.and i drug your ghost across the country where we plotted out my death.

You asked for it... Well, some of you did. And here it is. Another one-shot by Kim. Read and review, as per usual. It's inspired by Wasteland by Francesca Lia Block. I didn't write this. I wish I had, but I didn't. It's Kim's story. It's good. I like it. Oh, the controversy...

I stuck my left index finger between my teeth and started to pull the pink nail polish off. You reached over from my right and touched the black hair ties around my wrist, trailing your finger along the two.
"They leave a mark," I told you even though I'd told you before.
Using my right hand I pulled the bands back, showing you the red indents in my white skin.
"I know," you said, now touching the indents, "I don't like it."
I shrugged and let go of the bands, letting them snap back to my wrist. I pushed the toes of my right foot into the carpet, my leg beginning to shake. I stared blankly at the television screen, trying to make you think I was watching, listening. Although, the image was blurred and upside down, and I really couldn't hear a thing. I switched fingernails and kept staring.
"Hey, You," you whispered. "Stop."
I turned and looked at you, the finger still in my mouth.
"Stop what?"
"Your leg," You said, placing your hand on my bare thigh.
You left it there and I went back to pretending to watch T.V. This is how we should've lived.
~
They drove down the New Jersey highways, windows of the old Ford rolled down, music with fast guitars and loud vocals blaring. A drive that took hours. Going through almost six CDs on the drive. The blonde in the passengers seat had her feet on the dashboard, tapping her feet in the air to the beat of the rock song. Peeling pink nail polish decorated her toes. Her legs were unshaved and exposed by the surf shorts she wore. The short golden hairs shining in the sunlight. A picture of a square was tattooed in black ink on her left ankle, standing out against the pure white skin. Her hair was pulled up into a black hair tie, and two more are bound around her wrist. With her neck exposed, the tattoo of a red rose is visible, a rose surrounded by a black ribbon. The ribbon said "Love like it's a one shot."
The girl with dark hair and dark skin drove, her face just barely amused, like she was hiding her emotions. Like she wanted to stay dark, and she wanted to fade into the black upholstery and never reappear. On the steering wheel she was tapping out the same beat to the song blasting on the old radio. On the right side of her neck, the side to the open window, a rose identical to the other girl's is tattooed. It's not as vibrant as the blonde's, because her skin was darker, but it was there all the same. Her hair was short, not long enough to be put up, but long enough to reach her pierced ears.
The blonde girl turned to the other, smiling when their eyes met. The driver smiled too, and her face changed. Almost as if the blonde girl filled her with happiness and she didn't care anymore. She laughed when the blonde girl tried to whistle the song, and she smiled the entire drive. They turned off the highway, and drove down a county road until they reached the shore of the Atlantic. They parked and walked down to the beach hand in hand. The beach here was nothing like those of where they grew up, in Brighton, but it worked. Everything worked when they were together.
~
"It isn't right." I said, crying.
The tears rolling down my face, ruining my two day old mascara, and dropping onto my chest. By now my chest was soaked; I'd been crying for almost an hour.
"It isn't fair."
"I know, you," You told me, running your thumb along my knuckles.
I pulled my hand away, balled it into the sleeve of your hoodie that I was wearing, and wiped at my eyes.
"Why?" I asked, feebly.
I started sobbing again, before you could answer, and you pulled me into your arms. You held me like I was a child, a little girl scared of the dark or scared of the boogie man in her closet. You held me like a mother would her child, but there was something between us that mother and daughter didn't share.
"I have to," was your answer.
I cried in your arms until you had to leave for your flight. You flew across the country, to Camden to pursue dreams that we both shared. I should've stowed away, gone with you to that new place. To protect you like you protected me when we moved together to the West.
Protection might have saved us. Protection might have saved me.
~
Together they were one. When they were together, they were no longer were they two people. Two opposite looks. No longer were they just a blonde girl with green eyes and a pierced navel, and a brunette with brown eyes and a pierced lip. They were difference in color, height, tattoos and personalities no longer existed. They were, a single person.
A pair of beautiful people who made each other what they were. The dark personality that the brunette was so open with, and the dark personality the blonde girl hid so well, mixed. The exhilarating and happiness the blonde embraced drew out the happiness and exhilaration from the other girl. They completed each other. They relied on each other like yellow does on blue.
Then, the darker girl left. Like when dark leaves light, the light is supposed to last, supposed to never die out. Light outlives dark, light is what keeps everyone alive. But it did. With out her other half, her other personality, she faded slowly.
Faded into the black she kept away from the real world.
Faded to nothing, faded to death.
~
"When is she coming home?" they asked me. "When is she going to be back?"
I always gave them an excuse. If excuses were reality, you'd have came home before I died.
But they aren't, and you didn't.
~
She died alone. Died the day her lover came home. The surprise reunion became a surprise funeral. But she'll never know that. She'll never know she died the day the dark came back.
It was the perfect funeral, because the dark girl was the one that was left. The girl who lived in black, lived at night, was in charge. With dark flowers, dark lighting, and a dark casket. No one would've known the light girl in the pair of beauties was the one that was buried.
Buried in a black hoodie of her lover, in jeans too. No longer did she care how she looked, because when she died, she never thought she'd have the love of her life back. People talk, still. It was years ago and they still talk. Almost as though it's a legend now. They talk about how she died, why and where.
Some say it was murder, but most say suicide. Except the few romantics that say it was a broken heart. She left everything to the only person who knows everything that actually happened. People talk about how it might have turned out, how they might have lived their life together. And that single person who knows it all is the only person who'll never tell. She'll never tell because she's gone now too. Maybe they're together now. That's what some people say, too.
People say they were the epitome of love in Brighton, they were the talk of the town with their emotions. They died to be together, or they died to be apart. No one is ever going to know.
Love in Brighton, London may have died with the dark girl. Or was it with the light?

Like the others, I don't quite get this (just like the other one), but, yeah, whatever. Nice one, Kim. Way to get your angst out.
[S]tep[H] AND [K]i[M]