Asymptote (bxb)

Prologue: A Light

Our lips were interlocked, moving together as my tongue skimmed their lips. I felt their eyelashes fluttering on my cheek and hand winding in my hair. They let out a soft moan as our lips parted for a fraction of a second before I used my hand on the back of their neck to pull us closer together, as if it were possible. It was almost getting to be routine, we had done it so many times before. Yet, I still wasn't bored. I could do this for the rest of my life and never get bored. The way they tasted, smelled, the sound of their voice- it was perfection. And so, it carried on like every time. I nibbled on their bottom lip tantalizingly slow, and it was only when I started to push them back on the sofa that I felt their hand pushing against my shoulder, hard. I sat back and stared in semi-shock at the alteration in the routine.

I swallowed hard, taking in her appearance with her head bowed down and eyes avoiding mine. "A-Are you okay?"

She nodded meekly and brushed back a strand of platinum hair from her face. I could tell she was chewing on the inside of her cheek- she did that a lot when she was nervous.

"Bailey, I don't think I can do this anymore."

"What do you mean, Peyton?" I reached out for her hand but she pulled it away, looking at me with sad eyes.

"I just," Peyton glanced up at the ceiling and she picked at her thumb nail, "I don't think I like you."

"You don't think you like me? We've been dating for five months, couldn't you have told me that four months ago?!"

"Don't yell at me, please. I feel bad enough." Her words almost made me feel bad, like it was my fault, but then she continued, "Bailey, we're so young still, I want to have fun."

I leaned back, as far away from her as I could without falling off the sofa. Moments ago it had seemed so perfect, and I wanted to hold her forever. Now, I was faced with a different person. "And I'm not fun?"

"You're too nice."

Too nice. The words reverberated off every corner of my mind. I didn't realize I had been leaving until her small hand wrapped around my arm, her nails accidentally digging into my bare flesh.

"Bailey, please don't go. I don't want to lose you as a friend."

I didn't even honour that with a response, because honestly, if I had a penny for every time I heard that I would have... Whatever, point is I'd have a fuck ton of pennies.

I ripped my arm from her grasp, only feeling slightly cruel, and showed myself the door. I scuffed my leather school shoes up on the pavement as I walked, half wishing the earth would swallow me, and the other half wanting to go back and show her just how mean I could be.

Maybe Peyton was right though, we were only fourteen. I wanted to say we were too young to have a serious relationship but even I knew that was a lie. Without relationships there was very little to do in this nothing of a town; sex was practically an extracurricular.

I contemplated calling my mom to come get me, but she would ask what happened because 'a few hours at Peyton's house' had become a few minutes. So I carried on through the dusky haze that was 6 p.m. and went down to the ravine- it was my signature thinking place. As a child, I had been so convinced no one knew of the secret path, but seeing someone walking their dog there had ruined that for me. There was an open green field of grass that led to the dirt path that was surrounded by trees, a few benches scattered sporadically throughout.

It was on one of those benches where I first saw him. I didn't know it was him at the time though. All I saw was a boy who was taller than I, sitting cross legged on the bench with his shoulders shaking. I knew he went to my school. He was a typical stoner and I had the pleasure of seeing him in a class or two before, when he did show up to class. I never heard his name, partly because I didn't care.

I made a point of avoiding eye contact with him, continuing towards the path. I knew he was watching me, or maybe I was just irreparably self-conscious and paranoid. I looked down at my shoes, noticing how I had rubbed the shine of the leather off to expose the dull grey colour beneath it. Mom was going to have a fit.

Yet, despite my better judgement, I found my curiosity forcing me to look upwards. I met eyes with the boy for a millisecond, and then his lips formed words.

"Do you have a light?" I padded my jacket pockets with furrowed eyebrows, finally finding my lighter in the back pocket of my dress pants. I walked over the few feet to him, handing him the lighter. It was relatively dark, but not so dark that I didn't notice how red his eyes were. Maybe if I wasn't so observant I would have thought he was just high, and not have taken note of the dried tear stains down his cheeks.

"Thanks," he whispered. It came out slightly muffled by the cigarette between his lips. He tried unsuccessfully to light it a few times, his fingers fumbling and his thumb merely grazing the lighter.

"Here," I said as I took it from him and ignited the flame, holding in close to his cigarette. It lighted and he inhaled, long and slow.

"Do ya want one?" He held out the box of cigarettes towards me and I stared for a moment in contemplation. Finally, I shrugged.

"Sure."

And that was how I met Miles Lyndon.