Scarlett's Will by Nicole Jardine (i like reading .txt) 📗

which infuriated my mother, but I only found more guilt and shame in it. I attended a catholic high school. I was the girl that rolled up her skirt and wore thigh high black socks with doc martens to class. A little black lace peeking through my white dress shirt, unbuttoned a little too low. I put on red lipstick and black eyeliner daily. At sixteen I was still a natural brunette. I hadn't discovered hair dye yet.

Many things in my life began to change that year. I used to love Corey Hart and Footloose was once my favorite movie, but during my sixteenth year Ministry and the Sex Pistols took over. I began to smoke and hang out with what my mother would call ‘devil boys’. I liked their bad attitudes and their carefree lifestyle. I dated a little, I had a few boyfriends before I met him but I never allowed them to touch me too much. I wanted love, I craved it but I was never satisfied with any of them. After a few weeks of dating I always broke it off. I stopped calling them, I would avoid them if they came around the arcade. I can’t say I was nice to them, but it didn't matter to me at the time. I had never been serious about a boy until the day I met him. It felt like I was searching for someone, waiting for someone.

Everything I did seemed pretty tame before that day. On the day I met him, the day he turned my world upside down, I had been with two of my best friends, Carmen and Cassandra. We were so excited to be going downtown Toronto to see one of our favorite bands perform. Dancing around Carmen’s tiny bedroom, I pulled on my black stockings with a line up the back. Choosing a burnt orange mini skirt, a snug black tee shirt and a black blazer to top it all off. I teased my straight brown hair up, coughing in the hairspray filled room. I applied a deep dark red to my lips and traced my eyes with black eyeliner.

The three of us screamed as the band took the stage. Depeche Mode has quickly become one of my favorite bands. I would listen to them in my bedroom at night, with the lights out, sinking into my own Black Celebration. We knew the words to all of their songs. As the crowd swayed and the stage lights flashed I felt free. All my issues seemed to disappear leaving me with a feeling of excitement and eagerness for something more. I just wasn’t sure then what more I wanted until I met him. The three of us danced and sang to every song, laughing and hugging each other like the young girls that we were. When the show was over all three of us still felt so exhilarated that we didn’t want to go home yet. I wanted to prolong this feeling, this release. We collectively decided to enjoy our bit of freedom. We began walking around the stadium, taking in all the people before making it back to Carmen’s mother, who waited for us in the parking lot.

We walked through the clouds of cigarette smoke that held a hint of something different, something in the smoke made my head spin. The warm muggy evening air began to make me uncomfortable. I took off my blazer and held it in my hand as we continued to walk around, singing and dancing, basically making fools of ourselves when I bumped into someone. I quickly turned to apologize when I realized I bumped into a boy, a stunning boy actually. He was smiling at me. I was relieved that he didn't seem mad by the interruption. I began to say sorry when I suddenly became lost, entranced almost. He was looking into my eyes and I found I couldn't look away from him. I lost my voice for a moment. He was all consuming, swirling my thoughts and pulling me closer to him.

“Hi, I’m Buddy,” he broke the silence, holding out his hand for me to shake. I failed at holding back a giggle. I placed my hand in his, feeling the connection run through my veins. I attempted to speak again.

“Really? Your name is Buddy?” I asked, still not looking away from his bright blue eyes, my hand still held by his.

“Not really, but that’s what everyone I know calls me and you are?” he asks, raising his expressive eyebrow. His confidence and interest in me draw me into him.

“I’m Scar,” I said, as he leaned closer to me.

“Is that short for something?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he takes my other hand in his. Claiming me. Trapping me in his presence, the rest of the stadium full of people scurrying around us seem to disappear.

“Scarlett,” I told him. I could see that he tried to hold back a smile.

“Really? Your name is Scarlett?” he asked, mimicking my words exactly from just a few moments earlier.

“It’s actually Scarlett Rayne,” I told him, smiling back, breathing him in. I took this chance to look him over. He wore tall black laced up doc martens, ripped jeans and chains that hung perfectly on his thigh. His snug tee shirt and black leather jacket excited me. His ears were pierced and his hair was spiked, his dirty blond Mohawk stood shockingly high. I felt tame standing in front of him. I kept expecting him to walk away, but he stayed in place, searching my eyes, as if he wanted to find some answers in them. He didn't want me to leave. I heard my friends telling me it was time to go but I couldn’t turn away from him. I nodded, still not looking away.

“Can I walk with you?” he asked in a whisper. I breathed out, unaware that I was holding my breath,