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Sebastian:

My body feels like it’s floating as I make my way to my permanent seat in detention. There’s a smile plastered to my face that isn’t usually there because normally I hate my life, which generally fucking sucks. Today started out shitty like all the others do. But I decided I’m finally ready to kill myself, so the day isn’t actually fucked like the rest of them.

It’s turned into a great day.

It honestly feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders because I’m able to say with certainty that I’ve made my decision and won’t be going back on it this time. It’s been heavy on my mind lately, seeing as my father’s abuse has amped up and my mom is more fragile than ever. I don’t want to leave her alone with him, but I fuck up every chance I get to protect her. So, what’s the point of sticking around?

I adjust the old guitar in my hands as I fall into the desk to my right. My body bounces a bit as my heavy limbs settle. I swiped a few of my mom’s pills to make it through the day and decided to take them right before lunch. That was forty minutes ago. I swear her valium is reassuring me that my decision to end my life is just fucking peachy. I feel somewhat giddy as I sling my guitar over my lap, plucking a few cords absentmindedly in my happy daze.

I’m in here so often the teacher doesn’t mind the music that accompanies me. He doesn’t even play his radio anymore, just lets me do my thing. Even when I don’t have my guitar, which is rare, my fingers are still working notes out. They’re constantly moving and so is my mind. Always playing music, always hearing songs in my head. I’m really not that complicated. I’m either focused on music or survival.

I laugh as I miss a cord, something uncommon for me, the sound falling flat against my ears. “Everything alright, Mr. Cox?” my teacher asks from his desk at the head of the classroom, noticing as well. I just smile deliriously and nod. I know he knows I’m high out of my mind, but he doesn’t say fucking shit. Mr. Martin is cool like that. He gets that I’m just doing the best that I can.

Everything feels easier now that I’ve made my decision. My dad can’t hurt me once I die and maybe after my suicide, he’ll take pity on my mom, stopping her abuse. Doubtful, but it isn’t my problem now that I’m killing myself. It may sound harsh, but all I’ve been doing for the better part of my entire life is growing up way too quickly at the hands of that prick. My mother and I playing musical chairs as to who gets his fists first. So, forgive me if I’ve lost my sense of feeling called to serve out the shitty hand I was dealt now that I’m eighteen and legally able to make my own decisions.

I’m tired of this bullshit life.

I’ve been tired.

There’s a sound to my left, the empty desk next to me suddenly filled by a slutty blonde named Claire, whose father has her on a pedestal so high she’s been begging me to defile her and bring her crashing down since the start of the school year. She’s tried so many times to score a date with me, but I’m never interested. She’s shallow and would throw me under the bus the first chance she got if she knew the truth to my mystery. A fucked up kid who can’t keep his mom from being beat to shit, let alone himself. One who’s so fucking depressed he’s willing to end it all just to get a break from the constant pain of existence. I know I’d become the next form of gossip to escape her mouth.

The echo of my mom’s screams are constantly repeating themselves in my head, as well as in my nightmares. I’m looking forward to the unending silence death will bring. And hearing Claire now isn’t deterring me from that comforting promise of quiet.

Not in the least .

I study her features, the valium making it much easier for me to be a judgmental dick. She’s not ugly, but her insides are. It’s a huge turn off. I’m not listening to anything she’s saying as I continue to gently play my guitar while glaring at her. She peeks at my fingers and swallows loudly. The girls are always looking at my fingers. It makes me laugh. There are rumors about my fingers that have nothing to do with how well I play music. Rumors born from the need to survive, not to please as they like to gush about.

“Bash, please. Just one date,” she begs desperately. I snort as she cringes a little but tries again. “I’ll pay for everything .” She’s leaning forward into my space as I sigh in annoyance, stopping my strumming. Apparently I have to tell this bitch off straight up.

“I don’t want to fucking date you. I don’t care if you’ll suck me off after. You’ve got the wrong guy,” I say with a deathly handsome stare. Even in my rejection, she finds herself straining for more of me as her chest moves towards my body. I angrily snarl. “I’m not interested, Claire. And if I were, you certainly wouldn’t have to bribe me with a free meal. I know how to treat a girl I want to be seen with.” Not that I have any money to take anyone out. A free meal would be fucking nice. But I ain’t dating Claire for a fucking cheeseburger.

