Normal

Near that looming building they’ve deemed a school, made up of linoleum tile, wasted time and swirling gossip, there is a path. Up the concoction of crushed gravel and dirt, as it winds through the unkempt grass that’s decorated by the last of morning dew, there are a few picnic tables. Names are engraved into the faded wood that’s endured the harshest of weather, along with pointless song lyrics and the occasional penis.

Vicki sits in the one nearest to the faded blue doors, Olimpia opposite to her. Others dabble about, chatting with their friends and devouring their lunches. It’s a Thursday and the excitement of the weekend is beginning to crawl into their minds.

“So,” Olimpia begins, a grin blossoming across her face as her shoulders rise to her ears.

Vicki hums, peeling the saran wrap off her ham and cheese sandwich with a slight smile. She can see the girl’s brown eyes glistening with delight, body squirming with confined mysteries begging to be released. It amuses her. Olimpia always amuses her; she’s an amusing person.

That’s why they're friends.

“Today, I was walking to my English class, and then out of no where I bump into someone. For a moment I was like, what the hell? But then it was like something sparked through me!” She leans in closer, bringing her knuckles towards her chest as if her words are secrets, never to reach the minds of their peers. Even though, her voice is loud, destroying this notion.

The surrounding teens have learned to tune this girl out; they already know that she’s quite frankly obsessed- at this point whatever antics she pulls are no surprise. They wonder why a girl like Vicki, quiet and keeps to herself, is friends with her.

It’s an odd friendship they have. It’s not one easily explained, but she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t need to talk; this girl does enough for the both of them.

“Was it Jules?” Vicki asks, as if she doesn’t already know. But she does, because that’s who most of their conversations revolve around most of the time.

Olimpia nods her head vigorously, eyes sparkling. “You know how in the movies girls gush about all that romantic crap? It’s actually true! It was like electricity zapped up my arm!” She sighs, content. Pure adoration is drowning in her gaze.

Vicki sometimes finds herself wondering how her friend could be so easily consumed by bliss over the simplest things. It’s nice though, to think of her life, so pure and untroubled.

Maybe that’s why she’s friends with her, it let’s her almost live like that, so innocent.

Above them the sky is a grey, not a hint of blue or an echo of sunlight present, simply bleak clouds draping above them. Vicki finds herself comforted by this, though, and enjoys the lack of rays licking against her skin.

There is no rain, though. It doesn’t rain often.

“Did you give it back?” she asks, and they both know what she’s talking about as her teeth pierce the bread and her taste buds are greeted by one of her favourite flavours. Her mind immediately thinks of another favourite taste, another rush that she’s quite familiar with. Her lips curl.

Olimpia fails to notice. “Yeah, it just didn’t feel like him anymore.” She shrugs, indifferent. Then her eyes grow wide and shock floods onto her face. “Oh shit! I forget to tell you! It was so scary; I was putting his sweater back during fourth yesterday because whatever, everyone was in class, when Wyatt just popped out of no where!”

Vicki’s interest is piqued, she knows who Wyatt is. The way that she pauses eating and their eyes meet, the silent question is sent.

“I played it cool, obviously, but I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest! Anyways, at least I think he bought it when I told him I found it.” She seems to be reliving the entire ordeal, visibly relaxing and what seems to be relief in her voice as she retells it.

Vicki doesn’t hear from Wyatt often, all she knows is that he’s Jules’ friend. They don’t seem like the type to be friends. But then again, she and Olimpia didn’t seem like the type either.

Olimpia’s about to continue, lips parted, when a giggle pierces through the air, capturing both of their attentions. It’s loud and new and not what they’ve heard before, and Vicki finds herself turning towards the new voice. At Riverview High, there isn’t a lot of new.

Jules has appeared, when she’s not sure of because this is the type of thing Olimpia’s quite aware of. Even she appears shocked, eyebrows furrowing as she takes in the sight. Most often Jules is a boy who makes his presence known, it's odd that he sneaked up on them.

There’s a girl with Jules, and Wyatt too. Only two tables away, the blond is sitting on top of the table and Wyatt’s on one of the benches. Both of them are concentrated on the girl with golden hair and a pale pink scarf.

“Who is she?” Olimpia whispers, eyes narrowed into a glare. She doesn’t appear to like this girl much. She doesn’t like most girls who're with Jules, though.

Vicki shrugs, searching her memory to find that the girl’s face she’s never seen before. And how her eyes are so green and her skin so smooth, this girl isn’t someone that’s easily forgotten.

