or six, depending on how you counted.

She never would've guessed that when she'd first stepped through those gates, the first time she'd bumped into a stranger with a fish tank in her hands, but maybe that was just growing up. Maybe that was moving on. It still hurt, but she couldn't latch onto a person like that, build herself around someone like that. Even if they weren't separated by an ocean anymore, whatever they had, was it even worth remembering?

Preston didn't even remember her name, and neither did anyone else.

Did she want this? If she didn't, she didn't move. She didn't know what she wanted anymore, just something to fill the numbing void in the pit of her stomach. Evelyn broke off the kiss, but they were still nose to nose, there breaths mingling, and she didn't pull away.

Her head was spinning, her face was tingling, her palms were sweating, but if that was the drink, the smoke, the adrenaline, a mixed cocktail of the three, she couldn't say. All she knew was that she didn't move, and she didn't speak, she just kept her gaze lowered, her eyes tracing the outline of his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, moving down his chest. The rest she forgot, the studio and the rest of the world, none of it existed outside of their little piano bench, an island among the clutter. She finally raised one hand, half hidden in her jacket sleeve, resting it over the back of the hand cupping her face. Even she didn't know what she was trying to say, except that it wasn't 'no.'

He continued to see nothing but darkness as she pulled away, leaving him with the bitter bite of liquor and cheap lipstick left behind. Preston relished in the taste, savoring the way her skin brushed beneath her fingers and the warmth of her breath against his cheek. She wasn't moving, but he wasn't surprised to find that he'd caught her do off guard. Seeing as he was yet to be shoved away, he immediately took this as a positive side and let his mind wander away from him.

How sweet it be to taste her skin and bite away at her neck. Fuck, he wasn't sure if he'd ever done anything quite as tricky before on a god damned piano bench of all places, but it would be good in trying. He knew better to be completely rash, and did well to quell that restless feeling that relentlessly stirred him, already having his next five or six moves planned out before she even thought to come back around.

Pres' eyes slit open, watching with a lazy gaze as she placed her hands over his. It was such a nimble feeling, so soft and gentle. He froze, not entirely certain why. After waiting such a long time for an opportunity like this, he was practically on cloud nine. What the fuck was wrong with him now?
Why was he thinking of her now, of all times, God damnit?
The young man fought back a small grimace, pushing his own thoughts out of his mind, burning them away with his worries. He longed for nothing more for a brief thrill, a chance to escape. He'd felt guilty for so many damned things lately. He didn't need to see her face on top of all the other shit for no reason. "Hey now," the Autumn laughed through a bitter smile, hooking the back of her neck with his arm so she couldn't quite sqiurm away from him again. "No need for that."

He pushed another kiss onto her, tearing his hand away from her and gripping down at her waist. He hardly gave himself any time to breath before he'd carried on with his jumbled plans. Albiet a bit messily, his lips had started to carve out their trail, grazing down the side of her cheek.

She forced a smile but didn't meet his eyes. Green eyes, not gold, and his smile didn't have the same warmth. Evelyn just sat there as he slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close, and this time, she kissed him back. Forgotten and familiar tingles, sparks bursting between them when their lips met, a slip of tongue. Maybe it was the smoke, but it felt different than normal. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had to wonder if she'd ever kissed someone sober. All her old memories faded as she let a shaking hand wander toward his chest, dragging a light trail down his shirt, letting her other hand move around toward his back.

More than the guilt, more than the thrill, she just felt numb. A dull dead weight that buried all the rest. She sighed as their lips moved apart again, his sloppy kisses tracing down her cheek.

The rest didn't matter.