Glass Cutter

Four full days had passed since Bring Me The Horizon’s fateful Bellingham show, and Oliver Sykes was nowhere to be found. The show had been on a Friday night, so when Saturday and Sunday passed that I hadn’t heard from him, anger still carried me more than anything else; but when Monday had come and gone, followed by Tuesday, and he hadn’t been to school for either day, worry began to creep into my fury.

I had been passing the days with Alex’s text messages to accompany me and secure my heartbroken sanity—and for that, my hurt was kept in check and refrained from reaching out to Oliver—but when the entire school day came to an end on Wednesday afternoon without any word from him, I couldn’t stop my fingers from clicking the buttons to maneuver my contact list down to his name.

I didn’t know what to say to him. I had half a mind to call him and scream at him about how I’d caught onto his entire fallacy, but my other half wanted to beg him for sincerity. To satisfy both needs, I just typed a quick text as I made my way to the school parking lot, saying, Oliver?

A second passed before I got a response, and my heart skipped a beat at the notion that he’d responded—but my excitement was unfounded because an automated text had been sent to me instead, informing me that his number was no longer in service. The rage flowed through my blood. How could he have been so gutless as to change his number and make it impossible to face me?

Just a moment later, I was dialing Alex’s number. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, anger and frustration running rampant through me. I’d never had to deal with such an emotion before Oliver Sykes; and I was suddenly reminded of why I’d never before given anyone else a chance to have me so intimately—because boys had reputations of breaking girls’ hearts.

Alex answered my call after two rings. “Hey,” he greeted happily. “You just get out of class?”

“Yeah,” I answered dryly. I wasn’t sure why I’d called him, but the soft sound of his voice seemed comforting. He was a friend, after all—and a real friend, not one like Delilah or Rayne.

The other idea swarming my head, though, and therefore the other reason for calling him, was that he’d dealt with breakups before, so he had to have known the next step I could take.

“I texted Oliver,” I declared. “He disconnected his phone—go figure.”

Alex snorted into the other end, sort of half laughing and half scoffing. “What made you even text him?” I could sense his disappointment in me.

Conversations with Alex had consistently been filled with advice for me to refrain from presenting myself as desperate to Oliver. I felt like I would’ve done anything in the world to win Oliver Sykes’ sincere affection—ironically enough, just like every other girl in Menlo—but lucky for me, Alex had been around the block enough times to be able to tell me that to certain people, that adoration would undoubtedly be mistaken for weakness; and as heartbreaking as it was, Oliver Sykes was one of those people that would abuse it.

“He hasn’t been to school all week,” I finally replied as I unlocked my car and sat down in the driver’s seat. I slid my key into the ignition, set the heat on its highest settings to shelter me from late January’s merciless cold, and laid my head against the tan-colored seat beneath me. “I’m a little worried about him.”

I was fairly positive that no one besides Oliver’s closest friends and me knew about his heroin habit, but that one factor was probably what was concerning me most. What if he’d been sitting in a jail cell with Jordan or another one of his friends—or worse, what if he’d overdone it all and hurt himself?

“With the way Delilah made him sound, I’d kind of figure he never goes,” Alex replied coolly.

I felt my eyes warm as I rolled them. Of course she’d made Oliver sound as bad as she possibly could.

“What do I do, Alex?” I finally asked after a second of silence. My voice was low with the threat of hysteria on its tip. How had my life turned around so quickly? It felt like it had all happened overnight, like not even a single hint had ever been offered to foretell me of the coming disaster that was my relationship with Oliver Sykes.

I listened to Alex let out a long sigh, his breath sounding like static on the other line. “I wish I could tell you, Amanda;” and the sincerity in his voice—as if he could really feel the pain of my heartbreak—was almost enough to lighten my misery.

“I’ve never gone through anything like this before.” His voice was soft and soothing to my ears. “The worst experience I’ve ever had with a girl was when this one bitch told me I got her pregnant when she wasn’t—and I thought that was the worst thing ever as it was happening. Now, I’d give anything to have everything be so simple.”

I wiped the few stray tears that had fallen onto my cheeks away with the tips of my fingers and took a deep breath to try and compose myself. “I wish I could just leave here,” I murmured in response. Literally everything in Menlo reminded me of Oliver—I just wanted to be away from it all.

“Why don’t you come down to Seattle and stay with me for a little while?” Alex offered, seeming to lighten a little with excitement. “You can meet all the guys on my floor and party with everyone in the building. You can get your mind off Oliver, and I can get mine off Delilah. It’ll be a lot of fun.”

