Kisses in the Dark -- Chapter 1

It was dark outside, and the bright, full moon was in the center of the starry night sky. Becka figured, subconsciously, it was some-where around midnight.

The air was damp; dew had settled on the undisturbed grass. The only light was a single wrought iron street lamp on the other side of the street, some fifty yards away from where she was standing, but even that was flickering, threatening to go out and leave Becka's world dark, lit only by the full moon, which shinned through the clouds surrounding it.

She saw the leaves dancing around her feet, but hardly felt the wind that was accompanying them. She knew that with what she was wearing––a light tank-top, cut-off jean shorts, and no shoes––she should have felt at least the slightest chill from any kind of wind, and yet she didn't.

Nobody besides her was out, or so she thought. But across the street from her, a little bit farther than the street lamp, she saw a darkened silhouette, just a shade darker than the darkness that surrounded it.

She realized she should feel afraid, not knowing what the silhouette was, but she wasn't afraid. Not even a little. She walked towards the street lamp, and realized the silhouette was doing the same thing, at the same pace as hers.

Now that Becka was closer to both the street lamp and the silhouette, she could see what the silhouette was. And it was, in fact, a young man, about her age, Becka guessed.

She was now standing directly across the street from the lamp, while the boy was at a standstill just outside of where the street lamp lit up the sidewalk and street. She walked carefully across the street, to the lamp, and was about a yard in front of the guy, just standing there and looking at him.

She felt her heart speed up and was overly aware how she must appear to him: some crazy bare-footed teenager who just walked half a football field just to get a better look at this mysterious stranger. But he didn’t say anything; he just looked back at her, staring into her eyes until she dropped hers.

She was looking away from the boy when he closed the space between the two of them, so she jumped back slightly when he reached up with a gentle hand to touch her face. Then she sighed and relaxed into his hand. His hand was strong and warm to touch. Everything around them melted away, and Becka felt as if they were the only two left in the world. She saw nothing else but his face; heard nothing but his breath, which smelled of peppermint toothpaste, in union with hers.

“Who are you?” Becka asked the boy. Even she could hear the fear in her voice. But it wasn’t fear of what she thought he was going to do, it was fear of what kind of world he lived in, what things he dealt with, a small voice at the back of her mind told her.

Why am I even thinking this? Becka thought, bewildered. I don’t even know this guy, and I’m already making assumptions of his life.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at her with those beautiful and intense eyes. Then he bent his head towards hers and whispered, “You already know.” As he spoke, his lips brushed ever so slightly against hers, making her forget that she had any fears. He had the most beautiful and reassuring voice Becka had ever heard in her life. And as she thought that, his lips were on hers.

His lips were soft, warm, gentle, yet eager, as if hers were the only thing keeping him sane.

She pulled back a little, to get a better look at him. She wanted to stay in this moment forever, and the look on the boy's face told her that he wished for the same thing. With the hand that wasn’t still caressing her face, he took hold of her hand, and played with her fingers. She smiled up at him.

And then, as if there wasn’t a more terrible way to ruin the moment, a loud buzzing noise went off, somewhere in another world, but she could still hear it. Everything suddenly took on a gray hue, as if everything were fading.

Becka opened her eyes to find that it had all been a dream. But dream or not, it was one of the best moments in her life.


It was six in the morning when Becka's alarm clock woke her up. Stupid alarm clock, she thought, wrapping her pillow around her head to try and block the alarm's sounds from entering her ears.

She sighed, yanking the pillow off her head, and rolled over in her bed and hit a button that she hoped would shut off the shrieking of the buzzer. After a couple of times of missing, she finally found the right button and plopped back down, pulling her covers up to her chin. She was lying on her back, so, if the lights were on, she would be staring at her high ceiling, but it was still pitch black in her room, with the exception of the streaks of moonlight, a crescent moon, she noticed, spilling onto her floor through the cracks of her violet drapes, and so she could see almost nothing.

Her room was a simple one, but one that was obviously lived in. It matched her personality exactly. A calm, serene environment was how she tried to keep it. There were many incenses in the room, lavender scented, in decorative little glass containers with long, thin reeds sticking out of each container.

Her walls were painted a faint tan, a pretty color she thought at the time, and still does. There was only one small, square window in her room, with a bookshelf on each side of the window, one a floor-to-ceiling that was filled with books and the other was only two shelves high, stacked with CD's.

On the opposite side of the room from where she was lying was on old desk made of dark wood, on which sat a couple candles, her laptop, and a study lamp. Off to one side of the desk is a hand-me-down dresser that a cousin of hers gave her. On the other side of the desk was an end table that held a small stereo, the CD in it was a custom-made one that her sister made for her when school ended last year, almost three months ago.

As her eyes drifted shut again, cutting off the little light she could see, she let her thoughts drift back to the dream she had just had.

Although she couldn’t clearly remember every single last detail her dream was about, she could remember him, with his gorgeous dark brown hair, looking soft and making her want to rake her fingers through it. His eyes had a dangerous look in them, but somehow she knew he would’ve died rather than hurt her. The boy was strong, but not the brawny type who looked like he was on steroids; he was more of a lean type of strong.

Opening her eyes and pushing back the covers, she thought, and yet, my wonderfully amazing dream didn’t tell me this gorgeous boy’s name. Oh, what is it? I really wish I knew; I don’t remember ever seeing him in the halls at school or in any of my classes. I haven’t ever seen him before in my life except last night’s dream.

