You Are About to Throw Away This Message Without Sending It

Despite the time when Mischa and three of her friends pulled their pants down and stuck their asses out the window of a moving car, or the time when she accidentally made fun of a blind kid, the biggest mistake Mischa ever made was Kimber Stone.

Mischa doesn't remember the first time she spoke with Kimber.
The way it plays back in Mischa's mind, Kimber showed up out of the blue like a unexpected storm and she honestly couldn't have cared less for conversation.
Kimber idolized Mischa.

Mischa, with her long lashes, dark eye makeup and leather jacket. She was like something that projected from the imagination of a dead rock zine.

And Kimber was in awe. She spoke energetically and dazed. Mischa found it off-putting but held her end of the conversation in style. Back then, Mischa was bullet-proof.

She was the girl with the platinum hair and crystal eyes.
She was the girl at the rock show. Underaged drinker and self-proclaimed coffee junkie. No one cared about how she got her scars and bruises.
They just wanted to be around her, like flies to honey.

Kimber was no exception. For Kimber, Mischa was an exciting prop to adorn her mental wall of teenage rebellion.
Mischa was a girl who had walked through hell and seen the devil smile with eyes that shined like gold. She found herself polluted, but pure.
The world was a grave that she was still trying to dig her way out of. It didn't matter. Mischa was a mirror version of Kimber's favorite rock star.
The next best thing.

Kimber would press conversation, pulling words from Mischa's lips like wispy little breaths of cigarette smoke, swirling erratically between them.
Mischa was blunt, lost inside her own dresser drawer full of post-adolescent problems.

Years later, these would be looked upon as "The Golden Years", when life only seemed to be falling down with the London bridge.

The worst part is association.
That dull, string of memories attatched to everything and nothing.
It hits her at the worst times.
She'll be buying a new lighter, standing in line, and then she'll look to her right and catch a glimpse of a coffee machine in the corner.

A sign advertising a new kind of pumpkin spice creamer.

Memories. Association.

She knows they used to talk about things like that, and she can even recall Kimber's favorite type of latte at their favorite coffee shop.
But that was last year.

A strange type of wonder washes over her, like borderline deja vu, and she wonders if Kimber still has trouble sleeping. She steps out of the line and heads for the coffee machine.
She buys a medium cup of java, and heads back to her spot on the curb. Sitting down, she breathes in the scent of fresh coffee as she lights her cigarette.
She inhales.
Nostalgia tastes like pumpkin spice.

It's windy outside and the sky is dark and ugly like a bruise.
For a split second, Mischa thinks of armageddon and stares at the black clouds contrasting against blue. She prays for a moment of absolution. Anything.
Did it rain yesterday?
The week is blurred together like smudged paint. This is what prison must be like. Routine to the point of gnawing aggrevation. There is no proof that today isn't yesterday repeating other than the calendar.

The things we only think of as important; dreams we can't quite remember.
There are people scurrying to their cars, peeping up at the sky and adjusting their jackets.

Afraid of the rain.
Life used to have flavors.
Now it is a constant string of vanilla everything. Like todays caffiene fix, and yesterdays, and the day before that.
Life used to be fulfilling; that is until last year when Kimber outgrew punk rock and the bands that connected her with Mischa.
And then Kimber met Darla who introduced her to J-Pop and K-Pop and some other shit that Misha had no idea even existed.

Kimber met Darla. And she destroyed everything.

And after Darla, there wasn't anymore late nights with Mischa making Kimber stay up with her until they had finished watching Episode 5 of the Star Wars trilogy. There was no more dancing around their bathroom in their underwear singing along to the radio, and no more coffee runs and inside jokes. No outlandish schemes of what they would do next summer. No emo guitarist boys checking out their ass. Music lost its color and faded away like the conversations between the two of them.

And then, 2 1/2 months after they had last spoken, Mischa got the call.
Kimber talked to her for 6 hours straight over the phone, buzzing with energy and stories of the girl she'd met who'd blown her away.
Mischa kept quiet.
She'd hoped that she could tell Kimber she loved her, and maybe things would change.
She was wrong.
That night, the whole world became quiet and empty, like the yellow-white walls of their dark apartment on a night she’s out late with Darla. Like the purple headphones abandoned and tucked away somewhere in the back of her closet.

