“I love it!” Allison exclaims as she pulls out the perfume bottle. It is beautiful, tall, and clear, with a rose-gold cap. It smells divine, fruity with floral undertones in it. Danielle beams and pulls Allison into a tight hug.
“Happy birthday!” she says, her voice filled with sisterly love. Allison looks at her partner, beaming at the successful surprise party he organized over a month ago. Randal laughed, commenting on how he couldn’t believe that Gabriel pulled it off. The girls took photos together as Melanie placed a birthday girl’s sash over Allison’s shoulder.
A melancholic thought came into Allison’s mind. I don’t deserve this, the wicked voice whispered.
She is alone in an abandoned warehouse. A black, shriveled hand grabs her jaw and forces her gaze upward. In place of wood, glass coats the ceiling, reflecting the tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes. They’re faking it. THEY’RE FAKING –
Allison is back in her partner’s apartment, surrounded by her friends. They want to celebrate her. She sees the black hand curl from behind the bathroom door. She grins and shakes her head.
Let them celebrate me.
***
Allison sits at the base of the flagpoles, blood leaking from the scrapes covering her arms and legs. The sun beats down, but she can’t stop shivering. Her shaking hands find her phone, and she calls up her mom. “I can’t do this anymore,” she hiccups as the truck finally pulls away from the curb. She has begged the man not to let anyone know that she will speak about this with her counselor as early as possible.
The floral scent of the perfume is long gone. Just like the friends who celebrated her birthday. Just like the partner she gave her entire self to. It was replaced by the scent of copper and dirt and concrete and alcohol. Too much alcohol.
She stares at the swirling autumn leaves and wonders if Gabriel satisfied himself with the girl he truly wanted. The black-shriveled hand rejuvenated, turning a healthy shade of gold. It caresses Allison’s cheek as she leans into its warmth.
Let him go to her.
***
Tech week arrives. The girls in the dressing room pay no attention to Allison, talking as if she doesn’t exist. Allison doesn’t mind. She puts her headphones in and does her makeup quietly. Inwardly, she seethes. She hates the drama and criticism that the other girls froth at the mouth at. It’s all pointless. Three days have gone by of being in the vicinity of the same six other people. Allison wants alone time, but the dressing room is shared.
One of the girls sprays her perfume. Allison likes it; she has the same one at home. But then the other girls start spraying their perfume, and it’s too much. Allison left her bottle at home since she did not want to risk breaking it. But she wished that she had brought it so that she could spray it and make the scent too overwhelming.
Allison saw the hand grab at her leg. She tried to shake it off, but another, matching hand gently held her jaw. It gestured to the headphones in her ears as a reminder.
Let them.
***
Henry sweeps into the large hall without paying any mind to the other students. He waves hello at Allison before sinking into his work for the day. She steals glances at him but tries to focus on her work. It was the only spot that had a guaranteed outlet, after all. She watches him, refined, leave to speak to the staff and fellow student officers. A twinge of jealousy stirs in Allison’s chest, but she ignores it.
They talk for five minutes, or at least Allison does. Henry’s the listener, always has been. Eventually, he leaves, trying to avoid the table she sits at. She panics, wondering if she’s coming off as too needy for friends. Who was she kidding? She just lost all of hers.
She spots Melanie and her boyfriend cuddling in the university’s garden. Heated anger spikes in her gut, but something else catches her attention. The scent of the air changes, a sign that it will rain soon. She turns towards the library, leaving the two alone. She should warn them, she thinks. They’ll get soaked.
Let them get soaked.
***
Luke sets down the bottle of wine as Allison confesses what she has done. “I gave away the one thing I protected the most for a reason I swore I’d never give it for,” she cries into his shoulder. Her hand fists the fabric of his shirt. How she missed his embrace, his familiar comfort. His scent grounds her as she sees flashes of her earlier college years, the times they spent driving for miles at a time, yelling songs at the top of their lungs. For a moment, she feels safe again, even though she can’t trust anyone anymore.
Luke refills her glass, and she downs it gradually. She shouldn’t trust him, especially while drunk. But he is the only one left.
Let me trust him.
This was written by our contributing writer, Lauren DeSantis.
Image Source: Pexels- cottonbro studio
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