The idea swirled around in my head. Nanny Brook’s was closed for the current week and entire next one because she’d been getting some renovations done, plus I wasn’t scheduled to work at the diner that Saturday; and because my mom knew my relationship with Oliver had become less than subpar, I could ask her to just tell the school that I’d be absent for that Thursday and Friday.

What would happen at Alex’s dorm, though? Pettily enough—and despite the fact that it didn’t really even matter anymore—I wondered if he’d be expecting to sleep in the same bed.

My mouth seemed to move before my brain could register much. “Let me stop home and grab some clothes.”

“Awesome!” I could hear the grin in his voice.


By the time I arrived at Alex’s dormitory building that Wednesday night, the sun had already sunken beneath the horizon, and dark shades of purple streaked throughout the indigo sky. The parking lot beside the five-storey limestone building was mostly empty, and the side of Seattle that the university rested in seemed tired at the eight o’clock hour.

Alex had come down from his fifth-storey dorm room and into the courtyard to greet me. He was wearing only a white tee-shirt, tight black jeans, and tan-colored, suede moccasins in the light winter flurries. As he pulled me into a hug, his bright smile and silver lip studs sparkled in the orange hue of the streetlights. His skin was warm and welcomed me to his humble home, known as Mercer Court.

The area was large with four identical buildings at each corner, barren trees scattered all around, and maze-like sidewalks leading in all directions. It was so much to take in all at once—I didn’t know how he could’ve been acting like it was just an everyday kind of home.

He grinned at me as he pulled away from our hug and began leading me to the glass doors of one of the building’s entrances. “You look nice,” he commented, holding the door for me as we stepped into the warm heat of the dormitory lobby.

I simpered back to him. “Thank you.” I hadn’t been aiming to look spectacular in a pair of bleached skinny jeans, rips messily cut into the knees and thighs, and my black combat boots with the frayed laces and dirty scuff marks—plus I was barely even wearing any makeup—but I did appreciate his kindness. Subconsciously, I just wished it was Oliver complimenting me, but Alex’s kind effort was certainly still valued.

After walking through the doors, the lobby of the building felt gigantic with glass walls from floor to ceiling and light, maple wood floors. Students were scattered everywhere, and the electronic beat from a popular radio song ran wildly throughout the atmosphere. The lethargic feeling from the wintry outside had suddenly been lost to the beer cans sitting all around the edges of a pool table and the thin smoke dancing from a blunt held in the hands of a young-looking boy with black hair falling into his eyes.

When I peered at Alex quizzically, he just sheepishly smirked back. “Every night’s a good night for a party in Mercer A,” he offered lightheartedly.

I took a deep breath and just hitched my messenger bag further up my shoulder. Barely anyone had noticed we’d even come inside, but I couldn’t say that I was anything less than relieved by their lacking interest. I kind of wished Alex would’ve at least given me some notice about what to expect concerning his college dormitory.

He loosely slunk his arm over my shoulder and led me towards an elevator around a protruding wall. I didn’t think he was trying to make any advances, but I couldn’t stop my stomach from flipping at his affection. I wanted to be mad at myself for not being disgusted at his touch; but the second I glanced up at his deep blue eyes and caught him already peering down at me with a small smirk on his lips, my mind suddenly drew blank. I forgot where I even was for a moment.

The ding of the elevator brought me back to Earth. I let Alex leave his arm around me even as we stepped into the cubicle and waited to reach the building’s top floor. My mouth felt dry with nerves as I thought about asking him to move. I appreciated his affection and kindness, but a whole wave of nausea had suddenly washed over me from it. I’d never had to reject someone before, but that naivety wasn’t all that had sickened me. What was worse was the fact that I wasn’t even positive I wanted him to move. I felt awful, like I was betraying Oliver.

But Oliver is gone.

Alex’s arm stayed around my shoulders for the entire walk to his room, and I stayed silent. I wasn’t sure what to even say in the first place. He and I weren’t so close like that, where affection could be construed as just sincere friendliness. What was he trying to tell me? Was he even trying to tell me anything, or was I just too immature to be able to understand his actions? He was a college kid, after all—and from what Delilah had said, his twenty-second birthday was coming up in the next month. I was only seventeen. For all I knew, our age difference could’ve been like a universe in terms of affection and friendship.

I almost felt like Dante Alighieri as he passed through Acheron with Virgil, like I was an outsider visiting Mercer Court Building A as a mere wallflower to observe. Of course, the difference was that my visit to the University Of Washington was intended for me to partake in the sins that Alighieri so loathed.

“Make yourself at home,” Alex told me as he made his way to the small, stainless steel fridge on the floor.

