Listen to Your Heart

The room was dark, the only light coming from the beautiful Tiffany lamp on the night stand by the huge California King bed. A single pillow lie on the surface of the bare mattress, the sheets and other head rests strewn across the carpeted floor.

No light shown in from the windows, not the street lamp out on the corner, or the sliver of moon beam that normally cast eerie glows on the interior of homes like this one.

It was a large, elaborate Victorian house on the outskirts of town. The entire front face of the house was covered almost entirely with glass; huge bay windows that gave direct views into the pristine manner of the inside of the home itself. The houses neighboring this one were small in comparison, yet the noise and eruption going on within its walls was unimaginable.

Clothes were scattered across the carpeted floor of the bedroom upstairs, making it impossible for a person to walk across without stepping on someone’s pants. A pair of pale pink underwear was hanging from the doorknob, hiding a brown leather belt wrapped three times around the golden knob. Two pairs of shoes--navy blue sneakers and a single pair of black kitten heels--sat in an uneven, asymmetrical pile near the door, covered with a slim fit top with a fresh hole ripped by the neck line.

A lone bottle of wine lay on the bureau, tipped on its side, the little left of its contents in a puddle by the mouth. A charm bracelet lie in the puddle of sticky wine, the small, intricate charms most likely rusting from the liquid caressing their braces.

I sat quietly near the foot of the bed, my raven head pressed against the down comforter hanging off the edge. I pulled my knees tight to my naked chest, resting my bony elbows on top of them. My face and cheeks were splattered with the sticky moisture of both sweat and tears. I blew my bangs out of my swollen eyes with soft, even breaths through pursed lips, continuously allowing the short pieces of hair to blind my vision again and again, before shooing them away once more.

I was freezing, halting my shivers until I found the right time to get dressed. My feet piled on top of each other in order to stay warm, looking as if they were wrestling on the soft surface of the light colored carpet.

I was feeling many things at once; from disgust, to hurt, to a complete and utter loneliness and abandonment that left a sinking feeling in the pit of my churning stomach. And I felt absolutely disgusting; dirty, protruding. My hair was a disheveled mess, the sleek black strands knotted and twisted into an awful knot of tangles. Not only that, but the makeup that I had so carefully layered on just a few hours before was smeared down my face, streaked by sweat and the effects of my crying.

“Scarlett.” The tall, muscular boy in the corner of the room tugged on his jeans, pulling them up his long legs forcefully.

I stayed quiet, reaching for my shirt, and only glancing at him innocently from afar.

When I went without answering, he sighed before he added bitterly, “Stop crying and get dressed.” I am getting dressed, I wanted to say. But there was no need for fighting with him. Not now, anyway. Anything that I said would just make it much, much worse--if the situation I was in could get any worse. So I didn’t say anything, keeping my lips sealed as I finally pulled my shirt over my head, flipping out my long, ratted hair so that it lay across the fabric adorning my back.

The boy’s soft, golden flesh glittered with sweat, choppy blonde hair hanging wet in his green eyes. He finished pulling up his pants, buttoning the clasp in the front before searching the room for his belt. I watched him from the floor, my ice blue eyes following his figure as he picked up random blankets and sheets, searching for the remainders of his clothes.

He was a gorgeous man, barley eighteen years old and already resembling some handsome actor that I could not put a name to. This boy, the one that I was watching so intently, the one that I had spent the last two hours of my life with, the one that had absentmindedly stolen something for me that I would never possibly be able to get back, though, was just an average teenage guy. His name was Cedar Straehan, and he, unlike me, was born to be something great.

“Have you seen my belt?” Cedar asked me, pulling his plain white t-shirt out from under the bed and slipping it on. His abdominal muscles looked sleek and firm, his arms stretched high above his head as the fabric of the shirt slowly covered his chest. The sight of him could make a girl drool. Any girl in my high school would have been blessed to be in my place. But I, I soon realized, would be blessed to be anywhere but where I was then.

