For She is Death

It was such a crappy day out. There was a torrential downpour and the sun wasn't even out the slightest. Thunder and lightning kept sounding and appearing everywhere, scaring me out of my own skin.

I was surprised to come home and see the FOR SALE sign next door taken down. I had no idea how real estate agents worked, but if they could get someone to buy a house in this crummy weather, they were considered to be pretty good to me.

I was smoking a cigarette on my front porch with my best friend, Belle, when I first saw her. She was the palest person I'd ever seen but she still had a faint pinkness to her bony cheeks. She was a tiny little thing too--I had no idea how she wasn't freezing in her mere hoody, jeans, and moccasins. She was in all black though, a great contrast from her milky white skin. Even her long, layered hair was black. But her eyes were the bluest blue I'd ever seen. I could compare them to sapphires, but that'd be an insult. I could see their intensity very clearly and she wasn't even directly in front of me; she was at the curb of the driveway, at least ten meters from my porch.

I think Belle immediately noticed my trance and glanced over at the girl.

She was standing solemnly in the rain, her hands in her pockets, staring at the pale yellow house in front of her. Her expression was unreadable. She seemed to be focusing on something but I was unsure of what.

Belle grunted. "Looks like you're getting in someone's pants tonight."

The girl's expression immediately flickered, but she trailed up the cement walkway and into the house, leaving my sight before I could study her more.

I pursed my lips. "Nah. She's cute but she definitely seems like she'd play hard-to-get."

Belle rolled her eyes, taking a drag from her cigarette. "Too bad that's never stopped you before."

I rolled my eyes back at her. "I'm an eighteen-year-old guy, okay? Cut me some slack."

She scoffed. "Yeah, okay."

I inhaled a drag from my own cigarette and watched the rain continue to drench the suburbs of Sheffield. It was bad weather, but after seeing that girl's face, it seemed to get better. Or brighter, at least.

The rest of the day wasn't too interesting or extraordinary. It consisted of smoking and drinking with Belle. It was a Friday night and we wanted something to do. There were no shows going on, so our only hope for fun was to get un-sober. The brilliant plan of the day was asking her brother, Daryl, to pick us up some booze and bud.

Usually, my illegal habits were rather entertaining to me. Belle would always get drunk enough to the point where she'd take off all her clothes and start dancing to random songs I hated but couldn't help but like at that moment--songs like 'Break Your Heart' by Taio Cruz or 'Sexy Bitch' by Akon and David Guetta. Good songs to watch a girl grind to; absolutely awful songs to listen to on a regular basis.

This time was different though. I didn't get very high--Belle smoked most of the weed--and I hadn't drank that much. I was in that stage where you're just starting to get tipsy, but you're not quite there yet.

In that particular time of inebriation, though, I always used to get turned on by Belle turning into some whore. Her stripping and dancing was nothing new for me. That had been going on since we were thirteen, when we first started drinking. I'd come to expect it. I still couldn't help but think of the girl next door though. I wanted to go ring her doorbell and be one of those creepy but friendly neighbors that makes you a pie as a "welcome to hell" gift.

I started getting claustrophobic, though. It was something that always happened whenever I was in the "in between" stage. I decided I needed to open the window.

I drew open my curtains and struggled to unlock the rusty bronze clasp. I was definitely not sober enough to work the old latches on my window though.

I managed to get it open just in time to see the girl walk into the room next to mine. I remembered it being a nursery for the old neighbors' baby.

Now the room was empty and unfurnished as the girl stood in the doorway, holding a black bag that she solemnly dropped to the floor. She looked like she was sighing. She also looked upset about something and it almost saddened me to see the pained expressions on her face. Had I been completely sober, I probably would've found a way to talk to her and ask her what was wrong.

I sighed and was pleasantly surprised to realize her bedrooom window was close enough for me to knock on. I had never noticed the proximity before.

To be completely honest, if Belle hadn't been there, I would've knocked and struck up a conversation.

The thing that was confusing my almost-drunk and almost-high mind was that Belle wasn't exactly ugly. I'd even admit to having a crush on her for a little bit when I first met her. However, I quickly realized our personalities just didn't click well enough for an intimate relationship--hence, how we became best friends. And honestly, in a state of being tipsy-but-not-quite-drunk-but-definitely-not-even-close-to-sober, she seemed attractive in that way again. I really wanted the other girl to be the one taking her clothes off and drinking and grinding with me, though, but in that state of mind, I had a short attention span and couldn't concentrate long enough to think of a way to invite the girl over.

Besides, it was a whole lot easier to keep throwing shots until Belle became the girl next door, rather than leave my room and try to act 100% sober when everyone on the planet knew I was far from it.