She pales a fuck-ton before turning bright red with embarrassment. I’m not sure if I imagine a squeak or not as she scurries away, but once she’s gone, I return to fingering the strings of the guitar in my lap peacefully. Claire is not a nice girl. And I have no time for self-serving assholes today. Not on my last day.

Since most of my senior year has been spent playing catch up, I don’t really go to class like the other kids. I’m usually working on something that qualifies me to graduate at an accelerated pace, considering the amount of school I’ve missed due to my shitty home life over the last four years. I’ve never cared about school. I only care about music and making sure my mom is alright. And since I suck at preventing her abuse and my music is just a stupid way for me to disassociate, I’ve always figured as long as I got my GED someday, even if I had to drop out, I’d be fine in the long run. Even without anything to fall back on. I’d still qualify for a low-level job.

But I don’t need to worry about any of that shit now. It feels fucking good to sit here without wasting the time I have left on some stupid computer assignment.

I’ve made up my mind. I’m killing myself tonight. Again, I sink into the happiness that thought brings me as I think to myself, this is the best I’ve felt in a really long time .

Alina:

Detention is practically empty today as I lazily stroll into the room and hand the clipboard off to Mr. Martin. He smiles warmly at me as I smirk back at him.

“And what have we done this time, Ms. Timber?” he jokes with an amused look in his eye.

“I punched Scotty Craw in the junk for calling me blue balls,” I innocently reply, seductively batting my lashes coated in thick, black mascara.

“Knowing that kid, I’m sure he had it coming,” he says with a wink as I bow slightly at his praise. “But Alina. Blue balls ? Do I even want to know?”

“As my teacher, I don’t want to scar you,” I joke back as he fists my detention slip from the clipboard with a playful warning look and gestures to the sea of open seats before us. Turning, I instantly spy Claire Daniels in one corner glaring at me. I immediately head in the opposite direction. I avoid that bitch at all costs any time I can help it. I hear her satisfied laugh as I roll my eyes. Dumb, fucking cunt.

I’m looking at my options on the other side of the room when I hear the most beautiful song from the back row and spy a boy I’ve heard of but never met in person. He’s sitting by himself, strumming his acoustic guitar. His dark brown hair is parted down the center and hangs to his shoulders in subtle waves. His jaw is stubbled, and his eyes are lost, like he’s seeing something no one else but him can see. I’m mesmerized by his gorgeous smile though. It stretches over his face easily and even though I’m pretty sure he’s high out of his mind on something, I’m drawn to him and his music.

My feet begin to move me forward.

He watches me as I close in on him, his grin growing playful as I approach his desk quietly. I tap the top of it once, gesturing towards the one next to him. “Mind if I sit?” I ask, like he owns the fucking room, though he obviously has some sort of sway on me to lure me in so easily.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he replies with a sexy smirk. I furrow my brows as I take the desk next to him, my heart racing. My ass hits the seat quickly, his attention making me sweat. I’m self-conscious but trying to hide it. I flip my long hair over my shoulder and smile nervously at him. He lifts a brow and again, smirks back at me. I try not to shiver from his attention.

“You got a name?” I ask in a husky tone before I quickly clamp my mouth shut, afraid of myself and the weird voice that just came out of me. I know his first name. Everyone does. But like I said, we’ve never been formally introduced.

“Sebastian Cox,” he says, plucking three cords, then meeting my eyes with an intense stare. “But most people just call me Bash.” A snort leaves my nose before I have time to repress it.

“Bash Cox?” I ask incredulously. “Sounds awfully violent,” I sarcastically add. Bash is the next to snort. Then he laughs, deep from his belly, his feet meeting the floor beneath him. He sets his guitar on the ground as he looks at me with genuine interest now. His eyes run the length of my body. I bite my lip at his attention.