I nodded, silently answering his question, and pointed one delicate finger toward the bedroom door. He followed the direction that I was indicating, carefully pulling the pink panties--my pink panties, I was sure--from the doorknob before grabbing his belt in hand.

“Put these on.” He threw the underwear in my direction, and they landed on my thigh. I didn’t even give off as much as a flinch for a reaction. Slowly, though, as Cedar slipped his tennis shoes onto his bare feet, I robotically pulled on my panties before eventually finding my skirt lying beside me.

For the first time, as I got to my feet, feeling like a child taking its first steps, I finally heard the noise outside of the room. The music from the DJ booth in the living room on the lower floor of the large Victorian thumped through the door and up from the floor, sending a light vibration through my body. It gave me a jolt; a sudden urge to bob my head to the sound of the music and dance, just as I would have done on any other occasions. Too bad these were different circumstances. But then, there were screams and chatter sounding from close by, making me think twice about even exiting through the main door of the room at all. After all, I was already upset, tired, and too drunk to think straight, let alone stable enough to get myself home. I wasn’t going to be able to walk down the stairs, I feared. I would come out of the room in my stupor, a cheesy, completely fake grin plastered on my face as everyone ooh-ed and awe-ed with their red plastic cups raised into the air. Then, just as things seemed to be doing fine, I’d topple down the wooden staircase of Wendy Harris’s beautiful home, and my life would be instantly ruined--just like that. Yet my actions, and the horrid things that I had done with Cedar Straehan in that bedroom were enough to ruin my life before I even had the chance to do it on my own.

Of course, I hadn’t come to the party alone. I came with my best and only friend, Asher Blake; yet still, making him leave early just because I made a stupid mistake in the midst of self pity was not fair to him at all. He had driven us both here in his mother’s car. He had promised that he would be the designated driver, therefore he wouldn’t consume any alcohol, leaving me with the freedom to down any liquid that I pleased. And so that is exactly what I did. I hadn’t known what would happen once I drank too much, nor who was going to come up to me, slurring his words as he drawled in my ear, “Hey, baby, wanna go upstairs and have some fun?” It still gave me chills to even think about how easily I had said yes to Cedar’s question; how easily I had just given in, breaking any morals that I once had.

It had been almost three days since my mother had passed away. She had been sick for a long time, no cure for the cancerous disease she carried. I had expected her to pass a lot sooner, to be honest, yet having her gone now, forever out of the family picture hurt me more than I could have ever imagined.

“Hurry up or I’m going to open the door,” Cedar suddenly barked in my direction. He was sitting on the bed now, lying backward on the sheets, his arms behind his head. He was getting impatient, I could tell, yet being the stubborn girl that I was, I wanted to keep him waiting.

“I’m trying,” I muttered-a cold-hearted lie-and I very slowly began crawling on my hands and knees in search for my skirt and shoes. Once I found it, it in a pile along with Cedar’s socks, I slipped the little skirt on over my underwear. I was still oblivious as to where my bra had disappeared to, but I didn’t care at all.

“God damn it, Scarlett,” Cedar said again. He got to his feet, swiftly sauntering toward the door. “I want to go now.” As if I hadn’t been trying to get dressed as he said this. But I still remained quiet, watching as he reached for the doorknob, his fingers lingering on the cool metal.

He stood there for several silent minutes, staring blankly at the wood of the door, until finally turning back to me, his eyebrows knitting together. His eyes stayed on my own, and I looked back at him, confusion crossing my features.

“What?” I asked softly. I was still on the ground, in the perfect position to either be kicked square in the face or spit on, but when Cedar only continued to stare, I slowly got to my feet and repeated my previous question. “What is it, Cedar?”

Blankly, no emotion in his voice at all, he responded. His voice was low and icy--bitter. “We’re done after tonight, okay?”

His words hit me hard in the chest, making my heart sink. I didn’t even like this boy. The only reason that I was here with him, in this room-Wendy Harris’s bedroom, to be exact-all alone, searching for my undergarments, was because I felt sorry for myself. I forced myself into a dumb party, consumed way too much alcohol, and ended up here; with Cedar Straehan, with my dumb broken heart.

