"You are young and so am I
and this is wrong,
but who am I to judge?
You feel like heaven when we touch…
We're one mistake from being together.
It looks right, ask why it's not right.
You won't be seventeen forever,
and we can get away with this tonight…
And I can feel your heartbeat,
you know exactly where to take me…
'Will you remember me?' you ask me as I leave.
Remember what I said, 'Oh how could I, oh how could I forget?'"
From "Seventeen Forever" by Metro Station. Words by Trace Cyrus, et al.
Chapter Two
When we turned the corner, the alley was empty.
"Must've gone to the pool hall…" said Guage coolly. "You want to?"
"Yes," I said. "but I can't. I should probably go home… school in the morning…"
He grimaced. "You're going to school tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I have to go every few days so they won't send me to, like, boot camp or something. Are you going?"
"Hell no."
"Oh," I looked down at my shoes. I turned to leave. "Well, gotta go."
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked me intensly.
"Going home?"
"What, are you gonna walk?"
"Umm, yeah."
"Bullshit. Get in the car," he said.
I turned around and walked over to his car, opening the door and sliding in the seat. He drove silently, the only sound was the radio, turned down and playing some Zeppelin song. I directed him to my house. He parked in front and let the engine idle.
"Something wrong?" I asked him. I didn't want to get out of the car. I didn't want to leave his presence. I was afraid; deathly afraid of what I'd have to face without him there.
He looked at me analytically. "No," he said slowly. Then he reached over me—his warm arm brushing against me—and extracted a napkin and a Sharpie from the glove compartment. He scribbled something onto it and handed it to me, giving me a meaningful look in the eyes. "Call me if you need me."
I nodded. I didn't want to look away from him, but I had to. I sighed and turned to the door, opening it. I stood up and got out. "Bye," I said sadly.
He nodded and looked ahead. I shut the door and watched his car drive away. I walked slowly up the steps leading to the front door and pulled my key out of my jeans pocket, unlocked the door and stepped inside. Even though it was warm inside, I felt cold. I felt like I'd never be warm again until I was looking at Guage. I cast my eyes down to the ground and shuffled to my room. I threw back the door. It was a mess in there.
Somehow, my house, my room, my everything was different than it had been before Guage. Even though I'd really only known him less than two days, I was starting to see a line forming in the timeline of my young life: Before Guage and After Guage. After Guage was so much more resplendent. I kicked off my shoes and laid down on my bed, exhausted. I closed my eyes. Sleep was pulling me downwards…
I woke up at four o' clock that morning. I sat up and pulled my fingers through my hair. I needed a shower. No one was home, I discovered. This wasn't usual for either my mother or my brother: my mother was probably passed out somewhere and my brother was a volunteer firemen, often taking late-night, all-night jobs over in Portland.
The water rained down on the shower floor. I turned it to cold and stepped in. My skin tightened and goose bumps broke out all over me. I tossed my head back, ignoring the numbing, painful cold. Cold water cascaded down my feverish head, neck and chest and I took deep breaths. When I exited the shower, I was too tired to do anything but yawn lazily, blowdry my hair and put on minimal makeup, and this was only because I might see Guage later. I got dressed in my usual flannel shirt and holey blue jeans. It was five-thirty. I still had lots of time on my hands. I flopped down on the plushy couch. Despite the fact that my mother was basically good for nothing and couldn't hold down a job because she always showed up smelling like a brewery, we lived in a nice house and had nice things. This was haunting, it was cruel.
My father had been a successful attorney until he'd been killed. He always gave us what we wanted… We were so content. Until it happened. There was no happy after that. This was another division in my life: With Dad and Without Him. My eyes had barely closed, drifting to that magic moment when the world disappears into dream, and it's so strange you're seeing it all and won't remember a thing. When they opened again, I checked the clock: seven. I stood up and stretched, grabbed my key and bag and left. I started the walk to school with dread. My eyes were tired; I could feel them sagging, knowing I looked like the living undead.
I pushed open the heavy oak door to school. I smelled the chlorine from the pool. The metal lockers surrounded me and the linoleum floor squeaked under my sneakers. 101, 103, 105. 107. I turned and entered homeroom. I walked to the back of the room and slouched in the last seat in the last row. No one sat next to me, just the way I liked it. I didn't really know anyone's name and they didn't know me. I put my head on the desk and tried to sleep, to escape.
I heard footsteps and the sound of a body collapsing in the chair next to me. I opened my eyes slowly and looked over. There sat Frey, looking down at me, probably to make sure I was still breathing.
"Hey," I said. This was maybe the third time I'd talked to someone in this school.
"Hey," he said. His voice was deep and gravelly.