I placed my messenger bag onto the hardwood floors at the foot of his full size bed and started to pull down the bronze-colored zipper of my charcoal gray, canvas coat. He handed me a can of Coors Light after hanging my jacket over the back of his black rolling chair stationed at the matching ebony office desk in the corner of the room. I could only smile to him as we cracked our cans open in unison.

Drinking wasn’t a usual habit for me, but as I peered down at the silver can in my hand with its bright red, cursive letters reading Coors, the normally repulsive drink suddenly seemed substantially attractive to me. The words from a song that had been playing on the radio during the course of my ride to Seattle painfully echoed in my head as I studied it. I wanted to break down and cry.

Alex held his can up. “Cheers?” He flashed an award winning smile at me, and my stomach started turning at the mystery of how getting completely wasted would feel in my skin. I wasn’t a stranger to beer or weed, but my extent always respectively stopped at one can and maybe half a hit. The current night was going to be different, though—and that scared me to no end.

I heard the lyrics in my head again; You’re gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.

“Cheers,” I finally replied, clinking my can against his own.

I brought the opened mouth of it to my lips and drank fast. The liquid was bitter, bubbly, and so cold that it stung my throat, but I only just kept pushing it down. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on lining my breaths up with my gulps. It felt like forever might’ve passed, but suddenly the can was empty, and Alex was staring at me with his lips forming a small O in disbelief.

He swallowed hard before finally speaking again. “I think we’re gonna need something stronger for tonight.” He quickly turned to his desk, bent down to reach under it, and straightened back up with a large, unopened bottle filled with a dark brown liquid. The label on it said Peligroso: Tequila Liqueur in capital letters, with cinnamon written underneath in white cursive.

Before I knew it, he was handing me a red Solo cup that was filled a little less than halfway with the tequila. I’d never had such a strong drink before, and from the stinging scent of it so far away from my nose, I wasn’t so sure I wanted any.

I only peered up at him nervously, though, and he stared back at me, saying nothing in response.

Only after a moment of silence and awkward gazes, he held his cup up like he’d done with the can of beer and offered me a sheepish smile.

You’re gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.

I took a deep breath to hold back a flood of emotion before finally hitting the cup to his once more and throwing the liquid to the back of my throat. As soon as it slipped past my tastebuds, I wanted to spit it back out; and then this overwhelming wave of sadness came over me, and I couldn’t bring myself to letting the drink go—so I swallowed it all instead, the entire bit he’d poured into my cup at once.

The second I pulled the cup away from my lips, the room began spinning. Alex giggled with me as I let myself fall back onto his bed. I’d never gotten drunk before visiting the University Of Washington, so I wasn’t entirely sure what it felt like, but by that point, I was pretty positive that I was smashed.

Laughter continued to fill the air of his bedroom for a long while before he took the empty cup out of my hands and refilled it halfway once more. I sat up as he sat down at the edge of the bed, heard him say something about me not throwing up, and kicked back the rest of the tequila he’d given me without a single thought in my mind except that I hoped he had a whole lot more for the rest of the night.


I wasn’t sure what time it was, but the first bottle of tequila had been finished off, and all twelve of the Coors Light cans from Alex’s fridge were gone. Through the large window behind his mattress’ ebony headboard, I could see that the Seattle sky was beginning to lighten. What time was it, and how drunk was I?

At some point between then and the time we’d first started on the tequila, I had lost my boots and sweater—a cream-colored one with long sleeves and a scoop neck—and Alex had gotten rid of his own tee-shirt, as well as changed from his jeans to a pair of baggy, black sweatpants.

We laid out on his bed, my face buried into the warm skin of his ribcage, with his arm stretched across my shoulders. The radio played low on some pop station. The same song that reminded me so painfully of Oliver was playing for at least the third or fourth time by that point. I could hear the words in my head as if they were physical cells in my brain, brushing and tickling the different neurons as they moved. It felt like the girl’s voice was haunting me.

Spend my days locked in a haze, trying to forget you, babe—I fall back down.

I would’ve sworn Alex and I had been laying there for an eternity before one of us finally moved. I felt him take a deep breath beneath me, his chest rising and falling with the motion, and shift his arm. He bent it further than it had been so that he could rest his palm against my ribs, just under the wire of my bra.

My breath caught in my throat as I peered up at him. Like earlier, he was already gazing down at me—only this time, his eyes were red and glassed over with intoxication. I wondered what my own might’ve looked like.