The problem with J-Pop is, it's still pop.
Imagine combining Aqua with One Direction and incorperate dance moves like N'Sync. Now add Nicki Minaj fashion. Now put it all in Japanese.
That's probably the best description you will ever get of J-pop.

Kimber usually introduced Mischa to a lot of bands that she probably would have hated had it not been for Kimber's prodding and insisting that she listen to them.
Mischa would have to sit down in front of the computer and wait while Kimber looked up some new artist on YouTube.

This would all end in Mischa making a face that was anything but pleasant as Kimber blurted out, "Isn't this the most amazing thing you've ever heard?!" Mischa would then whine for days about how horrible the music was, and complaine it gave her a headache. But she'd still listen to it.

In retrospect, that was probably one of the happiest times of her life, rolling around on the couch with Kimber and giggling into her shoulder as she whispered to her that her taste in music was fucking appauling.

When Mischa would get sad and curl up on her bed in a ball and stare out the window, Kimber would climb in bed behind her, wrap her arm around Mischa's midsection, and sing.

Kimber had a voice that was all perfection. The kind that would give you chills. No matter how hard the world had fallen down, Kimber could sing and suddenly everything detrimental seemed so much less than important.
Now it was gone, like radio static.

How can someone be so important in one moment, and gone in the next.

Thinking back to that conversation, the last time they talked, it was almost a goodbye in a way. She just didn't realize it at the time.
Kimber had been trying for months to leave Mischa in her past, but maybe Mischa was overanalyzing.

When she started to disappear and wouldn't return calls or texts or anything, Mischa should've gotten the hint. And she tried. But Kimber would always show up out of the blue and smile and tell Mischa how much she missed her. She would claim that she handn't recieved any of Mischa's texts, she'd say she hadn't felt well lately, or she'd been busy..

Mischa had stood in front of the mirror as she talked to Kimber on the phone.
"I know this can't change anything," she started. And she saw the uncertainty in her eyes as she stuttered and stumbled over what she needed to say. The day had started out amazing. She woke up feeling ressurected. Today, she would tell her. She would tell her and everything would be okay.

"What is it?" Kimber pressed.
"I just need you to know that.. I love you--" "I love you, too!" Kimber had cut in, and a nervouse smile graced Mischa's lips. She closed her eyes. "I mean.. I love you. Probably more than I've ever loved anyone. I didn't know what it meant to have a best friend until I met you... my life is shit without you. You're everything."
There was silence on the line for a bit before Kimber began to stutter and "Um" her way through the awkwardness.

"I have to go." Mischa said finally.

"No, wait!" Kimber began. "I don't mean it to sound bad it's just.. I don't know what to say, I..."
"You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know that." Mischa told her. They got off the phone and Mischa stared at her reflection. For a brief moment, she didn't know her own eyes as they darkened and clouded over with tears.
And in that moment, she looked like Kimber when she'd had her first big fight with Darla.

And the whole next day she'd walked around their apartment staring at things like she’d never seen them before. She looked strange, wandering around like the whole world was coated in a thick fog and she couldn't remember exactly where she was going. That night Mischa had taken her out to see her favourite unsigned punk band play at a night club, and they danced right up front, their arms and legs naked and glistening in the lights, and everyone looked at them, and everyone wanted them. And she thought that was enough.

Kimber's life had been hectic and she met Mischa when both of their worlds were breaking apart in the center.
Kimber was younger than Mischa. She'd grown up in a patch work family with overprotective parents, a redneck sister, and a tornado for a mother.

Surrounded by people like this, Mischa had no idea how Kimber turned out to be such a beautiful person. The kind of person who would, when your parents were getting divorced, come up with stories to take your mind off it and stay up with you until 4 am talking about how you were both way too good for the world you lived in, and how one day, things would be so much better. The kind of person who, when your boyfriend was being stupid would snuggle with you on the couch for hours and threaten to kill him and make you a cake to make you feel better. The kind of person who could sing like no one else.

The kind of best friend who would love and care for you forever.

