Dylan

I take a shower, and slip into the suit top and jeans that Celia's aunt Brittany bought for me, inspecting myself in the mirror.

Not half bad.

My hair is slick with water, and I decide to let it dry naturally.

Grinning to myself, I take the stairs down, two at a time. Today, has been one of the most productive days I have ever had, and that scares me slightly. The thing is, I actually...enjoyed myself, working on the old vintage car with Mrs. F. It was kinda...cool.

I shake my head quickly and take a deep breath, trying to cleanse my thoughts. "Death, famine, drugs and hatefulness...yeah, man, get into the old Dylan again." I scoff to myself, and close my eyes, dropping down to the last step and perching myself on the decorative futon in the hallway.

I wonder what Amanda'll be dressed like. A hot pink scrap of fabric, blond hair curled, or straightened, high heels, makeup applied to thoroughly and thoughtfully, you'd think that putting the stuff on would bring someone else something worthwhile, some sort of happiness or joy.

Too bad it doesn't.

It's old. Too old. When you dress up like a fucking princess every day, what's the surprise when it really matters? I smile bitterly, wondering how I even became Amanda's date. Did I even ask her? I didn't even ask her.

My head tips back to rest against the wall, which is cool, and welcoming to my flushed skin. My eyes close.

"Dylan. Are you feeling okay?" A voice. Celia's voice, of course. She sounds worried. If I were a nice guy, I'd reassure her that I was fine, maybe even dump Amanda, nicely, sweep Celia off her feet and carry her off to the Winter Formal in style.

But I'm not a nice guy. I'm a jerk, nothing but a jerk, who is taking advantage of a family, a girl, who wants to help me, and avoid me at the same time. For a good reason.

Her naked image pops into my mind, making me shiver, involutarily.

"Fine." I say. "I'm fine."

Celia sighs, I can hear her. "You're obviously not." I hear a rustle of a dress, and her footsteps as she walks closer to me. She smells so good, like a hint of shower gel or cream, roses, and Celia's natural scent, which I'd take over any sweet smelling chemical any day.

Cool hands touch my forehead, I feel a cold bracelet run over my skin. "You look pale." Celia says. "Are you okay to be going to the Winter Formal?"

No, I want to stay here and fix cars all night.

Scratch that. I want to stay here and fix cars all night, with you.

I open my eyes slowly, and look at Celia. And when I do, I notice her.

Her hair is tied up in a soft bun at the top of her head, a black jewelled clip holding it back. Her dress is long, regal and soft, hugging her soft curves, like a second skin, a slit down one side, revealing her smooth, golden leg. An silver anklet sits on her foot, her heels tall and sexy, criss-crossing up her claves and ending just below her things, ending a little less.

She's looking at me through dark smoky pupils, long lashes framing her almond shaped eyes, and casting shadows over her cheekbones.

Beautiful, sexy, stunning...they're all too superficial to what she looks like to me. Hell, Goddess, doesn't come close.

I have to words.

I can't speak.

She's...she's...argh!

I'm chocking up.

She's staring at me.

She's so ethereal. So damn gorgeous, I can't comprehend.

"Dylan?"

My voice comes out in a whisper. "You...you look...good."

Celia nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thanks. The dress is my mom's."

The dress is an enhancer to what she really is.

I can't help myself when I lean in close. Celia backs away, alarmed at my suddeness, shuffling on the seat. "We can't. We've been caught already."

"Trust me." I whisper, stopping her, by wrapping my arms around her waist, and pulling her close. I'm not gonna think about later on, consequences, or difficulties, or how I completely lied to her about trusting me. I have to kiss her, feel those lips under mine, for that brief, blissful period of time, before she hands herself over to Danny.

Before he gets her. Touches her, Kisses those soft, red lips. Runs his fingers down her body and feels her against him. Touches her everywhere.

I press my lips to hers fiercely, the softness of them melting my insides. This kiss feels like more, like sunshine and warmth, all rolled into one, like an aura surrounding us, plastered to our skin, moulding up together.

"We have dates." Celia whispers against my lips, her breath ragged.

"Do I look like I care?" I respond, seizing her lips again, and cupping her face, letting my lips taste her chin, and down her neck. She falls backwards, slowly, my weight easing her down on the seat, gently.

"Dylan." She breathes. She's everywhere, her scent hovering around us. We're in a sphere all by ourselves, and it feels so damn good, so real, and genuine, I want to do this forever, feel this forever.

But I can't.

When she pushes me away with a moan, which is feral, and scared, rolls out from under me, and picks up her clutch, walking away, and leaving me bereft and cold, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time.

And it's weighing my heart down.