It's A Shame I'm A Dream

It was nearly eleven-thirty when Aiden remembered the rager David Samson had promised at his house. He’d been lying in bed, wasting away his life staring at the ceiling and pondering Taylor’s letters. He finally got a text from Chase – Where are you? Everyone’s wondering.

He swung out of bed and landed catlike on his toes, straining his ears. The moon hung eerily outside his window in a blanket of navy velvet. His curfew was usually three in the morning, but it was unspoken by his mother nowadays not to go out too late. She was a lot more cross and snapped at every loud noise. However, the house was unearthly quiet, and Aiden suspected Brad had done a little sneaking around himself.

Texting Chase back, he pulled on a black shirt and red skinnies. From under his bed he grabbed his black high-top Vans and slipped out the side door, because the front door chose inconvenient occasions to squeak.

The walk to David’s house was fairly short – twenty minutes and accompanied by the moon. Thumping bass beats preceded the sight of the actual party. David’s house was two-stories and vintage crimson brick. Aiden was amazed it hadn’t fallen over yet, what with all the parties he threw.

Out on the lawn people milled around, stoned or hooking up. The wispy fog leaking out of the front door and spilling into the neighborhood reminded Aiden unintentionally of Taylor’s party she’d written about. He shook his head disgustedly – time to get that freshman out of his head and start living his junior year normally again.

Aiden shouldered his way past a couple groping each other in the plants by the front door. The inside of the house wasn’t a greater relief – if anything, it was louder, smokier, more crowded.

Better.

He watched a fellow junior girl he didn’t know the name of saunter into the kitchen in an aqua blue tube top and grey miniskirt. She looked up from beneath her blunt black bangs and winked, not the least bit drunk. Aiden was about to follow when Chase appeared at his elbow.

“Glad you made it, man!” he shouted to be heard. In hand was a bottle of beer with the label ripped off.

Aiden glanced after the girl but she’d disappeared into the kitchen. “Yeah, me, too. You saved me from sitting at home, bored out of my mind.”

“Thank me later,” Chase replied airily. “But for right now –” He thrust a sweating beer into Aiden’s hand, clapped him once on the back, and was lost in the crowd.

The beer was deliciously cold as it slithered down Aiden’s throat. A few sips and his mind was smoothing over nicely. He nodded to guys as they passed, stared openly and suggestively at girls but not making a move.

He was leaning on the rail bordering the staircase and lower floor, wondering where David was, when there was breathing in his ear.

“Hey.” Her word tickled. He turned his head and recognized the girl from earlier, drawing back.

“Hey,” he replied easily, tossing the empty beer bottle into a fake plant behind him.

“Aiden, right?” They maneuvered through the huddles packing the stairwell until they could stand without being smothered, on the second story it seemed. Aiden couldn’t stop registering how big her eyes were, bright blue and kohl-lined, beautiful hiding behind her bags and matching her top.

She blinked. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Sorry…I don't know your name.” He racked his floating brains for how he could have ever not noticed her.

“Skylar,” she said, looking kind of embarrassed. “I’m a junior, too.”

“Yeah, no, I know, I’ve seen you around,” said Aiden hastily.

There was an awkward silence filled with jumping synthesisers and drunken laughter.

“So, uh –”

“I can, uh, go –”

“No, sorry,” said Aiden, impulsively taking her forearm. Skylar glanced at him, puzzled. Something, possibly the glowing bubble encasing his brain, compelled him to continue. “Let’s just –” He motioned to further upstairs.

The wrong interpretation was strikingly obvious, but Skylar ignored it. “Okay.” They peeked into a bedroom, and once it was proclaimed empty, they shut the door. Skylar flipped the light switch.

It was a child’s room, that of a young girl’s, with a wardrobe decked in stuffed animals and figurines. Thankfully the bedsheets were white and not pink, which made Aiden more comfortable as he collapsed onto them. Skylar perched under the dim ceiling light beside him.

The buzz of the alcohol was still present, inviting Aiden to bask in its glory. So he rolled to Skylar’s side, wrapping her small body in his arms and attempting to push all thoughts out of his mind. He lowered his lips onto hers.

At first she was hesitant. She was slow, her mouth hardly moving, and it was a nice sensation. But Aiden, lost in his storm of alcohol happiness and death’s pain, pulled her closer, needed her tighter to his body. His legs explored of their own accord, winding – between – slender legs – his lips moved faster – against – perfect – coral lips – his hands tangled in – long – chestnut hair –

– crystalline eyes he was so lucky to see –

Aiden gasped and forcibly tore away, retreating to the other end of the child's bed. His body trembled, hot, needy, desperate, scared. The zipper of his jeans felt tight and he silently begged it to go away. Skylar's expression was utterly shocked; yet she seemed unfazed by what he’d just done.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shakily. Was this the part where she slapped him and called him a jerk? Some insistent part of him wanted to resume what he’d been doing, but dive deeper, kill the lights, satisfy this anxious hunger.

“Okay,” Skylar said at last. That was all. She readjusted her clothes, shot him a purely sympathetic look, and left.

Aiden buried his face into the child’s covers, groaning and sober. What the hell had just happened?