“And what’s your name?” he asks, studying my eyes with his unfocused ones. It doesn’t matter to me that he’s high. They’re absolutely perfect as he looks back into my own.

“Alina,” I whisper, suddenly entranced by the boy in front of me and all that he’s making me feel inside. We can’t stop staring at each other. I decide I don’t ever want him to look away from me.

“Well, Lina Girl,” he says slyly as I hold my breath, waiting on his answer as he continues to look me over, licking his bottom lip in thought. I begin to count inside my head, wondering how long I can withstand breathing. “I’m more of a lover than a fighter, so the cocks are safe with me. I promise.”

It’s a second before I realize we’re millimeters apart. Our faces have inched together dangerously close during our short introduction. I tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear and break eye contact first, nervous as shit. He grabs a lock by my shoulder, sending a thrill through my body as he touches me.

“I like this color,” he says thoughtfully, holding up the burgundy strand and examining it in the light.

“I dye it myself,” I say shyly as he nods in approval. I like him complimenting me.

“Makes your eyes stand out,” he replies as he releases my hair, and I finally start to breathe again. “They’re a wicked green.”

I don’t know what to say. So, I nod towards his guitar. “How long have you played?” I ask as he smiles fondly at it.

“For as long as I can remember,” he replies. “My granddad taught me growing up and it’s made me feel closer to him ever since he passed. It’s the only thing that makes me feel anything at all,” he tells me honestly. I nod, smiling softly at his story, my heart feeling warm. He looks kind of vulnerable, which makes me want to comfort him suddenly.

“Thanks for sharing,” I whisper as he studies me with a funny look on his face. “ What? ” I ask, afraid that I accidentally blew snot on myself from snorting earlier. I touch my nose to quickly check.

“You really mean that, don’t you?” he says quietly as I shake my head, a little confused.

“It was a really sweet story,” I reply. He continues to stare at me in awe.

“Yeah, but no one’s ever thanked me for sharing it and believe me, you’re not the first to hear it. You’re different, aren’t you, Lina Girl?” He playfully moves his face around mine, taking me in from different angles, causing me to giggle. I’ve never heard rumors of how Bash acts. If he’s playful or silent, silly or serious. The rumors only talk about his fingers and what they can do to a girl. He’s known to get around. It’s crazy, because he’s mostly a loner and fights with the popular guys on a regular basis, despite him telling me the cocks are safe. He's always sticking up for the losers and loners and yet, every girl in this school is dying to get their hands, and bodies, on him.

“I guess you can say that,” I respond somewhat bitterly. “It’s not like it makes a difference around here though.” Despite being similar to Bash in the fact that I’m mostly a loner, the rumors about me haven’t gained me any sort of favor. I’m known as the school virgin and least likely to open my legs for any of the guys in my class.

“Of course, not. Not to these assholes anyway. You’re doing the opposite of putting out,” he replies. I feel my face go completely red, my armpits breaking out in a nervous sweat again. “Blue balls,” he says with a laugh as my shame deepens. Of course, the school’s registered sex god is aware of and making fun of the famous prude. Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. I feel defensive as I bite back at him.

“Here to laugh at me too?” I ask angrily as I turn away from his face and flip my hair into my own, trying to hide. “Go ahead! Get it out!”

“Lina Girl,” he says gently. His tone has me immediately searching his face for some sort of sympathy, which I find I’m desperately longing for. “You’re repeatedly enforcing boundaries with guys who could give a shit about you, and you think I want to make fun of you for that?”

“The rumors about you are very different,” I say defensively. “Why wouldn’t you make fun of the girl who doesn’t put out? ”

“Because I sense there’s a reason you’re holding out on everyone,” he says with a small smile. And it isn’t mean or evil, just knowing. “Tell me what it is.” He leans forward again, his fingers brushing over my arm, plucking invisible strings as he waits for me to tell him why I haven’t lost my virginity yet, even though I’ve had every opportunity. Goosebumps rise where he touches me.

“They only care about what I can give them. The first thing that happens on any date is my head being pushed towards their cheesy half-chub,” I say disgusted. “They barely acknowledge me before they’re demanding I stick their nasty dick in my mouth. Fuck that. I’d rather be known as blue balls. So be it,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest and angrily sigh.