He tightened his grip against me and slid me upwards so that our faces were just an inch or so apart. I felt my heart racing at his advances. I’d never kissed anyone besides Oliver Sykes in my entire life—and I’d never really wanted to, either. I remembered Oliver’s words that one night as we laid in his bed. Promise me you’re gonna avoid as much of the field with Alex as possible; and my heart broke at the promise I wanted to keep.

As Alex peered into me, though, his eyes almost lifeless from the alcohol, and it occurred to me that Oliver was probably doing the same thing with Rayne, I didn’t really fucking care anymore.

You’re gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.

I sat up a little more then and closed the space between Alex and me. After getting used to kissing the same person for so long, it was weird to start doing it with someone else. Oliver had always been easy with me, would let me lead him wherever I wanted to go—but there Alex was, his tongue demanding dominance, and I was too drunk to stop, even without liking it.

His hands ran up over my stomach and to my chest, where he pushed my bra out of the way and began to play with the most sensitive parts of my chest. It was primal for a warm pressure to build in the pit of my stomach at that, but it felt different. I wasn’t sure whether it was because of my inebriation or if it was because of my lacking adoration for Alex Ward, but either way, vengeance burned deep inside of me. If Oliver was going to be intimate with other girls, then I was going to be with other guys.

Alex peeled his lips away from me then and lowered his head to line up with my chest; and before I knew it, he began suckling on me, making all sorts of hormones run wild throughout my body.

He suddenly flipped us, so that I was beneath him and fully under his control, before lowering his head even further down. My lack of experimentation in the intimacy department, multiplied with my drunken mind, left me unable to process much of what he was doing by then—that was until his lazy fingers flicked the button of my jeans open, hooked into the belt loops on either side of my hips, and yanked both my pants and underwear down to my ankles. Confusion was still rampant until he slipped his shoulders between my legs and two fingers inside me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, but before I had time to process anything, I suddenly felt his tongue and gentle teeth tease me in the worst ways possible. There was something about being drunk and turned on, like all the intensity was magnified a million times, yet I was so disgusted. I just couldn’t tell if my half discontent was from actually being drunk or from being heartbroken.

“Alex,” I groaned, clenching my fingernails into the skin of his shoulders. I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to stop or not.

The room began to spin even faster until all I saw was just blurry colors of black, brown, and gray; and all of a sudden, this pressure in my stomach released, and Alex was slipping his fingers out from me. He pulled away from me altogether after placing a few butterfly kisses up to my bellybutton.

We both looked at each other then, and he only offered me a sheepish smirk. I hoped he couldn’t sense my distraction—I didn’t want to offend him.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel good,” he finally said, his speech slurred and eyes lolling in every direction.

I was fairly sure it was meant as a compliment, but disgust and shame continued hitting me harder and harder as he turned away to grab a vodka travel shooter from a black backpack on the floor. It was so nonchalant—the way he’d said it and just went away. It was like I was no one special, and it was just something he’d done to every girl he drank with. I’d never felt like I was a notch in someone’s belt before; and when it had finally occurred to me that I was one yet again, the feeling was almost as bad as the first time it’d hit me with Oliver Sykes.

By that point, I was pretty positive that I’d never been so miserable before in my life; so when Alex excused himself to go to the bathroom, I quickly slipped my boots on, not even bothering to tie them up, pulled my sweater back over my shoulders, grabbed all my belongings in one hand, and darted out of the room and into the elevator without so much as another look back.


I made my way down into the lobby and was relieved to find it empty. I sat down in one of the empty stools at the food bar, where a bunch of muffins and large cookies had been wrapped in plastic and piled up in a large, purple bowl, and placed my messenger bag along with my coat on the floor next to my feet. I plucked a chocolate chip muffin from the top and began unwrapping it when I heard soft footsteps tapping against the hardwood floors behind me.

I cringed as I turned around, praying to whoever might’ve been listening that it wasn’t Alex looking for me, and exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding when I saw it was an unfamiliar boy walking with a lit up iPhone in one hand and a large bottle of Svedka vodka in the other.

Turning back to the muffin in my hands, I picked a small piece off and popped it into my mouth. I merely glanced over when I saw the boy pull a stool out a few feet down from me and pull a sugar cookie out from the blue bowl in front of him.

He peered over to me as he began to unwrap the cookie and raised it up as if in a salute. I nodded once and held my own muffin up to him in return. He gave me a small smile before biting into the cookie and leaving an explosion of crumbs to fall into his lap.

We sat there like that for a while before he finally spoke. “You just start here?” A thick English accent was set into his deep voice.