“I bet it’s that new chick, the one everyone said was pretty. She is pretty.” The way that her lips spit out the statement, Vicki can tell she’s not pleased.

Vicki doesn’t know what to think either, and can only feel morbid curiosity swimming along with the stomach acid behind her ribs.

They both return back to facing each other, in a ploy of not looking too obvious, but Vicki can see Olimpia’s gaze falling over her shoulder. Her mouth is pressed tightly together and her hands are balled into tight fists, resting against the tabletop.

“She’s not that pretty,” Vicki tries to reassure the girl, finding that even she isn’t convinced.

A moment of silence floods between them, and they can hear Jules' voice.

"So, Savannah, right?" he asks.

"Yup," she confirms.

Vicki's heard the name Savannah before, belonging to a middle-aged woman who jumped off the roof of her house. It had been plastered all over the news, she remembered. As well that her uncle had some sort of connection to the woman's husband. It's not that surprising that she'd killed herself, considering.

Somehow though, the name suits the girl.

A deep breath is heard and Vicki looks to see Olimpia relax her hands. “She’s gone now, that seemed to be pretty quick.”

Vicki takes a glance to see the two retreating figures; the mystery girl has disappeared into thin air. A sense of relief also washes over her, why, she’s not sure of.

“He probably shooed her off like everyone else,” Vicki suggests, a little part of her hopes that Olimpia will take it.

While she is innocent and pure, Vicki does not doubt the actions that could follow if Jules took some sort of interest in this girl. Olimpia’s creative and there’s an unmistakable passion behind her teeth, a lethal combination in one single girl. Damage could be done, painful damage.

But the smile on her lips portrays anything but as she bites down into a strawberry and laughs. “Probably, he has to save himself for the moment I confess.”

“Oh, and how’s that going?”

The grin toying on her lips is delightful. “Well I tried out the numbers this morning- which is why I was late for first- and I got them right. Operation Confession is a go tomorrow.”

There’s a glint in her eye, easy to miss but Vicki doesn’t. She catches it.

And it’s not innocent or pure or untroubled at all.
.
.
.
.

Her heart’s beating steadily in her chest to the rhythm of the music, crawling across her skin and into her pores. Vicki can feel the string of beats consume her, and as her eyelids collapse and black paints across her vision, all she can feel is the melody.

The aroma of sex, sweat and cigarette smoke greets her as she opens her eyes and takes a few steps down the wooden stairs, settling herself not too far from the bottom. She peeks through the railing to be met with a familiar sight, and she can feel the smile twist onto her lips.

There is a bar off to the right, a few of the men gather round and take dignified sips of their drinks, eyes grazing over the bodies of scantily dressed women. A stage is set in the middle and the smoke bleeding past the veteran’s lips are coiling in the stale air.

Seated in one of the chairs she can make out a familiar face, with a scruffy chin and dark hair atop his head. Mid-thirties at the most, with a smile that took her breath away, his name is Mark. Her heart begins to accelerate at the thought of his fingertips brushing against her collarbone, his kisses trailing across her throat.

A blush spills across her cheeks as the memories revive themselves. He’s so relaxed, a beer between his fingers as he eyes the big-breasted blonde woman, Marissa, advancing towards him. That woman means nothing to him, nothing important at all. Only another cheap skank.

She can still hear his husky whispers floating into her ears; his sweet words sweep across her skin. Vicki means something.

As her eyes roll over the room, she’s met with a pair of black just like her own, narrowed. She recognizes her uncle’s features as a hand points upwards, sending a dangerous message. She nods and scampers up the stairs quickly, ripping the thoughts of that man from her mind.

Her feet pound against the wood as she returns back to her room, the darkness too thick to make out anything. Once she’s safely in the comforts of her sanctuary, she flips the light switch on to reveal an old bed, a chipping vanity and filthy dresser.

Her body falls onto the comforts of her sheets, her mind still twirling. With each breath the dust tickles in the back of her throat. She reminds herself that the weekend is coming soon, and her stomach churns at the thought. So close yet so far away, her hunger is beginning to devour her mind.

Just one little indulgence, that’s all she needs.

Vicki sighs. Her body aches for his touch.

As her fingertips run underneath the frame of the bed, the sharp prick of skin sends shivers dancing down her spine. She lifts her hand to see the ruby droplets staining her fingers, slowly trailing into her palm.

A smile graces her mouth before bringing it to her lips, allowing the edge of her tongue to wipe across.

Her favourite taste, second only to his skin.