Miss Atomic Bomb

As you slowly make your way back down the street, dragging your feet as you go, you wonder why it was necessary for Mr. Cake to give you the day off. He must have been expecting you to go after Dash, or something. Have some huge romantic moment where you get down on one knee and apologize for all the world to see. Well, it's quite apparent that that isn't happening. She obviously wants nothing to do with you, and you're just pissed off enough at her that you almost want to feel the same way. Those slaps fucking hurt. And you've reached the point where you're starting to tell yourself that maybe, just maybe, you didn't deserve them.

And it is with that in mind that, instead of doing the responsible thing and going home, you find yourself walking down the alley, into the front door of the bar. It's too early in the day for any decent company to be there, and definitely too early to be drinking. But that doesn't stop you. You go in and sit, eyeing the few patrons who were desperate enough to come in to drink at- you check your watch- 9:15 in the morning. Fucking hell, what is wrong with you.

You wave to the bartender and request a beer, while glancing at the door as it opens to reveal none other than Lyra and Bonnie walking in. Your jaw drops open slightly. Surely these two aren't actually coming here to drink?...

As the bartender hands you your drink, Lyra catches your eye. Her face lights up, and she waves, taking Bonnie's hand and walking over to you.

"Hey!" she says happily. "Didn't expect to run into you here."

"Yeah," you reply, trying to slowly move the drink out of view. "Likewise. What are you two doing here?"

"Oh, we're here for breakfast," she says cheerfully. "They give me a discount for playing here and all."

She raises an eyebrow at your look of confusion. "Breakfast?..." you ask.

"Yeah, breakfast. First meal of the day. We woke up late, so we're eating a little late, so we decided to come here... You know this place is a restaurant too, right? Not just a bar?" She glances subtly at your poorly-concealed beer.

"Oh, yeah, totally," you lie. "I just sat down to order some food, myself." You hope you sound convincing.

"No you didn't, you fuckin' liar," the bartender mumbles, a little too loudly. You facepalm, while Lyra and Bonnie both snort back laughter.

No point in hiding now. You brink the bottle around and drink deeply, draining a good half of the bottle before setting it down, cringing. This is some really shitty beer.

"Something the matter?" Bon Bon asks.

"You could say that," you reply, taking another sip. "To put it mildly: girl troubles."

"What, with you?" Lyra says, surprised, and apparently before thinking, as she puts her hand to her mouth as if to take it back. "Sorry. Just, well, you don't seem to really, well, be the type."

You want to be annoyed with her for saying this, but you know she's right.

"Yeah, I know," you say. "I'm still a bit shocked, myself."

"Well, who is she?" Lyra asks inquisitively, with a sly smile.

"She said she knows you, actually," you answer. "Her name's Dash."

Lyra's smile disappears. She and Bonnie exchange worried glances.

"Dash," she says slowly. "As in, tight clothing, rainbow hair? That Dash?"

"Yep. That one." You raise an eyebrow. "Something I should know?"

"No, not really," Lyra says hurriedly. "It's just... Well... Dash isn't exactly what you'd call one of the most stable of individuals."

"Oh? How so?"

"She... Um... Fuck. Well, no sense in sugarcoating it." A sense of dread falls on you, suddenly. You can tell that whatever it is that cannot be sugarcoated, it certainly isn't pleasant. Lyra lowers her voice, eyeing the bartender, who is probably listening. "She tried to off herself not too long ago. Slit her wrists. Did a pretty shitty job of it, though. Completely tore up her wrists, but managed not to hit anything too vital. They took her in and fixed her up, and she spent a month in a psych-ward because of it. So, yeah. 'Unbalanced' would be a good word to describe her."

This is all just a bit too much to process. "Now, hold on," you say, trying to collect your thoughts. "I've seen, um, a good deal of her, and I never noticed any sort of scars that would suggest self-mutilation."

"Well, then either you're really good at overlooking flaws like that, or she never took off her wristband," Bonnie said. Her wristband. Of course. She'd never taken it off, through the entire time you were having sex. Come to think of it, she'd been wearing it today, when she slapped you. God, it seems so obvious.

