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Description

Mariah Scordino gave me my first kiss, and I gave her hers.

We went out regularly for about a year, before we decided we were better off as friends, and separated peacefully. It wasn’t the trend those days in suburban highschool, to break up sans crying into pillows and the silent treatment through the hallways. But I guess that we just didn’t want to leave each other without losing each other. Does that make any sense?

The story begins with how she did it. I was going down the corridor after school to get to my dad’s car outside – the Watchers didn’t allow buses anymore – when I heard some giggling behind me. Turning around, I saw Mariah among some nondescript group of girls, hiding smiles behind their fingers and whispering ever so loudly to her.

Go ahead. Come on. You said ‘dare’. Go do it.

Mariah Scordino, accompanied with an embarrassed sigh, went on with her promise – kissing the first guy she spotted. She swiftly pressed her glossed lips against mine, up on her tiptoes with her hands curled into fists and her eyes squeezed shut. I kept my eyes apathetically open; my Propofin the Watchers required had already firmly set in ages ago. I used the next five seconds to study her face, a plain of uneven tans, slightly covered by dark side-swept bangs and I think it was a pimple at the top of her forehead, or in the middle. I forgot.

When Mariah Scordino finally pulled away, she gazed up at me, her brown eyes staring up at my own in self-disbelief.

That was my first kiss, you know, she stated, plainly, as her friends chattered animatedly behind her.

Me too, I answered.

She laughed, light and girlish, and ran down to the exit to feed her Student Card into the machine. It slipped back out through a slit near the bottom, and she grabbed it before waving at me and running away.

Five years later she is with a boy named Vincent Sanders, who skips his Prescription and drinks and smokes and owns an unlicensed gun and everything against the law.

He never harms anyone, and it’s not like the Watchers actually do their job, Mariah explains to me. Don’t worry about me. I’m still Mariah, old Mariah. She tells me this with her head shaved and a ring on her eyebrow.

Monday she tells me to hide her Propofin. Please, she says. My mum’s started checking my cabinets to make sure I take them. Say the extra stash is yours. You still take it everyday, don’t you?

I have no complaints. Mariah smiles and kisses me, but on the cheek. She saves her tongue for Vincent Sanders.

Tuesday she asks me to come with her to a club. Vince will be there too, she says. It’ll be fun. It’s in a non-Watched area. Are you on your Prop right now? Don’t tell me you think you have to take that rubbish.

I agree to go. Beneath the dim multi-colored lights of the club and the thick smell of smoke and liquor and liveliness, Mariah and Vincent swing fast on the dance floor while I stand in the corner, ignoring the stranger girl stinking of booze asking me to take her home.

Wednesday she begs me to stop my Prescription. I want you to have fun, she cries, standing at my apartment door and placing her hands on my shoulders. Don’t follow the rubbish rules the government makes up to prevent this violence tripe. It sucks you away. I made that girl talk to you. I wanted you to spend a night free from rules.

I shake my head quickly; the Propofin is wearing off and I have to grab my syringe before I’m let loose, but Mariah is still standing there, red nails digging into my shoulder blades, pleading brown eyes plus eyebrow rings gazing up at me and I feel the effects draining away. I swallow hard, bite my lip. The Propofin is gone within moments.

This is a Watched building, I warn her, placing my own hands on her arms and hastily pulling them down. They’ll see you, they’ll find you. Go now.

She bites her lips like I do, weaving her fingers into mine. I miss you, Jack, she says, her voice reverted to a fourteen-year-old’s. I nod, hide my emotions, as she lets go and runs off down the hall.

Thursday I find out I only have one bottle of Propofin left. As I think about how I can write to request some more for my supply, there’s a knock at my door.

She arrives again at my apartment, in tears and in shreds. They got Vince, she weeps and she trembles. They’re after me. Jack, they’re going to get me!

Without a pause I grab her wrist, pull her through the white-walled hallway. I shove open the emergency exit door, and we run four flights down to the basement where the parking is. Here there are no Cameras except for the entrance/exit.

