walks on broken glass

[aaliyah hemingford]

fall had hit maine. it had been a fast and easy take over. remnants of summer remained. the tans on the girls pulling up to SBH in town cars, sunglasses left behind on the coast, and ice cream sundaes being eaten in the soda shoppe. aaliyah's golden hair and skin was proof of summer passing. she had spent the summer in cape town and brazil. no STDs had been contracted, the hang overs had passed, and no hospital visits for overdoses on acid or e had been made. it had been a good summer. she had returned home to her family's estate in connecticut for a few days to pack for school.

the light warm breeze was turning mildly cold. aaliyah had stayed up all night reading the age of innocence, a tale that too closely resembled her family lineage. she had come to the conclusion that while good, the famed novel lacked plot development. she could not even begin to compare it to jane eyre, her favorite novel. sometime as the sun rose, aaliyah emerged from the library. the back door had been open, and she had snuck in and read in the stacks late at night.

she had arrived at school two days earlier and had not seen alessio yet. he hadn't called and neither had she. they would see each other when they saw each other, that was how their relationship worked. it was too complicated. easy, but complicated. they could go days without seeing each other and when they finally did see each other, nothing had changed. he was the closest she got to feeling what some would call love, but that did not seem good enough for her. they were perfect for each other, neither of them ready to give up their strength to the thing people referred to as love. and that was why they were together, they understood each other.sometime over the course of the past year, they had gotten together. they didn't have a label or definition. they were just aaliyah and alessio, nothing else, nothing more.their families had always been friends, and she had seen him at numerous family gatherings, but they hadn't truly spoken until she had started at SBH the previous fall. one year ago, she had been a freshman.

aaliyah left the library through the back door, her old copy of jane eyre in hand. the sun was just rising, which she had seen through the stained glass windows of the library. the campus was quiet, peaceful, at rest. some would say that it was dead. it would be all too easy to yell and disrupt the silence, but aaliyah would never do that. she would never make a spectacle of herself. she wandered into the forest, taking silent steps although there was no reason to. her silk shorts swayed along her long legs as she walked the long distance to where she usually sat in the forest. she was one of the only students who dared to wander in it alone.

she finally found her spot, somehow she always managed to. right at the edge of the forest, overlooking the coast. she sat down underneath one of the large pine trees and rested her back against the aged bark. she took her pack of cigarettes from her pocket along with her gold lighter. she rubbed her thumb over the engraved 'H' that stood for hemingford. it had been her great-grandfather's lighter. her great-grandmother had given it to her along with the locket.the locket that rested cooley on her neck. she never went anywhere without the locket or lighter. she never took the locket off. the only person she missed was her great-grandmother, whom had died two summers ago. she had spent every summer with her great-grandmother from the age of eight until thirteen. after that, the summers were spent in foreign countries with people she would never see again.

she lit a cigarette and pressed it to her lips. the smoke traveled up into the crisp, maine air, polluting it. it had been a long time since she had had a cigarette. the summer had been filled with so many acid trips and doses of heroine, that a cigarette hadn't been needed. but now, back at school away from the hectic raves, the beach, and the people she didn't know, the need for a cigarette had returned.

she fiddled with the buttons of the collared shirt she was wearing. she had stolen it from alessio months ago and had never given it back. she pressed her nose to the collar, it smelled of him, strong and slightly sweet with the after scent of wood. she opened the book and inhaled the lovely smell of old pages. she had dozens of copies of jane eyre, but this one, she had taken from her great-grandmother's house. it was simple. the binding was worn, and the pages were yellow with age. there was simply the title on the cover, no fancy fonts or illustrations. it was the first volume of a first edition copy set, one of the first ever made. she had read it over and over again, millions of times since she was eight. she never tired of it.

she read for hours before her eyes closed. it had been sudden, and unexpected, but the words had lulled her into a sleep. it was only a couple minutes before she heard crunches of branches from somewhere nearby, and her green eyes opened, she could only bear to close her eyes for a few minutes anyways. the book lay open on her lap, and the cigarette stubbed dead on a rock. she closed her eyes again, not caring about the approaching animal or person, it was her way. she let things happen, she never intruded on plans.

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[sid roslykova]

The forest was a nice little getaway especially when he noticed absolutely no one ever went in there. It reminded him a bit of the forest in the back of his fiancee, Viola's, manor out in the countryside where they used to run off to as preteens to plow each other in the clearing that used to be right in the dead center or have picnics where they would get high and laugh at the connect the dots they'd make with the stars in the sky. She was his best friend, not only the woman he was engaged to, and he did miss her...But he couldn't help but think about, along with the good times, all those times he would leave him to go flirt or fuck another guy who could have been foreign and a male prostitute for all she cared. He could have been dirt poor and she would still screw him just to piss the Russian Prince off to no end...

That was probably why he never got pissed off; because he knew that was exactly what she wanted. That and the fact he was stuck with her whether he argued with her about it or not. She was going to become his wife no matter how much he kicked and screamed (which he never did being the obedient son he was). Running his fingers through his hair, he frowned slightly as he glanced down at the silver ring on his one finger to show he was engaged, a normal custom in Russia for it to be silver before it would be replaced with the ring of his father which would be used to seal any and every document he ever made from the day he was crowned to the day of his death. It was weird, having one's life completely planned out, but Sid had grown accustomed to it just like he'd grown accustomed to Viola, and pretending he was straight when really? He was pretty sure he was so close to the rainbow, he could damn well taste it.

And it would be bad enough having his father shun him, much less his entire country shunning him...Though he never truly paid attention to how much they were pro or con gays...After that band T.A.T.U came out in the 90's he was pretty sure they were all for lesbians. Gay men was a different story.

So he walked as he always did whenever he needed to get away from Americans so he could think. They were always so loud for no real reason. It was obnoxious, really, and he was already sick of it. He did like that no one knew who he was, though. It was actually a relief; a bit like starting over without really starting over. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Viola showed up and put everything out in the open that they were engaged, royalty, and people should bow down to them and such. She was so superficial and materialistic it was ridiculous...But, again, he couldn't do much about it so he didn't bother. Seeing the cigarette smoke after smelling it, he seemed to be drawn toward it, craving the nicotine at the moment mainly because it was such a great stress reliever, but cautious as to who he could possibly run into. He looked down at himself and figured her looked decent enough; some designer jeans, Italian leather loafers, and then a fitted t shirt. Yeah, good enough. Heading toward the smoke just as he noticed it go out, he ended up seeing a female, obviously younger than he was...or older. Who knew nowadays. She was pretty, a bit like Viola since she closed her eyes in the entire I don't care who you are sense.

"Mind if I bum one?" his Russian accent was strong, charming, capturing like any other person who needed to have excellent public speaking skills-the perfect voice to run in a country in a way. It was sultry, smooth, consistent, and refused to falter. It was sure, unlike Sid sometimes seemed to portray. But he was in America to learn how to socialize better with people instead of treating everyone (unless they grew up with him) like they were aliens...