But still, knowing that he was right, I nodded, muttering a petite “okay” before standing straight up and brushing the invisible dirt from the backside of my skirt. After all, there was no need to argue. He was right. No matter how much I hated to admit it, Cedar was just right. We were two completely different people. Cedar was popular; gorgeous and talented and loved by everyone. I was a nobody. I had one real friend, a father who barely knew that I existed, a step-mother that would rather see me dead than alive and ruining all of our lives in the process, a baby sister with a horrid future ahead of her, and absolutely no way to become something even remotely extraordinary later on in life. I was just Scarlett, while Cedar was something much, much greater; something that I could only dream of being.

After those words, he didn’t look at me again. He simply sighed, unlatching the door and pushing it open, the noise flooding the room and both of our ears almost immediately.

“You’re the man, Straehan!” Some random guy from the hallway, a beer bottle in his hand yelled out, giving Cedar a firm high-five as he made his way into the crowded hall, shoving his hands far into the pockets of his jeans. He tossed his head swiftly, beads of sweat flying from the tips of his golden hair to the faces of the crowd as they continued to cheer, shouting out random things at him.

I stayed cowered in the doorway, halfway in the room, halfway out, scared for my life. If only my mother was still alive. She would know exactly what to do and say when I arrived home in this drunken, upset state. But then again, if my mother was still alive and breathing, I wouldn’t have even been in this situation--walking out of this room with Cedar Straehan--in the first place.

But as soon as Cedar’s muscular figure disappeared around the corner, all of the wandering eyes turned to me. A quiet silence filled the air, the only noise still being that quiet, vibrating thump of the bass from the music below.

It felt as if my feet were glued to the floor. I had yet to put my shoes back on, so my kitten heels were dangling from their straps in one of my hands. Using every ounce of energy and strength that I had, I stepped out of the doorway and into the chaos. “Can I be next, sweetie?” A voice drawled in my ear as soon as I staggered into the hall, closing the door behind me. Hot, stinky breath hit my face and I cringed, pushing away a little faster.

My heart was racing, my skin was crawling, and my nerves were on edge. I didn’t know exactly what these people thought of me, but I had a pretty good idea. They were all my classmates, kids that I had been going to school with for what seemed like forever. There was Jerry Hainan, who sat behind me in Physics class. Then there was Bella Grayson, a pretty redhead that hid out in the library during the lunch period in order to avoid being picked on. It was as if this party, this one Saturday night, had brought out a different side in everybody. Instead of huddling behind his science book, picking his nose and hoping he didn’t get a swirly once he left the classroom, Jerry held a red plastic cup in one of his dirty hands, an inebriated grin plastered onto his cherry red cheeks. And Bella wasn’t hiding away, clad in her usual khaki pants and cardigan sweater sets. Now, she was in the arms of a tall boy with broad shoulders and biceps as big around as her tiny waist, and she looked absolutely stunning. Then of course, there was me. Instead of being the quiet wallflower that didn’t speak to anybody other than Asher Blake, instead of being ignored by everyone, I was suddenly the center of attention. Yet this attention was something that I could have lived without. Girls gave me dirty looks, their eyes following me in disgust, as the boys either snickered at me or tried to touch me as I passed.

I kept my head down, staring at my bare feet, the tears welling in my eyes, beginning to drip down my creamy cheeks as the tension cut at my tender flesh like a knife. Nearing the end of the hallway, I looked up to see the entrance into the crowded den, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

Finally, freedom.

But of course, there was another obstacle in my way. Just beyond Bella Grayson and the huge guy behind her, stood my worst nightmare. She was tall, even taller in her stilettos, and her long strawberry blonde curls trailed down her back, falling around her thin shoulders. She was wearing a small little dress the color of the sky, a tattoo the shape of a butterfly showing just behind one of the straps.

