trigger | event or circumstance that is the cause of a particular action

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2/24/17

BROOKLYN SLIDES INTO the seat next to me just as the bell rings signaling the beginning of class. I flash him a quick smile as our teacher starts to drone on about the group projects we've been working on.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" Brooklyn asks quietly as our teacher continues to introduce the second phase of our assignments. But it's a Friday afternoon and she doesn't really have the attention of anyone at this point.

I shrug as I take a few halfhearted notes. "I know Franny wants me to go to a party with her," I say slowly as my eyes flicker up to the white board. "But I don't know if I really want to," I admit keeping my eyes locked on my notepad and the messy handwritten notes.

It's another party at Asher's and after running into him at the mall, after he called me nobody, I don't really want to see him. He runs so hot and so cold that I'm beginning to get whiplash from all his on and off again behavior. Plus going with Francesca means seeing her flirt with him, probably agree to another date with him, even kiss him again and the thought of that makes my skin begin to crawl with a mix of anger and disgust at myself.

Asher and I haven't spoken to each other once this week, not that is completely out of the ordinary. But even when he's ignoring me in public he usually finds a way to speak to me in private. Kiss me in storage closets. Touch me behind doors that cannot lock that makes what we do beyond dangerous but causes a thrill to race through me.

But this time I'm ignoring him as well. I'm not looking for stolen glances and secret smiles. He called me a nobody. He acted as if I wasn't even worthy of the dirt that sits under his shoes.

But even this week without casting me a second glance he somehow managed to still wiggle his way into my life just like he always does. Even when he's ignoring me and making me feel like crap he finds a way to do something so sweet that it covers up the multitude of ways he continues to hurt me.

This time he set up a donut-fund for me at Mrs. Scott's market. I went in to buy my usual pink sprinkled donut and she told me it was covered, that in fact my next hundred donuts were covered. I didn't even have to ask who did it, I knew only one person who would do this. The same person who in front of his mother made me feel like less than a nobody when he wouldn't even acknowledge me. The same person who sneaks in my window at night but is never around when the sun rises.

"You seem to be going to Asher's a lot lately," Brooklyn comments out of nowhere pulling me from my thoughts.

I lift my eyes away from my notes to my friend's big brown ones. "What's that supposed to mean?" I question uncomfortably feeling the back of my neck heat in shame. Because I am embarrassed about what has happened between us. Embarrassed about the way I let him have control over my thoughts. Embarrassed about the way I've been sneaking around with him behind my best friend's back.

He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "I...just..." he trails off awkwardly as if he can't find the right words at this moment. "Do you like him or something?" he blurts out finally and his words hit me like a bucket of frigid ice water. My skin pricks with awareness and my eyes dart around the room to make sure no one is paying us any attention. But of course all eyes are locked on our teacher or their phones not even worried about the words that Brooklyn has just thrown at me.

I clear the thickness that begins to coat my throat. "Of course not," I blatantly lie. I lie to my friend because the reality is much scarier to admit. That I do actually like Asher Lawton. I like the way his dark eyes watch me, I like the way he makes me feel desired, I like the way that he pushes me outside of my comfort zone. I like him, even though he's an utter asshole. I like him, and that's a feeling I shouldn't be having. Shouldn't want to have, and yet I still crave him like an addict waiting for my next hit.

My fingers tap against the table as nerves overflow my body. "Why would you ask that?" I ask my friend with furrowed brows.

His shoulders lift lightly as his brown eyes wash over my face as if they are trying to get a read on me. "I didn't mean anything by it," he tells me earnestly before running a hand through his mess of curls. "I was just making an observation."

"Franny is my best friend Brooks," I tell him with a harsh edge to my words. "She is into Asher, not me, that's why we go there," I say, setting him straight. It's a touch of the truth mixed together with lies that fill my bones and make me feel dirty.

"Sorry," he whispers, dropping his gaze. "I didn't mean to make you mad," he says gently and I instantly feel bad. For snapping when Brooklyn was asking a seamlessly innocent question, for lying to him, and for making him feel bad about questioning me. A question any friend would ask.

I sigh. "I'm not mad," I state truthfully. I'm more taken back by the way he noticed something no one else has, not even my best friend. How does he seem to read me so easily?

"He's an ass, remember?" I push out a laugh to lighten the mood. But as Brooklyn's gaze reaches mine I know he can see something is off with my laugh, maybe by the way it doesn't reach my eyes, or that that it sounds forced and fake.

But even if he notices something is off he plays along and cracks a grin. "He is an ass," he agrees. "Don't forget it," he adds softly as if he's warning me. But I don't need to be warned. Because I knew the moment I crashed into Asher's line of vision I would be playing with fire. And I'm playing stupid in thinking that he won't let the flames burn me. But he will, because weak and burned is how he wants all his women. And I'm no different.

I have to remember that. I am not special in his midnight eyes, I am just another in a long line of nobodies thinking they can have a chance to be with the king.

"Believe me, I won't," I murmur. But I already know that a part of me has. Because at night when my dreams take over they like to imagine the what if's. What it would be like to be with Asher out in the open. What it would be like to let myself fall for someone like him. What it would be like to not be afraid of him hurting me.

But those are dreams so far removed from reality. Nothing else. And dreams never last.

Brooklyn shifts in his seat before changing the topic. "Are you going to come to our next show?" he asks with bright eyes referring to his band.