I shook my head and swallowed the bite I’d had in my mouth. “I’m just visiting,” I answered honestly. I had half a mind to lie to him and make up an entirely new identity for myself, but I figured there was no point in lying when I didn’t have to while I spent most of my time doing it because I chose to.

The boy nodded back to me, pushing some long, blonde strands out of his green eyes. “Me, too.”

I pursed my lips and tried to shake some of the leftover drunkenness from my mind. “When do you go back home?”

He laughed lightly. “Hopefully never, to be honest.”

I snorted back to him and rolled my eyes in understanding. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

He took another bite from his cookie before getting up and moving into the seat next to mine. “You ever stick, love?”

I furrowed my eyebrows to him in confusion. What on Earth was “sticking?”

He shrugged at my confusion, a cute smirk decorating his carnation pink lips. “It makes everything in the world feel like it’s just a little better—especially going home.”

I bit down on my lip at this. He had to be talking about drugs.

You’re gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.


The boy’s name was Dane Hawthorne, and at twenty-six years old, he actually wasn’t a boy at all. He originally hailed from a suburb of London, in the UK, and was visiting his younger brother, Bobby, who was a philosophy major at the university.

Dane had gotten married when he was nineteen and just finalized his divorce that past August. The misery of leaving his cheating wife had prompted him to explore the world, so he unsuccessfully tried climbing Mount Everest, met the Catholic Church’s Pope Francis, went to a nude beach for his first and only time in Greece, shot as an extra in a recent movie produced in Bollywood, and robbed a tank of live lobsters from a restaurant in Miami, Florida, to set them free back into the Atlantic Ocean.

He played a lot of acoustic guitar, wrote songs about his life, and drove an old DeLorean with almost 200,000 miles on it that he’d bought for $800. He had a tattoo of a great white shark with its mouth wide open on the side of his neck and another of a simple, black anchor on his left ring finger. He was tall and much too thin for his height; dark circles outlined the bright green color of his eyes; and purple bruises stained the insides of his arms.

We sat in his car, facing each other with our knees touching in the cramped space, in the middle of a deserted pharmacy parking lot down the street from Mercer Court. An old rock ’n’ roll song hummed in the background as he rummaged through the garbage on the floor of the passenger seat for his phone charger.

His green eyes were lazy and half-lidded as he held a needle filled halfway with a golden brown liquid in his hand. Small, waxed paper bags with green stamps that read Dirty Money littered his lap—for some reason, the name seemed fitting to me—and a bunch of needles with orange caps were strewn across mine.

My heart raced as I watched him. He flicked the needle a few times and pushed the plunger up a little to force out the tiny air bubbles before he laid the set down on the dashboard and peered back to me. His lips curled into a smile as he rested his one hand on my upper thigh. His fingers were cold against my skin through the rips of my jeans.

“You’re really fit, love—you know that?” he murmured over the hushed singer’s voice telling of a “rat-tailed” drug dealer, named Jimmy—whatever being rat-tailed meant.

I felt myself blush at his remark. A part of me wanted to run away and go find Alex, but I told myself that that was just Menlo’s instilled beliefs peaking through the surface. Dane was nice enough, an actually really sweet character that gave me a lot of compliments, held my hand as we walked, and draped his leather coat over my shoulders when we were outside in the falling snow.

“I think you are, too,” I replied shyly. Maybe it was just that I was still a little drunk—my blurry vision and dizzy daydreams should’ve been enough to convince me that I wasn’t in my right mind—but I really liked Dane a lot. I couldn’t have known him for more than a few hours, but who was I to care anyway?

I’m numb and way too easy—but you’re gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.

“I’m fit, aye?” He laughed lightly through his nose before pulling out a pack of Newport cigarettes and a small, black lighter from the front pocket of his jeans.

He smoked the same cigarettes as Oliver—I could recognize that green and white box anywhere.

I nodded to him in response. He definitely was “fit,” as he’d called it.

He smiled at me again as he exhaled a cloud of gray smoke in my direction and held a cigarette out to me. I hesitantly obliged, placing the filter between my lips, and leaned forward for him to light it.

I inhaled a deep drag from the cigarette and forced myself not to cough for the sake of my pride. Dane just eyed me, taking in his own breath of nicotine, and brought a large, red coffee cup with a black lid that smelled like hazelnut to his lips.

We sat in silence for a while as we smoked our cigarettes. He alternated between taking sips of his coffee and sips of his vodka while offering me some every time he picked one up. After a few times, I obliged because when I didn’t, he kept asking if I was sure until I gave in. It was as if my declinations almost offended him—and his eyes looked far too sad for me to feel okay about doing that.