We find my car; I open the backseat and let her in. Curl up on the floor and try not to be seen, I whisper to her urgently, then I run to the driver’s seat. I pull out of my parking space, driving over to the exit. As we pass by the Camera, I hear Mariah sob weakly. She’s trying hard as she can to hide. I drive as slow as normal to seem unsuspicious.

Finally we pass through. As I speed down the road to leave the city, Mariah climbs up onto the seat, less panicked. Thank you, she says. I don’t react.

In two hour’s time we are in an empty patch of desert outside the city, with an equally empty road leading on to forever. We are out of the Watchers’ reach, and into freedom. A sign at the side announces Now Leaving San Francisco. But this is not for me.

I get out of the car, open the backseat door. Mariah is sitting quietly there, her elbows on her knees and her head carried on her hands. She is tired, more so than me.

Mariah, I say out loud. She looks up at me, mascara dripping from her lashes. Her black hair has grown back to its real length after all these years. I gaze at her for a moment, admiring her, but the Prescription prevents me from grabbing her, kissing her, holding her until we both need to come up for air. Instead, I take her hand and lead her to the front seat, at the wheel.

Jack, she whispers, not understanding.

Leave, I tell her simply, bending down to meet her level. Find your place. Keep a low profile. The Watchers won’t try to find you.

I take my last bottle of Propofin from my jacket pocket, and hand it to her. Pretend it’s yours in case anyone checks. I know you’ll never take it, so no need to restock. Take care, Mariah.

Mariah Scordino gives me a stare with her brown pupils. They fill up with tears, and she grabs me by the jacket to kiss me hard on the lips, eyes squeezed shut. I am the same as years ago, eyes open to study her face for the last time. She’s still Mariah, old Mariah.

Finally she lets go, transferring her hands to the steering wheel. I step back as she closes the door, turns the key, goes off on a shaky start since it’s probably been so long since she’s last driven on her own. The entire time, her eyes are on me. Once she’s disappeared down the road, I turn to walk back, back to the city and short of one Propofin bottle.

So far, Mariah Scordino has given me my last kiss. I feel the Prescription slide away from my veins as I imagine life ahead.

Description

Mariah Scordino gave me my first kiss, and I gave her hers.

We went out regularly for about a year, before we decided we were better off as friends, and separated peacefully. It wasn’t the trend those days in suburban highschool, to break up sans crying into pillows and the silent treatment through the hallways. But I guess that we just didn’t want to leave each other without losing each other. Does that make any sense?

The story begins with how she did it. I was going down the corridor after school to get to my dad’s car outside – the Watchers didn’t allow buses anymore – when I heard some giggling behind me. Turning around, I saw Mariah among some nondescript group of girls, hiding smiles behind their fingers and whispering ever so loudly to her.

Go ahead. Come on. You said ‘dare’. Go do it.

Mariah Scordino, accompanied with an embarrassed sigh, went on with her promise – kissing the first guy she spotted. She swiftly pressed her glossed lips against mine, up on her tiptoes with her hands curled into fists and her eyes squeezed shut. I kept my eyes apathetically open; my Propofin the Watchers required had already firmly set in ages ago. I used the next five seconds to study her face, a plain of uneven tans, slightly covered by dark side-swept bangs and I think it was a pimple at the top of her forehead, or in the middle. I forgot.

When Mariah Scordino finally pulled away, she gazed up at me, her brown eyes staring up at my own in self-disbelief.

That was my first kiss, you know, she stated, plainly, as her friends chattered animatedly behind her.

Me too, I answered.

She laughed, light and girlish, and ran down to the exit to feed her Student Card into the machine. It slipped back out through a slit near the bottom, and she grabbed it before waving at me and running away.

Five years later she is with a boy named Vincent Sanders, who skips his Prescription and drinks and smokes and owns an unlicensed gun and everything against the law.

He never harms anyone, and it’s not like the Watchers actually do their job, Mariah explains to me. Don’t worry about me. I’m still Mariah, old Mariah. She tells me this with her head shaved and a ring on her eyebrow.

Monday she tells me to hide her Propofin. Please, she says. My mum’s started checking my cabinets to make sure I take them. Say the extra stash is yours. You still take it everyday, don’t you?