"Why're you here?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound offensive.
"He asked me to come for the day and then he'd take you home."
"Guage?"
"Who else?"
I sat back in my seat. Did he think I couldn't take care of myself? Why was he sending me a fucking babysitter?
"You can go home," I told him. "I can take care of myself."
He looked anxious. "Sorry. But I gotta stay. Don't be insulted; he doesn't mean anything bad by it."
"Course he doesn't."
The morning was torturous. I had to sit through three classes. Teachers' voices droned on but I gleaned not one scrap of knowledge. The halls would fill up and empty between them but they gained nothing despite this. It was monotonous. I wanted a cigarette, and I was very grumpy. Frey kept casting sideways glances my way.
When I sat down in fourth period, in the back as usual, I noticed that he wasn't beside me. I sighed in relief. Thinking I'd lost him, I silently commended myself, smiling. Then someone sat down next to me. I looked over, annoyed again, only to see Guage sitting there. He was like a piece of my own personal heaven, perfect in every way, from his boots to his legs looking unnatural sitting in the little desk, to the way his muscles twitched in his arms when he moved. He looked at me. He didn't look happy.
"I thought you weren't coming," I whispered. He shrugged.
"I wanna get out of here." He scowled.
"So, each of you needs to find a partner and go down to the media centre to get one book per pair. You have a half an hour so use your time wisely," said the teacher, an old woman with big hair. What was her name?
I grinned at Guage. "Looks like we've got a golden opportunity."
He grinned back. We walked casually from the room and then skidded out the hallway. When we reached the door, it was like our own gateway to freedom. Our feet hit the concrete outside and we ran down the sidewalk in front of the school. We laughed wildly. There was no point in running, really; we would've gotten away anyway but there's something to be said of running just to run, laughing just to laugh, and feeling like flying.
I felt like flying. When I was with Guage, there were no limits. The short time I'd known him, coupled with the even shorter time I'd been away from him made heightened the double sense of falling and flying when I was around him.
There was like a magic radiating from his skin, a sort of connection unbreakable. A desire unexplainable.
We settled in his car. When we caught our breath finally, he looked at me. He smiled. I smiled back. He leaned over and kissed my lips. I melted. This was better than anything.
Better than any other feeling he'd given me. Better than our backseat adventures. This, this eyes-closed, lips moving, hands touching kind of kiss. This was the best thing I had experienced. I melt into him and he leans into me. Everything is wrapped up in this moment, this is all that's real. I hold onto it. It is everything that is real. It alone is real. It is everything.
"Where to now?" he asked.
"Anywhere."
"Everyone's down at the pool hall, I think. I know it's disappointing, but we should make sure we're actually seen during the light of day. Wouldn't want to come off rude," he smirked.
I laughed. "Course not. Shame the car ride isn't longer, though."
"I'll go slow," He winked.
I reached for his right hand, which wasn't holding onto the steering wheel. I covered it with my hand; it was warm and tough and I weaved my fingers into his. He looked at me and smiled confusedly.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"What?"
"Seriously, nothing. Just… that's never happened before," he admitted shamefully.
"I don't believe you."
"Well, believe it. I usually just bring them home at night and they're gone the next day."
He didn't inflect any sadness into his voice, but it broke my heart all the same. I willed myself not to cry. He was so beautiful.
"That doesn't need to, you know, be mentioned to anyone," he added huskily.
I snorted. "Who would I tell?"
"I don't know. Like, your girlfriends or something."
"I don't have any," I said quietly.
He looked at me. "Why?"
"After Dad died, I became completely reclusive. I didn't want to talk to anyone at all. I used to sit alone at lunch and just stare at my food. They would try to talk to me but I'd just ignore them. They figured, well, she's just sad cause of her dad, and they put up with it for a few months," I explained. "but after that they just forgot about me. I was just that weird girl with the long hair who everyone had to feel sorry for cause her dad was dead. So begins my detachment."
He just looked at me silently and then diverted his eyes back to the road. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"It doesn't matter."
He didn't answer. The car slowed down and stopped. He parked it and got out. This time he waited for me to walk over to him and put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him and kissing me on the head. I put my arm around his shoulders. For a moment, for just a split second, not even a flash of lightning, it was like we were holding each other up.
The air in the pool hall was warm and the place was almost deserted, except for members of the gang who were playing pool on one of the tables, the others watching, reclined and drinking beer.
Guage swaggered up to the bar and ordered two long-necks.
