Chapter 7: Jayden
939 Words
The day started with pain. A dull, relentless throb pounding in my head. I kept rolling from side to side, hoping to drift back to sleep, but nothing helped.
The vinyl record of Radiohead left on the table from the night before became my only salvation. I put it on the player, sat on the couch, and stared at the empty table in front of me.
“I’m not here, this isn’t happening...”
The sound of Thom Yorke’s voice, the rain tapping against the window, and the gray light filtering through the curtains blended into one hazy cocktail. I felt just as gray and blurred.
I lazily reached for my phone.
Me: “Where are you? I can’t take this. Need a drink. Dry as hell, can’t handle it.”
The reply came almost immediately.
Oliver: “They’re running a bit late. Chill, it’s just girls.”
Girls. I rolled my eyes. How could I forget?
“Of course,” I muttered, tossing the phone back onto the couch.
These meetups were always the same: fake smiles, forced conversations, awkward laughter. Everyone knew where it was headed and how it would end. Still, diving straight into bed felt... off. Not tonight.
I leaned forward, rubbing my temples. The tips of my fingers trembled slightly, and I quickly hid my hands between my knees.
“It’s just a hangover,” I told myself.
The sharp sound of the doorbell shattered the silence, making me flinch. My head spun as I stood too quickly, and I staggered toward the door.
When I opened it, there stood Oliver, wearing an expression that was somewhere between happy and nervous. Behind him were two girls.
The first was tall, thin, and radiated tension as if preparing for a fight. Her jaw was tight, and her eyes fixed on me with a look that screamed she already hated this.
I knew her type. They came “for the company,” armed with cold disdain, ready with sharp, poisonous comments, acting like they were doing everyone a favor by being there. Usually, I enjoyed breaking down girls like her.
But not tonight.
My eyes drifted to the second girl.
She stood slightly behind the first, smaller than she probably was. Petite. Fair. Pale blonde hair that almost shimmered, with light blue eyes and a fluffy pink skirt that felt borderline theatrical. On her feet were enormous black boots that looked wildly out of place.
I froze.
The light from the hallway framed her like a halo around her head.
I blinked, but the illusion didn’t disappear.
A faint smile touched her lips, and something inside me clicked.
She was different.
Bright. Pure. Angelic.
“This is Eva,” Oliver said, snapping me out of my stupor.
“Hi,” I said, realizing too late how strange my voice sounded.
“Hi,” she replied softly, her voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the silence.
I stepped aside to let them in, still unable to look away from her.
Her boots were too heavy, her nails painted black as tar. Those details clashed with the lightness of her presence, as if anything dark couldn’t belong to her.
Her steps were light, almost hesitant, and I noticed her nervously tucking her hair behind her ear without looking my way.
Something about her filled the room with light. It was strange, inexplicable, but I couldn’t pull myself away from it.
She wasn’t just a person.
She was something else.
Different.
Cleaner. Untouched.
Oliver gave me a grateful nod, as if I’d just done something monumental. The tall girl beside him looked like she’d been dragged here against her will.
Eva perched on the edge of the couch, trying to take up as little space as possible. She picked up a glass of juice, her black-painted fingers lightly gripping the plastic.
“Black nail polish? Seriously?” The thought slipped through my mind. She would look better without it. She didn’t need those details.
The nail polish and boots irritated me in a way I couldn’t explain. She wasn’t supposed to be dark.
I turned toward the stack of vinyl records by the wall, hoping to distract myself from the unsettling feeling. I flipped through them until I landed on Skunk Anansie. As the record spun, its first chords began to fill the room.
“Is that Skunk Anansie?” Eva’s quiet voice broke the silence.
I turned around. Her face lit up, and her eyes sparkled.
“You know them?” I asked, genuinely surprised she’d broken her silence.
“Of course. I saw them live once at a festival. Skin is incredible. When she steps onto the stage, it feels like she owns the crowd.”
I smirked, feeling my usual cynical mask shift slightly.
“You saw them live?”
“Yes. It was amazing. She could’ve said anything, and the crowd would’ve followed her.”
“That’s how it works,” I said, holding her gaze. “It’s either you own the stage, or it owns you.”
She nodded, her smile soft and thoughtful.
“Have you gotten tickets for their new tour?” I asked, trying to mask how much I was enjoying the conversation.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Have you?”
“Of course. You don’t miss things like that.”
“I love going to concerts. I’ll definitely grab a ticket soon,” she replied, her smile growing.
For a moment, the room disappeared. It was just her voice, the music, and the strange feeling that she wasn’t like anyone else.
- Writer
