Beautiful Disaster

19 | cassette tapes

My mind forgets to remind me, you're a bad idea
You touch me once and it's really something
— Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift

the past

A MONTH HAD passed since my mom was shot to death at a bank robbery gone wrong and life had been a series of unfortunate events since, collapsing like dominoes.

My dad spent most of his time in the office, slaving away at his business, and on the days he'd come home, he'd lock himself up in his room, leaving me alone with my despair. The police were still attempting to locate the culprits, but I had already given up hope for a positive response. Even my dad lost his faith in the possibility that we'd put the people at fault behind bars. I was at least seventy percent sure that he hired a private investigator.

Cassie and Emma were out of town with their families for the summer, but they'd call me every night without fail despite my constant refusal. Although talking to them helped me forget about the dread and loneliness, every time we got off the phone and the world hushed, the pain of grief would come crashing back. And it was more violent each time.

There was one person I'd confess was helping me cope with everything.

Dylan Ashby, aka my sworn nemesis, had decided to glue himself to my side since the night of my mom's funeral when I cried my heart out in his presence.

It was frustrating to a degree, but also gratifying. It was nice to have someone by my side during these dark times, and a part of me believed that he was also benefiting from my company. His dad was sentenced to jail and his mom and sister left town not too long ago. I knew he was still living in their family home, and there were multiple occasions when I had attempted to stir our conversations on that topic.

Yet they were always in vain.

Dylan preferred to keep to himself, and I had decided to respect that side of him. He had been nothing but kind to me this past month. He was even teaching me how to surf, which took me a great deal of convincing — though I was immediately sold when he confessed that the ocean never failed to put his mind at rest.

And that he liked being in the water.

I'd hate to admit it, but I found the confession rather adorable.

I was sitting a few meters away from the shore with my knees pressed to my chest, watching the sun as it slowly descended from the sky. I marveled at the hues scattered across the vast blue canvas, its beauty a striking contrast to the havoc beneath.

I rested my chin on my knees, sighing.

How could there still be glamor in chaos?

Peace in sorrow?

An ice cream cone suddenly appeared in my line of vision, disrupting my moment of bitter tranquility. I snapped my head to the left in annoyance, swallowing back the potentially offensive remarks when my eyes automatically skimmed down Dylan's bare torso.

I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth. Damn, it had to be illegal to look that fucking hot.

Dylan sat next to me on the sand and handed me the cone. "It's cookie dough," he said.

I accepted the treat quietly, enamored by his thoughtful gesture. A crooked smile graced his face, and my eyes dropped to it. My heart began to flutter. Could this be what the girls in school feel? A case of uncomfortable heartburn?

I looked away and gave the ice cream a lick.

We sat quietly for the next thirty minutes or so, watching the sunset and the waves beating against the shore. I didn't know when he scooted closer to me, or when I rested my head on his broad shoulder, or when I let him play with my fingers. But under the gentle glare of the setting sun, we were just two teenagers leaning on each other, overcoming life's grievances together.

It was getting difficult to ignore the part of me that wanted to make it up to him. I was fully aware of the cruelty I caused him over the years, and although I wasn't the least bit repentant for it, I strongly believed he didn't deserve my unforgiving ways.

And I didn't deserve his compassion.

"I have something for you," said Dylan.

I raised my head and watched him rummage through his duffel bag. Seconds later, he fished a cassette tape and handed it over to me. But I didn't budge. I stared at it for what felt like an eternity, wondering if this was just one of his many pranks. I mean, who would give someone a cassette tape in this day and age?

Chuckling, Dylan took my hand gently and laid the tape on my palm. "It's my first song composition," he said.

I was well aware that Dylan had a strong passion for singing and playing instruments. In fact, the entire school population knew about it. He performed once during an event, which increased his already large following.

I called it a cult at one point just to spite him, but deep below my pit of secrets, I could say I was a part of it. It was just that being in denial about certain things that would potentially drag me to embarrassing situations was one of my best traits.

"And you're giving it to me?" It sounded ridiculous. "Why?"

"Because you're Blaire — the bane of my existence and the only person in this world who brings me to my knees in humility."

Embarrassment suddenly coursed through me. I could feel the warmth of color invading my cheeks, the urge to look away from those hypnotizing brown eyes crushing my damned ego. His lips quirked into the boyish crooked smile that I loathed, snapping me back to reality.

I nudged him with my shoulder and let out a strained laugh. "I can't believe you almost had me fooled."

Relief shone in his eyes as he shrugged. "It was worth the shot."

I smiled to hide the terror brewing inside me. Terror at the fact that I was taking his honey words to heart; that a large part of me actually believed him; and that I had the slightest impulse to kiss him until we ran out of breath.

I was beyond fucked.