I have no complaints. Mariah smiles and kisses me, but on the cheek. She saves her tongue for Vincent Sanders.

Tuesday she asks me to come with her to a club. Vince will be there too, she says. It’ll be fun. It’s in a non-Watched area. Are you on your Prop right now? Don’t tell me you think you have to take that rubbish.

I agree to go. Beneath the dim multi-colored lights of the club and the thick smell of smoke and liquor and liveliness, Mariah and Vincent swing fast on the dance floor while I stand in the corner, ignoring the stranger girl stinking of booze asking me to take her home.

Wednesday she begs me to stop my Prescription. I want you to have fun, she cries, standing at my apartment door and placing her hands on my shoulders. Don’t follow the rubbish rules the government makes up to prevent this violence tripe. It sucks you away. I made that girl talk to you. I wanted you to spend a night free from rules.

I shake my head quickly; the Propofin is wearing off and I have to grab my syringe before I’m let loose, but Mariah is still standing there, red nails digging into my shoulder blades, pleading brown eyes plus eyebrow rings gazing up at me and I feel the effects draining away. I swallow hard, bite my lip. The Propofin is gone within moments.

This is a Watched building, I warn her, placing my own hands on her arms and hastily pulling them down. They’ll see you, they’ll find you. Go now.

She bites her lips like I do, weaving her fingers into mine. I miss you, Jack, she says, her voice reverted to a fourteen-year-old’s. I nod, hide my emotions, as she lets go and runs off down the hall.

Thursday I find out I only have one bottle of Propofin left. As I think about how I can write to request some more for my supply, there’s a knock at my door.

She arrives again at my apartment, in tears and in shreds. They got Vince, she weeps and she trembles. They’re after me. Jack, they’re going to get me!

Without a pause I grab her wrist, pull her through the white-walled hallway. I shove open the emergency exit door, and we run four flights down to the basement where the parking is. Here there are no Cameras except for the entrance/exit.

We find my car; I open the backseat and let her in. Curl up on the floor and try not to be seen, I whisper to her urgently, then I run to the driver’s seat. I pull out of my parking space, driving over to the exit. As we pass by the Camera, I hear Mariah sob weakly. She’s trying hard as she can to hide. I drive as slow as normal to seem unsuspicious.

Finally we pass through. As I speed down the road to leave the city, Mariah climbs up onto the seat, less panicked. Thank you, she says. I don’t react.

In two hour’s time we are in an empty patch of desert outside the city, with an equally empty road leading on to forever. We are out of the Watchers’ reach, and into freedom. A sign at the side announces Now Leaving San Francisco. But this is not for me.

I get out of the car, open the backseat door. Mariah is sitting quietly there, her elbows on her knees and her head carried on her hands. She is tired, more so than me.

Mariah, I say out loud. She looks up at me, mascara dripping from her lashes. Her black hair has grown back to its real length after all these years. I gaze at her for a moment, admiring her, but the Prescription prevents me from grabbing her, kissing her, holding her until we both need to come up for air. Instead, I take her hand and lead her to the front seat, at the wheel.

Jack, she whispers, not understanding.

Leave, I tell her simply, bending down to meet her level. Find your place. Keep a low profile. The Watchers won’t try to find you.

I take my last bottle of Propofin from my jacket pocket, and hand it to her. Pretend it’s yours in case anyone checks. I know you’ll never take it, so no need to restock. Take care, Mariah.

Mariah Scordino gives me a stare with her brown pupils. They fill up with tears, and she grabs me by the jacket to kiss me hard on the lips, eyes squeezed shut. I am the same as years ago, eyes open to study her face for the last time. She’s still Mariah, old Mariah.

Finally she lets go, transferring her hands to the steering wheel. I step back as she closes the door, turns the key, goes off on a shaky start since it’s probably been so long since she’s last driven on her own. The entire time, her eyes are on me. Once she’s disappeared down the road, I turn to walk back, back to the city and short of one Propofin bottle.

So far, Mariah Scordino has given me my last kiss. I feel the Prescription slide away from my veins as I imagine life ahead.