I only looked up after hearing that light, devious snicker, turning my gaze to the right, and meeting those narrowed, blue eyes. Alaura Sylver glared at me, her long fingernails digging into the sides of the cup in her hand.

She looked gorgeous and intimidating as always, her eyes shooting daggers through my own. Anya Raice stood at her side, her long black hair twisted into a ballerina-like bun on the top of her head. Her spindly arms were crossed over her chest, a silver cross necklace dangling from around her neck. She had a look upon her face nearly identical to Alaura’s, and I could tell that she was doing her best to hold in laughter.

Ever since I could remember, Alaura Sylver and Cedar Straehan had been a couple. Just recently, though, they had decided to take a “break”. Technically, I thought to myself, staring back at Alaura’s glare, Cedar didn’t cheat on this pretty girl. No, he only betrayed her, putting me into a terrible situation. But the reality of it all was rather scary. Here I was, small and vulnerable, as the two most popular girls in school stood in front of me, one of which was in love with the boy whom I had just followed out of a bedroom. I was in deep trouble.

But before I could say anything, before I could try to plead my case or explain to Alaura how sorry I was, she did something that beat me to it. Extending one slender arm above my pounding head, Alaura smirked before gracefully tipping that full cup of frothy beer.

I gasped, looking up just as the freezing liquid spilled over my head, hitting me like a thousand pellets of ice. I let out a scream, turning to Alaura with my mouth gaped wide.

Yet Alaura only continued to glare, muttering only one word before turning on her heels with Anya on her tail: “Tramp.”

The crowd erupted into a sea of laughter, and suddenly the music seemed to get louder, as the people in the hall began to filter out slowly, shoving me between the packed bodies as they did so.

And then, everything hit me at once. I was ashamed of myself, now knowing that what I had just done was nothing but a mistake--one that I wanted nothing more than to take back.

Quickly, ignoring the laughs and the nasty remarks of the people who had stuck around, surrounding me as they taunted me, the fingers pointing in my direction, I ran as fast as I could toward the winding staircase. I was sobbing, and I pushed past the random passerby, enjoying their time at the party, searching for one person, and one person only.

Once in the living room, dozens of eyes flew to me, whispers cascading around me. Of course, why wouldn’t they whisper? Why wouldn’t they stare? I was drenched in beer, my hair soaked and my clothes ruined. I looked like a complete nutcase. I fit Alaura’s awful term exactly. Because at that moment, I did feel like a tramp. So above the crowd, above the noise and the music, I yelled out, “Asher!”

Immediately, those soft brown eyes turned away from the DJ booth, landing on my soaking wet figure. His hands dropped to his sides, his jaw falling open. “Scar?” he said in disbelief. He sat down his glass without a word to the group he had been talking to and ran over to me, quickly taking me up into his arms. “What the hell happened?”

But I couldn’t tell him, not then anyway. All I wanted at that moment was to be in that one place that would never be the same to me again; home. I couldn’t go there, though. Not like this. My father would do nothing but question me, my step-mother would criticize me, and my baby sister… I couldn’t even think of how to explain it.

I cried into the shoulder of Asher Blake--my best friend--as he lifted me up into his strong arms and carried me away from the party and the mess that I had left behind, holding me close to his fit chest.

“It will be alright, Scarlett,” he mumbled into my hair, sliding past the tightly crammed bodies until finally stepping out into the cool night air.

He slid me into the front seat of his mother’s car, not another word said, nor a question asked. With a throbbing in my skull, I looked up at him and said quietly, knowing for a fact that he was most definitely the best friend a girl could ever ask for, “Thank you, Ash.”

He forced a smile, running around the front end of the vehicle and climbing into the driver’s seat. “Anything for you, Scar,” he replied, putting the key into the ignition and swiftly starting the car. “I’m always here for you; you know that.”

I didn’t say anything back. I just lay my head into the seat of the Lincoln and brought my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms tight around them. But I don’t think he had expected me to say anything. So I stayed quiet, closing my eyes and listening to the sound of the radio as we drove off into the night, side by side, just two best friends against the world.