Chapter Text
"You are like an undesired song that’s stuck on
my mind. Even in my unwillingness, every cell
In my body keeps singing you.”
Eva Devingelien
**
You are out on a date with some cute, sweet boy, whose name you barely remember. Maybe it's Steven? Or Stefan? Something with an S. Either way you're not having such a bad time. He’s an artist, like you. A photographer, whose camera always hangs across his shoulder, swaying with the movement of his lean arms.
You and him are at a park not to far from your apartment, sitting atop of the jungle gym. His fingertips are a faint inky blue, as he pulls out a cigarette. Twirls it between his fingers, like it's some kind of nervous tick. He says nothing as he lights it, his hazel eyes fluttering closed as he slowly inhales, and holds it.
He takes a moment before offering it to you, blowing a ring of smoke from his lips. His eyes are gently worn hazel, but his smile is all crooked mischief. He seems the bruised and battered type. One whose survived tragedy, and still can't help but be in love with the world’s beauty, as well as its ugly.
It makes you smile. You're no better. No different. You knew what it was to be a cynic haunted by hope.
So you take it. Pull the toxic smoke into your lungs, and hold it. Far longer than you should. Don’t think it could possibly cause any further damage than what’s already been done. Your insides have always been singed at the edges.
You find out his name is Samuel.
And his eyes twinkle when you shorten it to Sam.
**
You are in bed, flicking through pictures on Sam’s camera. They're all different. All seem to send a different message. Tell a different story. Your favourite is one of a long oak tree, sunlight is slipping through its twigs, creating peculiar shadows on the floor. Ice splinters cling to its branches, and when the light reflects off them, rainbows of color explode off the crystalline surface. You try to imagine what was going through his head when he took it.
This takes you by surprise. And for a moment the urge to run is very real. As is the rough flinch in your chest. He is the first person's head you have actually tried to slip into, in years. Something you are unfamiliar with.
This is dangerous territory.
You're Maya Hart, and there is nothing soft or vulnerable about you. Riley is the hero of this story, and you are her anti-hero. Her antagonist. The complete opposite of everything she is.
You are the good bad girl. The one everyone can count on to mess up. But not too much. The one everyone expects to be bad. But never too bad. Sometimes, it gives you a headache, you never really know when far enough is too far.
So, you pushed, blindly, desperately, at anyone new who came along and tried to solve you. To figure you out. To make sense of the things, not even you could. You weren’t a fucking rubix cube. And no one was going to save you by putting all the pieces back into their rightful places.
It didn’t work like that. You should know.
And, looking inside a person, attempting to make sense of all their edges... was a sure way to get blood on your hands. But, there you were, pondering the question; what made Sam Evans tick?
Ooops, didn't even cover it.
You eye the bottle of scotch that rests on your bedside table.
About a week ago, you had gotten some sketchy guy outside a liquor store down the street, to buy it for you. It had sat there, unopened, just within reach, ever since. Silently teasing. Tempting. Like most things you wanted. Like most things you couldn't have. Like something that was ultimately not meant for you.
You looked away. There were a lot of those.
Zay would have a fit if he knew. It wasn't very surprising to many, that you weren't very charming when you were drunk. You were harsh, lashing out at anything that got too close. Your tongue loose, and cruel. As you threw your words like knives. You tended to let go. When that happened, everything came out. Your (but really Riley's) world fractured like glass under your sorry fingertips. Trembled, and shook like something made of weak foundations.
What could you do?
You climbed through his fucking window. You layed on his bed so nonchalantly, it was as if you'd been doing so for years. You made fun of him, and his hick roots, like you used too. Like you did all the time (in your mind.)
He had seemed so sad. So disappointed.
You didn't look at him. Couldn't stomach it.
He sat beside you, careful to make sure not an inch of you touched an inch of him.
You closed your eyes for a minute. Maybe hours. It didn't really matter.
What did, was that when you woke, he was facing you. His hair tousled, with an almost soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The space between your two bodies was smaller than it had been in a long time. Smaller than it should've been. Some time while you were asleep, your hand seemed to had found his. Or maybe his hand had found yours. Either way, your right hand was twined with his left. The rough calloused pads of his fingers almost brushing your sleeved wrist.
He was thankfully still asleep as the warm light that came with dawn had just began its soft appearance along his floorboards. It wasn't even a compulsive decision. But a need. A desire so deep you were unable to stop it. Your hand reached out, and gently, softly, too tenderly, brushed his disheveled hair away from his face.
His body shuddered. And his warm hold on your hand tightened. You eased out of his hold, shivered at the frigid rush of air that came through his cracked window. You sighed as you watched him a moment, the way he shifted closer to the side you had lain, as if seeking to get closer. Despite yourself a small fleeting feeling of amusement cut through all your panic.
He let out an abrupt snore. You rolled your eyes, grabbed the blanket at the edge of his bed and draped it over his body.
You weren't so cruel as to let him catch a cold. At least that's what you told yourself.
You jumped out his window and landed quietly on his fire escape. But, something compelled you to look back.
His hand was now resting on what you thought was the warmth your body left behind. His fist bunching the sheets. Your breath hitched.
God, he was beautiful. God, was fate cruel to Hart women.
You fled.
The scene forever burned in your mind.
Your body had betrayed you. Had betrayed Riley. It didn’t matter that you hadn't even done anything really all that bad. What mattered was everything had changed.
You hadn't even meant for it to.