Note: What’s that you say? Original titles? HAHAHAHAcrying okay anyway here we are guys. *high school musical the boys are back playing in the distance* And I’m telling you, this time, I’m sticking around okay? I’m gonna write stuff, and it’s going to be good. Yeah. Flood me with requests. Oh yeah and here’s the reason this story exists: (x)
You had an American wedding. They don’t last too much, but you were so in love. Just two teenagers trying to figure out how to exist in a world so big you could get lost if you didn’t have someone to hold on to.
You remember the way he had knocked on your window late one night with a flask in one hand and car keys in the other.
“Come with me,” he whispered, trying hard not to wake up your parents. And you went with him, just like that, because that’s what you always did. When he got that look in his eyes, you knew there wasn’t anything you could do to stop him from chasing whatever it was.
“Where are we going?” you asked once you were in the front seat. He grinned and kissed you with vodka-stained lips.
“We’re going to get married,” he said and handed you a little vending machine ring, plastic painted silver with a shiny pink heart on the front. Your stomach clenched and your pulse started racing.
“Are you…are you serious?”
“You think I’m joking with a ring like that?” he asked, only half kidding.
You laughed, dizzy with fear, and didn’t respond.
“So,” he said, turning to start the ignition, “will you? Will you marry me?”
And then he turned to look at you dead on and those eyes, how could you say no?
“Yes,” you whispered, heart pounding as you reached for the flask and took one long continuous drink until he took it from you and drained the rest.
He hit the gas and you drove out of the city, leaving behind your childhood home in a cloud of dust. You continued on for days in a state of semi-consciousness and intoxication under skies from every state. You drove through mountains, across deserts, along coasts, inhaling all thirty-one flavors of sunset.
And then one day the green signs started to show up.
Las Vegas: 300 miles
Did your parents know you were gone?
Las Vegas: 250 miles
Did they even care?
Las Vegas: 100 miles
Would this really last?
You stopped yourself right there. Those were questions that you didn’t want the answers to. You stopped checking the mile count. Real life couldn’t touch you now that you were living on the road and under cheap motel sheets. You spent the days in a sunny, dazed euphoria, and your nights figuring out how far was just far enough to keep your purity ring on.
You kept driving. As more and more billboards began to dot the desert landscape, your drunken and diluted panic began to slowly rise to the surface. For several days somewhere in between the desert and the city you were unable to completely lose consciousness at night. He did alright with the help of a little cheap liquor and a cigarette or two or three. You didn’t mind, as long as he held you close and you could still smell his cologne over all that.
The last night before you arrived in the city, you remember standing on the motel balcony with one of his cigarettes between your teeth and a hot pink Nevada sunset at your feet, twirling that little plastic ring around your finger. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
A million yes’s and a million no’s immediately jockeyed to be said first, each with their own specific reasons attached. Yes, I adore you. No, I’m going to hurt you. Yes, I want a future with you. No, I’m not ready. I’m still just a kid.
“Of course,” you whispered, and he looked up at you with that same look in his eyes as he had the first time you met, forever ago on a train that had long since stopped running somewhere in New York. And oh, you must’ve made the right choice because your heart was pounding and you wanted to take him right then and there on the motel balcony. You went to sleep that night burning alive and in a separate bed, the twin you thought you’d have enough self-control to not use.
You reached the city by twilight the next day. He asked you to pick a chapel, any chapel on the map, and you chose one called Chapel of the Angels. You walked down the aisle decorated with its elaborate neon crucifixes in a pure white dress, holding a bouquet of synthetic flowers. This was it, the moment you’d driven days for. Just nights ago you thought you’d never leave your hometown and now here you were, in the city of lust and bright lights. No place for children.
You didn’t waste time getting back to the motel. He nearly crashed the car in his haste and you had his shirt unbuttoned by the time you were through the door. Somewhere between the floor and the kitchen counter he asked with shaking breaths if it was worth the wait and no, it was just as good now as it would’ve been last night but you figured at least now you wouldn’t go to hell for it so you gasped back that it was. By the end of the night, just a few hours before dawn, you passed out in his arms and he told you that he loved you. And god, you must’ve loved him too, right? You cared about him and this night had been the best of your life and you were married, for god’s sake.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, “and I’m scared. Where do we go now that we don’t have a home?”
“I don’t know.” He let out a heavy sigh, but you could tell that he was still up in the clouds. “Let’s figure it out in the morning.”
But the morning never came.
It was just an American wedding. They don’t mean too much, and they don’t last enough. That’s why when you left him behind in that motel bed, sound asleep and dreaming, you took your ring with you.