Mischa first heard about Darla when Kimber came home obsessed with some new K-Pop band and made Mischa listen to the same song for three hours straight until Mischa picked up a throw pillow from the couch and threw it at Kimber's head.
Kimber stayed on the phone all through their dinner of ramen noodles and Starbucks coffee, laughing as she languidly picked through her noodles and talked over the television, blocking out the sounds of Invader Zim on DVD, which used to be their favorite show.

Later that night, Kimber was texting up a storm when she suddenly shoved her blackberry into Mischa's face and announced, "This is Darla, we met at the music shop, we were both buying the same CD. She's really into Japanese and Korean culture like me. And she's sooooo tiny!"
Mischa stared dumbly at the photo of the blonde on the miniature screen and blinked.
She looked at the girl who was all of 4'10, and 90 pounds, and she looked down at her own 5'3, 115 pound frame.
Tomorrow, she would go on a diet.

Mischa started to say something, when suddenly, a call came in. Kimber squealed. Literally squealed. And hopped up off of the couch answering with a "Hello sexy".
Mischa winced.
Kimber walked around, discussing some guy with a weird name's hair and how cute he was while Mischa, who was still sitting in front of the TV, just watched her.

"What do you think?" Kimber asked suddenly.

It took Mischa a moment to realize that Kimber was talking to her and not into the phone. She raised her brows. "About what?"
Kimber rolled her eyes. "Darla!"

Kimber was whispering, her palm pressed against the reciever of the phone.
Mischa smirked and mouthed "She looks like Ducky from The Land Before Time."
Mischa wasn't sure what Kimber thought she'd said, but Kimber said, "Yeah, I like her nose, too, she's so cute!"
Mischa smiled, but suddenly felt sick.
She thought about her own nose, and how the tip felt a little too round.
She went to her room, pulled out her ipod and collapsed onto the bed with the volume at full blast.
Sometime later that night, she felt the bed dip and she opened her eyes.
Kimber was sitting at the foot of the bed. Mischa smiled.

"So Darla and I go good together, right?"

And despite the 3 times Mischa had gotten alcohol poisoning and threw up so much she had to spend the night in the bathtub, despite the time she almost got arrested for vandalism and hid from the cops in someones backyard for over an hour.. The biggest mistake Mischa ever made was when she looked Kimber in the eyes and said, "Of course."

Kimber had curled up to Mischa, and Mischa could feel her smile against her neck.
She smelled like coconuts and cough syrup.
When Mischa woke up the next morning, she would find the empty bottle of NiQuil still sitting on the kitchen counter, along with the mix tapes they had made together, the best friend necklaces they'd bought and everything else that Kimber had left behind, strewn through the house and inside of everything, like memory.

"I want to be with her forever." Kimber whispered. Mischa could feel her breath against her skin, warm and damp. Outside, a car alarm was going off somewhere. The street light was flickering.

The world was dark.

"Misha..." Kimber whispered.
Mischa shifted, slipping away from Kimber. "Yes?"
She paused before she went any further. "Honestly, do you think I'm making the right decision?" her voice trembled a bit, changing pitch like a boy in puberty.

Mischa breathed in deep through her nose. "No." she said.
And at that moment, the room was quieter than that apartment had ever been.
She could hear Kimber swallow hard, and Mischa gripped onto her pillow before she spoke again, "Tell her to get fucking bent. Erase her number. Never speak to her again. Stay here with me, and we'll listen to shitty emo-punk bullshit, and Rancid and we'll make fun of egotistical rockstars and their tight pants. And we'll go out drinking, and have the time of our lives and we'll live together forever." The words got caught in her throat before she could finish.
And in the dim lighting of the room she mouthed, "Just Stay."

And when Mischa turned around to face Kimber, Kimber has a wide grin on her face. Her eyes are dancing and she looks content. She scoots closer, brushes the white-blonde strands away from Mischa's eyes, and kisses her forehead. "You can always make me smile." she says. "Thank you."
And she closes her eyes while Mischa rolls onto her back and stares up at the cieling.

Tomorrow, the apartment would be empty. And she would never see Kimber again.
Tomorrow, the world is ending in pastel shades, lacking vibrance. Nothing shines.
Tomorrow, Mischa would chain-smoke the day away and forget to eat.
She would start a new job, and move to a new town.

The worst part is nostalgia.