blackheart ➵ m. clifford

➵ eleven

➵jett

My mind was a haze for days after Halloween, fog misting the front of my brain until they were nothing but tendrils of memories flashing across the darkness of my eyelids. There was a cacophony of songs that blurred together every time I thought about the mash of people in Luke’s living room, and my heart matched the beat of the drums as little images of blood red lips plagued my mind.

I thought I could still feel them on my throat, soft, wet and the tiniest bit rough, caressing the skin of my neck. Teeth nipped at my flesh, and blood rushed to the surface as he sucked ever so softly. The red marks that had been littered across the curve of my shoulder had turned a vivid purple, glowing on the ivory canvas of my skin.

In the most innocent way, I found them beautiful. They were the colour of amethysts, and they seemed to shine on my skin like the stars shone in the sky. The myriad of love bites gave me tiniest twinge of hope in my gut, knowing that it was Michael’s crimson lips that had painted them on my skin, and it was Michael’s crimson lips that had made me feel like my body was in flames.

A waste of beauty, I thought to myself as I slumped in front of the mirror that sat on my desk, looking away from the marks as I squeezed foundation onto my fingertip. In my own perfect world, I would pull my hair back and flaunt the crystalline colours like they were a trophy, but I couldn’t because Amy would be disappointed.

I brushed powder over the layer of liquid foundation, sighing as the bites became so faint that I could only see them if I looked hard enough. Brushing my hair out with my fingers, I twisted the strands of white blonde into a lazily braid that fell messily over my shoulder, hiding any evidence that the bruises ever existed. I didn’t like it; I didn’t like it at all.

Ever since Halloween, I had been a flustered mess. If I had blushed before, it was absolutely nothing compared to the permanent heat the laced itself in my cheeks now. Every time I simply thought of Michael, butterflies erupted in my stomach and blood reddened my face, and there was this feeling in my chest that I couldn’t quite describe. There was an oxygen tank parked on my chest, crushing my sternum until I couldn’t breathe, but the tubes gave me all the air in the world.

Slipping into a black jumper, I checked my makeup in the mirror before pulling a wool beanie over my head and perching an earphone in my ear. I felt like a normal girl today, with winged eyeliner and hickeys on her neck, and I didn’t feel like that disconnected little coward of a girl who hid behind the curtain of her fringe. My reading glasses rested on my nose, and my lips were painted with pale pink lipstick that I’d smudged across my cheeks to colour my skin.

Sam wasn’t waiting for me in the living room, and Amy had left for work ten minutes ago at least. There was no doubt that my older brother had left early to meet up with his girlfriend, who had become the focus of his entire existence since they met. It was unfathomable how he had become so infatuated with her in such a short amount of time, and it made my mind wander to all the possibilities that Michael withheld.

But I didn’t want that with Michael. He was my friend, and he was there to help me like nobody else could. He was my anchor and my rock and I wasn’t insane when he was around. I couldn’t lose that over a stupid little school girl crush. Michael was more important to me than anyone else, and to lose him would wreck me. I would lose my fucking mind.

Michael was my bridge, and the second I was skipping from reality to fantasy, he would lie a single touch to my skin and I would be pulled straight back to the real world. He was the wind that dispersed the haze, and when he was around I could see so clearly that it was like the other side of me didn’t even exist. I wasn’t mentally unstable with Michael, I was Jett. I was the Princess with the crown of crimson and lips of the same.