"Fuck," you say quietly. "I can't believe I didn't notice. I kind of feel like an asshole for being so goddamn pissed at her as I have been as of late."

Bonnie scoffs. "You really shouldn't... It's not your fault. It's not like that sort of thing is really something you'd expect in this society. It's not your fault she's unbalanced."

Lyra looks at her questioningly. "What the hell, Bon?" she says. "I'm sure she had her reasons. Cutting yourself isn't exactly easy to do on a whim, you know. It's never really justified, but you say that as if she's some sort of freak."

"Well, she's certainly not normal," Bonnie says. "It's not like any of the rest of us decide to off ourselves when the going gets hard. It's a selfish thing to do, and you know it."

"It's selfish, yeah, but I think the least we could do is show her some sympathy for having put herself through that..." the bickering continues as you make the decision to leave. Sighing, you stand, and grab the half-empty bottle of beer. Leaving the payment on the countertop, you make your way to the exit, draining the beer as you go. You throw the bottle in the trash bin by the door, and step out into the blinding sunlight.

As you make your way home, you can't help but wonder if you dodged a bullet by ending things with Dash how you did, and not getting involved in her life.

_________________________________________

There's smoke rising, spiraling towards an orange sky, painted the color of flame by the sunset. The haze rises from the bottom of the hill, a long stretch of downward-sloping asphalt devoid of traffic, or otherwise any signs of life. A single vehicle sits at rest at the bottom, billowing black smoke.

You find yourself walking closer, and suddenly you're at the bottom of the hill. The car is less than ten feet away, but you can't get a clear view of who's inside. Your heart-rate accelerates. You already know who it is. This must be a dream- what else could it be? But you can't wake up. You don't feel in control at all. An arm drops into view, hanging loosely out the open door. A line of red liquid traces its way down the length of the appendage.

And then you're peering inside, and there she is in the driver's seat, Dash herself, naked, bloody, limbs contorted at unnatural angles. Her torn eyelids flutter open, and she slowly focuses her rose-red eyes on you. Blood flows in torrents from her nostrils, and when she opens her mouth to speak, she chokes and coughs blood onto the windshield, and you. Tears roll down her face, mingling with the gore, as she tries to get the words out. The tears turn to blood, cascading down her face like crimson waterfalls, staining her matted-down rainbow hair into solid red. Her wrist-band is gone, and visible is the ragged, bloody mess of her wrists. A bloodstained razor-blade sits beside her in the seat.

You want to help, but you don't know what to do. You reach out to take her hand, but suddenly, she pulls her arm away and smirks. "You're not worth chasing," she says. "And you can go fuck yourself for all I care."

Her smirk turns to a look of utter panic. She clutches at her throat as her lifeblood pours away. Her eyes widen to extreme widths, staring at you, silently pleading for you, her last hope, to save her. But you can't. You can't even move. "Help me!" she screams, one last desperate plea. Her chest heaves as she chokes on her own blood, and she is still, glassy eyes begging you to pull her back from the hellfire and raise her from perdition.

And then the vehicle explodes, the image of fire and death briefly retained in your vision as you awaken. There's a ringing in your ears, and your mouth is dry. You are completely and utterly terrified. You shift under your covers, and realize that the sheets are soaked with sweat.

You reach over to your bedside table and grope around until you grip the base of your lamp. Working your hand upwards, you flip on the light, the flash reminding you once again of the nightmare. You sit up, breathing heavily, and throw off the covers. Taking off your shirt, you walk to the window, trying to clear your head, and throw it open to let the cold night air in. You sigh as the chill breeze washes over you, relaxing you. And then you become slightly less relaxed as a rock flies through the open window and hits you squarely in the chest.

"Jesus Christ!" you exclaim, clutching the spot where the projectile impacted and stepping away from the window.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD," you hear from below. The voice is all too familiar.

You lean your head out the window. "What the hell is your-"

"I SAW YOUR LIGHT TURN ON AND I HAD THE IMPULSE TO THROW A ROCK AT YOUR WINDOW TO GET YOUR ATTENTION BUT I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D OPEN THE FUCKING WINDOW AND THEN I HIT YOU AND I'M SO SORRY," she practically screams, while obviously trying hard to suppress a laugh.