The entire time that we sat there, he gazed at me with these adoring eyes and a small smile on his lips, like I was the best thing on planet Earth. He kept his hand on my thigh, softly stroking my skin with his thumb; and after a long while, he finally leaned forward and brought his lips to mine. His kiss reminded me a lot of Oliver’s.

I pulled his bottom lip between my teeth a few times, and every time, he sighed deeply like it was the best feeling in the world. I couldn’t deny that his heavy breaths weren’t making me feel good.

Dane tasted like sugar cookies and cigarettes with a hint of bitter vodka. Up-close, he smelled like hazelnut with an undertone of stale, fancy cologne, like he’d put it on much earlier in the night, and his kiss felt as smooth as satin.

He cupped my face in the palms of his hands, and the way his fingers felt so cold against me made me want to warm him up. My mind flashed back to Alex and what I’d done with him earlier—or, rather, what I’d let him do to me—but almost as soon as the guilty thought had come to my head, it left.

I couldn’t say how much time had passed after we finally pulled away from each other, breathless and hearts racing. His eyes barely opened, but he still had that same, cute smile on his lips.

In the back of my head, Delilah came to mind. I remembered when my infatuation with Oliver Sykes had just started becoming prominent and how I’d finally understood how she could give herself up so easily to boys. I remembered always being worried that she would contract diseases from the way she slept around—yet there I was with Dane, a twenty-six-year-old man from London that I barely knew, and for all I could’ve been aware of, his drug use might’ve brought him every illness under the sun. He was willing to share his needles with me, so I could only guess as to how many other people he’d done it with.

The strangest, most unfamiliar feeling hit me like a ton of bricks then—because I didn’t care about anything Dane might’ve had; and I didn’t care if I ended up getting anything from him; and I didn’t care if his needles killed me that night. I didn’t think it was like being suicidal—I wasn’t looking to go out of my way to meet Death—but it was more like being depressed.

Once more, I felt like the most ignorant, naïve, little girl on the earth. I had gone my entire life thinking I knew all the pain there was to know, when in reality, I really had no clue. Maybe Delilah Weston was just a careless person because she was heartbroken; maybe Oliver Sykes was only heartless because he was hurt; and there I was, in the middle of a deserted pharmacy parking lot with a stranger I barely knew, ready to try heroin for my first time, because I was both.

I’d never known what being depressed felt like before. In fact, I never really knew anything at all until I had met Oliver Sykes. How could I have ever thought I was such an intelligent human being when the most I could count as was harebrained and ridiculous at best?

Dane reached over to the dashboard and picked up the needle he’d previously left there. “You ready?” His voice pierced my ears. I couldn’t believe I was really ready to follow through with it. Only a small doubt came to mind momentarily.

You’re gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.

I only nodded.

He smiled as he wrapped a black phone charger around my upper left arm. The circulation stopped just below the wire, and my hand and forearm turned a blueish red. A tingling, pins-and-needles sensation grew stronger, so much that when Dane brought his fingers to feel around the inside of my elbow, it stung.

It wasn’t long before he brought the bright orange cap of the needle between his teeth and pulled it off to expose its long, silver tip in the dim light of his car. He spat the cap out of his mouth, letting it fall somewhere between his seat and the center console, and looked up at me with that lovely smirk on his lips.

The air was still and silent between us as he brought the tip to my arm. With nothing more than a little prick, the silver had disappeared into my skin. He pulled the plunger back a little, and the dark red color of my blood immediately mixed with the golden color of his heroin; and within just one short second, he pushed the plunger down and emptied the contents of the needle into my veins. Immediately, he loosened the wire and pulled the needle back out.

Suddenly, a wave of warmth pulsated through me, and I felt my body fall back into the window of his passenger side door. A tingling sensation ran rampant through the back of my neck and up into my head. My vision had gone from spinning around to staying as still as a statue. Even as I watched Dane lick his lips and start preparing another dose for himself, it was as if he was moving in slow motion.

“How do you like it?” he asked. His voice sounded as sweet as honey. I felt like I could’ve listened to him forever.

I wanted to tell him it was great and it was the best feeling in the world, but my mouth didn’t seem to move. Instead, “Mhmm,” was the only sound that came out.

He chuckled, and I swore I was in love with him then. I might’ve gone to City Hall and signed a marriage license if he’d asked me nicely.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed by before I felt the car moving and smelled another cigarette in the atmosphere. All I knew was that at some point, Dane was leading me out of his car, up a flight of stairs, and onto a soft mattress under an even softer quilt.