He thrust one into my hands and the top frothed when I opened it. It was cool as it went down, and while I wasn't inebriated, it certainly took a little of the edge off. I wasn't confined by my inhibitions anymore. I wasn't the lost little girl with hurt in her eyes. I was just there, I felt more normal than I had for months. I leaned against a table next to Axel, watching Guage lean down over the pool table, poised, his silhouette flawless.
I took another drink. Axel looked over at me. His brown eyes were like his father's, but warm. Of course, he preferred to look haughty over warm, but there was no denying him.
"Seth," I said quietly.
He looked over at me. "What?" he asked icily.
"Are you mad at me?" I asked, taking a drink.
"No," he said curtly.
"Good," I said. "cause you have no reason to be."
He glared at me and took a drink out of his own bottle of sparkling brown liquid. "You don't know what you're getting into. This gang thing's a mess. And it's dangerous."
"I'm fine," I said. "I can fight my own battles, Seth."
"Axel. And the hell you can, neither."
I sighed. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Be that way," he said arrogantly.
"You're such a teenage girl. Grow up."
He pushed off the table and walked away to join the pool game. Guage handed him his pool stick as he passes and comes over to join me.
"What was that all about?" he asks quietly.
"What was what about?"
He gives me a withering look. "Don't bullshit me, girl. What were you arguing with Axel about?"
"He's being stupid. I love him to death, but I swear to God, he's a fuckin dumbass."
"Where'd you learn to talk like that?" he asked me in false concern, kissing my cheek.
"I'm a mess."
"You're my mess," he corrected.
"Look at me. How can you want me? I'm just a fucked up, lost little girl with no parents, nothing. I can hardly breathe, I'm sad all the time, I smoke like a train and I have nothing that would be worth staying for."
"You are beautiful," he said for only me to hear. The words sounded foreign out of his usually cocky mouth. I moved closer and felt his warmth on my arm.
"I wish I could believe you," I said, yawning.
"Tired?"
"Yeah, I've been up since, like, five this morning."
"Why? I didn't wake up till eleven," he chuckled.
"I don't sleep good," I said, fatigued.
"Then sleep with me." He grinned.
I got up and stretched. "I'm sorry," I said. "I know I've only been here like an hour. But I want to go get some rest."
He stood up too. "I'm okay walking," I said quickly.
"No," was his firm response.
So a few more minutes with Guage. I tried to savor the moments, but it does no good. Cause you can love being with someone, you can want to stay with them forever and hang onto them for as long as you can but in the end, you have to go. And you can't get the minutes back. You can't retrace their face again with your eyes. You can't get it back. There's no way to get it back. It seems impossible, a mistake, a glitch that has to be corrected but it's not. Time goes on and it won't stop as much as we'd like it to, as much as I wanted it to right then.
"Are you going back to the hall after this?" I questioned him.
"Nah," he said.
"Where then?"
"Home."
"Take me there," I said, hoping it wouldn't be rude of me.
He looked at me and took a deep breath.
"What is it? Was that rude?"
"No, no. But Dad will be home soon and he's dangerous this time of night."
"I feel safe."
He looked worried. "Okay…" His muscles tensed on the wheel but this only confirmed my feeling of total safety.
When we got to the small house, it was empty. "Not home from work yet," he explained.
We went up to his room, which was small, mostly comprising of a mattress laying in the middle of the floor and a few piles of clothes around it. I positioned myself above the mattress and fell onto it. Guage came over and laid beside me.
"Just how tired are you?" he asked provocatively.
"Never too tired for you, baby," I said lazily.
He was above me, kissing my face. My neck. And kissing the buttons open on my top, uncovering me. I helped him and slid out of my jeans. He took off his shirt, his strong chest standing out against the white of the wall behind him. He had perfect hands and they moved down to his belt. I put my arms around him.
"Love me, love me," I cried desperately, a few moments later, his warmth all around and inside me.
"I do," he said passionately. "I always have."
My heartbeat was quickening. I felt a warmth spreading and my muscles tense and contracted. I tossed my head back, moaning.
I felt him filling me. "I always will," he said, his voice breaking, falling on top of me again, kissing me.
I kissed back, hardly breathing. This was more than I'd ever felt in my life. With him there, so close to me, nothing else in the world mattered. With his arms so tender and strong, I could walk through fire, I could stare in the eye of death, I could face any battle. Even on my saddest day, I will never be able to deny my love for him. As long as he was there, as long as I could feel him around me, on me, inside me, standing next to me, then there was nothing I couldn't face: no day too unbearable, no fight too difficult.
I could not return to who I was before. I was changed forever. It was one of those moments where everything changes, though I didn't realize it then, as no one ever does. With the beat of a heartbeat, the blink of an eye, everything is different.
I was completely, unreturnably, permanently and wholly in love with him.