"Okay, okay, Christ, it's fine," you say, part exasperated and part amused. "Calm down, you'll wake the whole fucking neighborhood. What are you doing here? How the hell did you know where I live?"

"I followed you home," she says casually. "I saw you going into the bar, and hung around on an impulse. I followed you from a distance after you left. I didn't want to get your attention right away because there were people around, so I decided to come back when it got dark. I've been pacing around out here for about fifteen minutes, but I didn't really know what to say to you or how to say it, after, you know, what happened back there."

"Yeah, speaking of which," you say, deciding to try being assertive. "If you think I'm just gonna forgive and forget that whole thing, you're sadly mistaken."

"That's not what I said, and that's not what I think. You have every right to be pissed at me, just like I have every right to be pissed at you-"

"That's debatable," you interject.

"- so if you'd just shut the fuck up and let me in, we can talk like civilized people instead of shouting at each other at fucking eleven at night. Now get down here and let me in, it's damn cold out here."

You roll your eyes and shut the window. You turn to walk downstairs, and the details of the dream come rushing back to mind. You stumble, taken aback at the vividness of the recollection and the dream itself, and shake your head. It was just a dream. Fuck, it was brutal though. And the thought of losing her... Remembering her parting words... You've never been exactly superstitious, but the thought of it being some sort of premonition does cross your mind as you make your way downstairs. You usher it away, for later pondering.

You open the door, and there stands Dash, shivering, just as she had been that night. It takes more willpower than it should, just to keep from staring at her wrist-band. She steps inside, unbidden.

"Um," you say. "Come in." You realize that you're still shirtless. Shirtless and in sweatpants isn't the best way to meet a girl of this magnitude of hotness, but you decide that it doesn't really matter at this point.

She looks around, her face unreadable.

"Not quite as high-class as your house, but I make do," you say.

"No, I like it," she says approvingly. "It just feels so, well, homey."

That's kind of the point of a home, but you decline to say so.

"Let me show you around..." you say, trailing off as you see that Dash has already made her way out of the entryway and into the next room over, the living room, out of sight.

You sigh, and realize that you do that an awful lot, the sighing. You should probably stop before someone else notices.

You walk into the living room to the sight of Dash removing her tank-top, facing away from you. You can see that she is not wearing a bra. The floor creaks as you slowly approach, indicating your presence.

"I love you," Dash says.

All of this happens within the span of about four seconds, before the shock of what is happening can pass and the emotion can settle in.

"What," you say. Fucking brilliant.

"You heard me," she says, almost aggressively, still facing away from you. "I love you. And I barely know you. And you barely know me. It's not supposed to work this way. But there's just this feeling. It's not like that warm-and-fuzzy bullshit feeling that you hear about. I just... Want you. Everything about you. I want to fuck you, primarily, but I also just want to get to know you. I don't know what the actual fuck it is I'm feeling, so I chalk it up to love. That's why I slapped you, that's why I acted like a complete bitch, because I just wanted you to understand but couldn't fucking say it." She turns around, her oh-so-tantalizing breasts in full view. Her eyes are almost pleading... The look is so similar to the one in the dream. She's begging you to understand. "Does that make any sense?"

In short, she feels the same way about you that you do about her.

And in that moment, all is forgotten; her torn-up wrists, her fucked-up tendencies, that horrible dream... It's all gone. All that remains is her. And that simple fact that she actually fucking feels the same way. "Yes," you say softly. "Oh god, yes... I... I love you, too," you say, your voice filling with confidence, and the euphoric emotion of oh-my-god-I-can't-believe-this-is-fucking-happening. And now, comes the question. The question that you never, ever in a million years thought that you'd be able to ask. But now, you're bold. You're unstoppable. You're invincible. "Will you-"

"Yes," she says. You don't even need to finish. There's tension in the air, and you can practically feel the sparks of sexual electricity arcing between the two of you.

You can say with conviction that this has been the best three minutes of your life. And as you both step forward to meet in a furious kiss, it's safe to assume that it's about to get much better.