A warm, thin ray of sun flooded over my face and turned the back of my eyelids into a bright red with a billion different shapes and lines dancing back and forth. The sound of a shower suddenly stopped, and just a moment later, a cloud of steam filled with the smell of vanilla soap soaked into my nostrils. I rolled over, trying to get away from the intruding sun, and only cracked one eye open when I heard the sound of a loud, squealing drawer.

Dane’s too thin, milky white, naked figure immediately came to view, his entire backside facing me at the foot of the king size bed, as he rummaged through a drawer full of clothes. I felt myself blush and immediately closed my eyes. I wondered if I’d slept with him, and immediately, guilt from the possibility flooded my conscience.

I’m numb and way too easy—but you’re gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.

One side of the bed sunk down, and I felt a cold hand rest against my bare shoulder. That was when I realized I wasn’t wearing my clothes and had been stripped down to just my underwear and bra.

“Wake up, love.” Dane’s soft voice laced me into a trance, and I couldn’t help but obey and look into his lazy, green eyes.

I would’ve thought my sober mind might’ve hated him for the tiny, grain-sized black marbles that were his pupils—after all, he’d guiltlessly shot me up with heroin for my first time—but even after my vision cleared, I was still convinced I loved him.

“I made you a cuppa,” he went on. “I hope you like tea. I also ordered some pizza for a late lunch, too.”

I sat up then, holding the quilt to cover my chest, and gave him my best smile. “That sounds great, thank you.” As if on cue at the thought of some warm cheese pizza, my stomach growled.

Dane grinned at me, his eyes still lazy with heroin clouding them over. “I’m going to a show tonight in Olympia. I’m not sure what you’ve got planned, but I’d love it if you came with me.”

I simpered back to him, but I could feel the memories of Bring Me The Horizon dim my expression in the background. “What band is it for?”

“It’s for a DJ,” he replied. “Have you ever been to a rave?”

Not only had I never been to a rave, but I’d also never been to Olympia, either. I’d heard about those raves—crazy, rowdy parties with glowsticks and bright colors—but I’d never partook in one. Truthfully, they sounded exciting to me; but the best part about Dane’s offer, perhaps what convinced me to say yes to him more than anything else, was the fact that there wasn’t a single chance in the world that Oliver Sykes would be at one. That just wasn’t his scene, and thank God for my sanity.

“I haven’t, but I’d love to go with you;” and at that, my smile was sincere.


Dane had taken me to what I called an “alternative” clothing store somewhere in downtown Seattle. There were brightly colored tutus with splats of glitter and sequins hanging all over the walls, as well as numerous black and white corsets all with different lace designs. Leather boots with large, silver buckles and six-inch platforms that reminded me of Jason were situated on a bunch of different metal fixtures, and tee-shirts with crazy, macabre designs and heavy metal bands laid folded neatly upon endless shelves extending from the brick walls.

He looked at me kindly, his eyes bright with excitement even in their hazed over state. “Pick anything you want, love,” he offered sweetly. “You need an outfit for the show—my treat.”

I merely gaped at him. I had never had anybody offer to spend so much money on me before—not even Oliver.

“Are you sure?” I stammered.

He nodded happily. “’Course I am. Your first rave has to be on me.”

A wide grin spread across my face, and I became even more positive then that I was in love with my English companion.

He led me to a wall with tutus, his hand on the small of my back. “I’m gonna be wearing lime green, blue, and hot pink, so try to stick with those colors. When people go to these things together, they always match.”

I was awestruck at my selection. I could barely even acknowledge the petite redhead that introduced herself and asked if we needed any help. The store was small, but it seemed so full of wonders. I felt like Charlie Bucket, and maybe Dane was Willy Wonka leading me throughout the magical store of wonders.

Before I knew it, the girl—Heather was her name—was holding a long, metal pole up to the highest rack of tutus and pulling down a hot pink one with orange glitter. She handed it to me, simpering kindly, and said, “I think this one’s gonna look great on you.”

I grinned back at her, but Dane was the one that spoke; “I’ll be wearing hot pink, blue, and lime green—what do you think will go well with this tutu that’ll also match with me?”

Heather’s face lit up. “I have just the thing.”

By the time Heather and Dane were done making an outfit for me, I had ended up stepping out of the dimly lit dressing room with the pink and orange tutu, a white corset with bright blue ribbons laced into each of the sides, lime green tights, and a pair of white low-top Converse with blue laces matching the ribbons. I felt horribly obnoxious, but I couldn’t deny that in some warped universe, the outfit was actually pretty adorable.

Heather looked ecstatic at my attire, and Dane could only grin at me with his lazy, half-lidded eyes.