“You’re brave as hell,” he quietly remarks as he shakes his head in approval of me. “And you’re right. They don’t give a fuck about you. I’ve heard every one of those guys talk shit about you. In the locker room or in class or in passing. You did the right thing. They don’t deserve you, Lina Girl. And any girl who knows her worth like you do is meant for more than what they could ever offer you.”

“And what can you offer me?” It’s out of my mouth in a breathless whisper before I can stop it. His lighthearted mood becomes dark as he levels me with a stare. It makes his unfocused eyes seem more purposeful now. I’m reeling by the pain I feel radiating off of him.

“Not enough, sweetheart.” He means it with everything he is. I can see it in his body language as I feel tension filling the air between us. He has to be lying. I’m not imagining this connection, am I?

“Bash,” I say hesitantly, not wanting to scare him away. But I have to try. I don’t know if I’ll ever get another shot like this. He looks at me and waits patiently for me to gather myself. “It’s my birthday today,” I say, and his smile returns, the darkness forgotten.

“ Happy birthday ,” he replies earnestly. I can’t help but swoon under his gaze.

“Made it to eighteen, can you believe it?” I ask with a small smile. His eyes darken again, but I’m not sure if it’s from what I said or something different.

“You have an amazing life ahead of you, don’t you?” he asks as he picks up his guitar and starts to strum it. His graceful fingers dance over the cords so effortlessly. I find myself biting my lip again as I watch him play for a few minutes. Silence falls between us, but his music continues to fill the space. I feel my pull to him intensify.

“Bash,” I murmur again, and he opens his eyes as he looks into mine seated across from him. “What are you doing tonight?”

He stops what he’s doing to level me with a stare, like he’s weighing his words and what to tell me. His blue eyes are looking deep into my soul. I’m not sure how to feel about it. It feels invasive, yet I want him to look at me like that forever. “I’m going out of town,” he finally replies as my shoulders slump forward. “Problem?” he gently prods. I shrug like a five-year-old, pouting.

“I thought maybe… you could be my plus one to my birthday party,” I respond lamely, trying to make it come off like a joke. “I don’t have many friends,” I add, sounding more pathetic.

“You’re gonna be alone tonight?” he asks, suddenly looking saddened by that fact.

“My parents are traveling with my brother’s basketball team this weekend. Some big tournament out of state. Guess everyone but me will be out of town tonight,” I say with a weak laugh, feeling sorry for myself.

“That’s not happening,” Bash says with a growl.

“It’s ok. I’ll get some French fries and a Famous Star with cheese and make a fucking night of it!” I say with a halfhearted smile, while Bash shakes his head vigorously.

“You’re not eating Carl’s Jr. unless it’s with me tonight,” he says defiantly. I can’t help but smile like a fucking lunatic at the thought of having a birthday date with Bash Cox. Or the fact that he knows the Carl’s Jr. menu as well as I do.

Sebastian:

“Is it lame to admit how excited I am right now?” Lina asks with the cutest, shyest grin, her green eyes peeking out from under her dark lashes.

My heart clenches in my chest at the look on her stunning face. I’m grabbing her hand without even realizing what I’m doing. I’m just seeing it happen before me, like my movements aren’t even my own. Her warm fingers in mine remind me there’s still good in this life, even if it’s few and far between. I can tell my touch is doing something to her. She’s trembling in my hold, yet she doesn’t even realize I’m a fucking sucker for her already.

“You have no idea how you’ve changed my plans tonight,” I say with a surprised look at her. She sticks out her tongue in triumph as my gaze blackens at her carefree attitude. She’s dangerously close to closing the distance between our desks. All of her infectious energy is turning me on and making me feel again.

“I’d apologize, but I’d be lying,” she gushes as she throws her maroon hair over her shoulder, continuing to smile brightly.

“Don’t ever be sorry.” My words mean so much more than she will ever know.

She just saved my fucking life.

We stare at each other as we play with each other’s fingers.