"When is it?" I question with a small tilt of my head.

"Couple weeks, same venue," he tells me with a nod.

"They must've really liked you."

A faint blush warms his tanned cheeks making him even more adorable in my eyes. "Yeah, we ended up packing the place," he says. Most guys would brag about that, but Brooklyn's words are far from, he's more proud than anything.

"That's awesome," I tell him honestly.

"So you'll be there?" he asks, his eyes brightening at the idea of me coming to his show.

"Are you going to play any original songs?" I push with a raised brow. His songs are so beautiful and he deserves more credit. He's amazing at playing the drums, but his true craft is songwriting and his craft needs to be heard.

"I don't know..." he drawls with uncertainty.

"Come on," I pester. "They're amazing, you have to," I urge, letting my shoulder nudge against his playfully.

A small chuckle falls from his lips. "Maybe one," he agrees somewhat reluctantly.

"Two?" I push even more with a big cheesy grin.

He shakes his head at me. "Okay maybe two."

My cell phone that's sitting face down on my desk begins to incessantly buzz. No one really texts me during the day, besides maybe my mom or Francesca so confusion fills my face. I flip over the phone as class is coming to an end and see a dozen texts from my best friend. Worry washes through me at the sight of all the misspelled texts urging me to come meet her.

"Is everything okay?" Brooklyn inquires next to me noticing my change in demeanor.

"Um..." I trail. "I have to go, something's up with Fran," I tell him, not wanting to say too much as I know more about her personal life than anyone else.

"Okay," he says simply, and I know he wants to say more in this moment but he bites his tongue.

"Can we work on our project after school?" I ask him standing up from my seat.

"Corner Cup?" he suggests already knowing my answer. Knowing me.

I nod fighting back the smile that wants to break out across my face. "Sounds perfect," I reply.

I gather up my belongings and pull my backpack on before I slip out of the class. The teacher doesn't even notice me leave, and even if she did she wouldn't say anything about me leaving as I'm someone who never causes trouble.

My footsteps echo in the empty high school hallways as I make my way over to the girl's bathroom located near Francesca's block of classes during this time of the day. I push into the vacant bathroom to hear cries coming from a stall.

"Franny?" I call out tentatively afraid it won't be her.

"Mae?" her voice croaks out with a small hiccup following. For a few seconds I wonder if she knows out about Asher and me, and fear begins to awaken from within me.

The stall door opens and she stumbles out of the small space. The fear that had began to fill me falls away as my gaze lands upon my best friend. Her eye makeup is slightly smeared, her eyes bloodshot and glassed over. My heart sinks as a deep breathe slithers through my teeth.

She's drunk, and she's high. Again.

"What happened?" I question taking a step closer to my best friend who's falling apart. The strong smell of liquor and weed sits in the air surrounding us.

Francesca may drink more frequently than I personally like, but she rarely gets high. Only when she feels like her world is crumbling around her does she resort to drugs to numb herself from the world. From the outside looking in my best friend seems to have the perfect life. She's rich, she's popular, she's beyond gorgeous. And I even at times let myself fall for the illusion she puts on for the rest of the world to see. But little does anyone know the truth.

The truth about her family.

"They won't stop fighting," she grunts as her hands fly though her hair and tug at the dark ends in frustrated anger.

"Your parents?" I ask though I already know the answer.

"Yes!" she shouts as tears continue to stream down her face.

"And your mom?" I push knowing where this breakdown is leading.

She stops pacing for a second and leans her frame against the worn bathroom walls. Her sniffles linger in the silent air between us. "She says she's in pain," she tells me weakly standing up for her. She likes to pretend that her mother doesn't have a problem, doesn't have an addiction.

One night almost a year ago her parents drank a little too much and her father ended up crashing into a tree off the side of the road. They both survived, but Francesca's mother suffered a back injury that she to this day pops pain pills like candy for. Pops the pills for not only her physical pains but her emotional ones. She thinks if she can get high enough she won't have to deal with them.

"Fran," I breathe not knowing where to begin.

"She's in pain Mae," she counters, pushing herself off of the wall and stepping towards me. Tripping over her own feet. Wet eyes. Streaky makeup. A mess. She's a mess.

"Okay," I relent not wanting to upset my friend.

"She is," she cries out defensively but I can see the truth in her eyes. And she knows it just as much as I do, but she just can't speak that truth yet.

Hot tears fill my eyes as I watch my best friend continue to fall apart piece by piece until there's nothing left. Her parents have all out screaming matches at night and her mother is addicted to tiny white pills and her father ignores her completely. Francesca's life is unraveling around her and taking her down with it.

"Okay," I agree again, taking a few steps until Francesca is right in front of me.

"I hate them," she mumbles out before her arms wrap around me.

I pull her in close to me as I hug my best friend. I let her mascara tinted tears stain my shirt, and her sobs tear through her body and break my heart all at once.

My arms bring her in even closer because at this moment I have to be strong for her. I have to be there for her when she feels as if no one else will ever be.

"Thank you," she whispers to me in appreciation for this moment. A moment I know she'll push away and pretend like never happened once she takes a step away from me.

But we'll both know the truth. Even after she touches up her makeup my shirt will still bare the stains.

"Always," I respond, attempting to ignore the guilt that flares from within me.