The Royal Lounge was packed with hundreds of people pouring in and out of the garage door entrance. Though I’d been somewhat hesitant in accepting the bright outfit from Dane, I felt almost underdressed once actually arriving and seeing how much more colorful everyone else was.

Dane and I stood inside the venue, nestled deep in the back, as he clasped a bunch of different-colored glowsticks around my neck and wrists.

Finishing up with the last one, a bright purple, almost fuchsia color, he patted my shoulder, signaling for me to turn back around to face him, and gave me an encouraging smile. “You look fit, love.”

I felt my cheeks warm—but whether it was from the alcohol he and I had shared before arriving or from his compliment, I didn’t know.

He grinned back and placed a soft, quick kiss on my lips. “Dance with me,” he urged, wrapping his hands over my hips. I cringed and felt immediate nausea at the memory that flooded into my head—the first night Oliver had brought me to meet his friends, the first time I ever felt jealous of Rayne’s beauty, the first time he ever sang to me.

“Um—” I sucked in a sharp breath, the air tasting like salty sweat, and sprinted off to the garage door at the front of the venue. I barely just made it outside into the cold, winter air before bile and vomit spewed through my lips and onto the concrete sidewalk. The few people outside in their bright, obnoxious outfits just looked at me with disgusted grimaces.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and hurried to the side of the building in the small alleyway. I felt hopeless, lost, like maybe I should’ve jumped in front of one of the oncoming, speeding cars. I almost wanted to throw up again at my misery. Instead, tears stung the backs of my eyes and dribbled down my cheeks.

My phone suddenly began to vibrate in my bra. I mindlessly ripped it out and almost threw it across the alleyway into the brick of the building across from me—until I saw it was an unknown number with Menlo’s area code.

“Hello?” I answered after flicking it open. I tried to sound as emotionless as possible, but my heartbreak had already sunken deep into my vocal chords.

“Amanda?” The voice on the other line ran chills down my spine. It had been haunting me since that one fateful night in Seattle.

“Hi, Oliver.”

“Are you okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned—but then again, he always had.

I shook my head, feeling the tears swing onto my knees and seep through the nylon of my stockings. “I—” I wanted to tell him that I hated him for hurting me, and pretending, and just using me for his revenge. Instead, though, “Yeah,” was all I could utter.

“I’ve missed you.”

I had once read a poem about a man so miserable from heartbreak that he had lost his mind; and in my head at that moment, I could only hear the narrator’s miserable words, Leave my loneliness unbroken, and take thy beak from out my heart. My head spun, and I wasn’t sure if Oliver was even talking to me. I checked the screen of my phone to be sure, and to my solemn surprise, the unknown Menlo number was still lit up in white, blocky letters against the light blue background.

“Amanda?”

I sniffed violently, the sobs almost becoming uncontrollable. I just couldn’t force myself to answer him, no matter how much I wanted to.

“I love you.” His voice sounded pleading then, as if he really wanted me to answer. “Can I come see you right now? Are you busy?”

“I’m in Olympia.” My voice shook, but the hysteria had at least somewhat resided.

“Olympia?” He sounded incredulous. As much as his disbelief offended me, I couldn’t blame him for questioning my honesty in regards to the existence of a social life outside of him.

“I’m at The Royal Lounge.”

“The Royal?” His incredulity turned into astonishment. “That’s a twenty-one-and-over place. How the fuck did you get in there?”

“I’m not sure;” and that was the truth, actually. After numerous shots of alcohol with Dane, all I remembered about walking into the venue was him talking to two bouncers dressed all in black for a few minutes and then leading me to the bar in the back.

Oliver was silent for a long while before speaking again. “Amanda, are you okay?”

I shook my head and felt the tears come back. All I could blubber out between hysterical sobs was, “No,” before I let the phone fall out of my hands and pressed my palms into my eyes.

Before it hit the ground, I heard Oliver say, “I’m coming to get you.”

Just as I pulled my hands away from my face and pushed my hair out of the way, Dane came rounding the corner with a worried expression on his face. “You alright, love?”

I sniffed and peered up at him. I couldn’t move. What would Oliver do if he showed up and saw Dane with me? What had I gotten myself into? I wanted to just melt into the ground and disappear.

“I gotta go,” was all I could muster.

Dane called after me, but his voice sounded distant and just didn’t really matter to me anyway. I had no idea where I was, or where I was going, or what direction Menlo was in, but I felt like I was going to explode sitting outside The Royal Lounge with Dane’s hazy eyes watching my every move. I had to leave, whether Oliver was coming for me or not.