And then another thought crept into her mind: Is this boy even real, or is he just a figment of my imagination, something my mind wants to tell me about. But is it to make me realize what I am missing, or to warn me? Becka was shocked at this last question. She had no idea where it came from. She shook her head slightly and ignored the feeling that came from the question: a feeling someone might get when they were being watched.

Fighting off paranoia, she got up from her comfy, warm bed and went into the hallway, walking towards the bathroom. How am I going to get through the day with these questions buzzing around my head like an angry bumblebee? She asked herself as she listened to her bare feet slapping the hardwood floor. The coolness of the wood felt good under her warm feet, and the chill in the hallway was slowly waking her up.

When she entered the bathroom, she thought, I wonder if there is a boy in this world that acts as kind and gentle as the boy from the dream did. She pulled back the shower curtains and turned the nozzle. She undressed and stepped into the shower, a steady stream of hot water falling from the faucet.

I can’t believe summer is already over and school is here again, she thought sadly, letting her mind slip almost completely away from thoughts of the boy, so they were just an almost-silent humming in the far corner of her mind. It feels like just yesterday we were being let out of class, smiling and happy, for the end of the school year. No more getting up late and lying out in the sun all day, I’ll miss that. I’ll miss hanging out with my two closest friends at the Rosethorne Coffee Shop. But mostly, I’ll miss seeing my dad come home from work with his smiling face, or out mowing the lawn on one of the hottest summer days, or pushing Kyra on the swing set at the neighborhood park, or something as small as seeing him sit at the kitchen table at breakfast with a newspaper and a cup of coffee in his hands…

Becka was shocked at herself. She hadn’t let herself think too hard of her father in about a week, so why did she have to start now, on the day she was beginning a new school year? She made herself think of that, the new school year, instead of her father’s incident.

I can’t believe I’m finally a junior. It seems like time is going so slow, although I’m sure if I asked mom she would disagree completely. She looks at me and Kyra a lot these days and wonders where the time has gone. She tells us were growing up too fast.

Becka’s mind was so wrapped up in the past that she just went through the motions of turning of the shower and wrapping a towel around her body, doing the motions almost mechanically. I can’t help but wonder if the mysterious stranger will be at my school. The thought made her suddenly giddy as she made her way back to her room. She figured thinking of the boy would be much better, or at least it would be less upsetting.

But when her hand made contact with the smooth, cool metal of my closet doorknob, the thoughts of the mysterious stranger flew out of her mind, replacing them with the thought of picking her day’s outfit. What was worse was it was the first day, and Becka hated picking first day outfits.

You’re expected to dress up, and the days after that you go back to wearing normal clothes. If you ask me, the whole process is really overrated. I’ve never dressed up for the first day, I can proudly say. Except for when I was in my early years of elementary school when I didn’t get to pick my own outfits, but that is completely different.

Okay, so she was lying. She dressed up for the first day once, on the first day of middle school. But that was way different, she insisted to herself. I was transferring from a decent-sized school in Cleveland to a school with only about a hundred students in my class and I knew absolutely no one, while everyone else had been friends since kindergarten, practically. But since then, she hasn’t dressed up on the first day any more than she would have on a random day of the year.

She went over to her stereo and pressed play, and began to hum absentmindedly to the tune of “Life is a Highway” by Rascal Flatts while she pulled clothes out of her closet.

Ten minutes later, she was back in the steamy bathroom trying to find a way to fix her hair. I have a feeling today is going to be one of my many bad hair days. She sighed in frustration and decided to just leave her hair down, but at the last minute pinned a few strands out of her face.

“Becka?” She faintly heard her name being called from downstairs.

She poked her head out of the bathroom, “Yeah, Mom?”

“Could you take Kyra to school, please? I’ve got a meeting, and I’m already late. It would help me so much if you would.”

Becka groaned quietly, so her mom wouldn’t hear. “Yeah, sure,” she answered.

“Oh, thank you so much honey,” Ms. Wilson said, and Becka could just hear the smile in her voice.

She has had to work a lot more ever since Becka’s dad, Pierce Wilson, died right after school ended last year. It stressed her out a lot, having to provide everything alone, and Becka tries to help out in any way she can, even if it means taking her little sister to school. “Her school starts at eight, so you might want to leave in about thirty minutes, or she will be late,” Ms. Wilson called. “Oh, and Becka, pick her up from school, too, please? I’ll be working late again. Leftovers are for dinner and make sure Kyra does her homework.”

“Mom,” Becka shouted. “If you don’t leave right this second, you might not have a job to be late for!”

“Alright, alright; I’m gone! I love you two,” she called to Becka and Kyra, who still hadn’t shown herself. “And Kyra, don’t give your sister a hard time, okay?” Becka heard the door shut not long after that.

Well, let’s see if Kyra is ready, or at least out of bed, she thought as she left the bathroom and went into the hallway. She knocked on Kyra’s bedroom door.
“Hey, you up?” She asked.

She heard her sister’s muffled reply, “Unfortunately. Now go away. I’m still getting ready.”

Becka waited a little longer, her ear pressed to the door. She heard Kyra’s light footfalls on the carpet in her room and the opening of drawers. Satisfied that her sister was truly awake and not just saying that she was so Becka would go away, she went downstairs to get some breakfast. But just as she passed the door to her mom’s bedroom at the base of the steps, something caught her eye. She turned back and pushed the door open a little further, then stepped inside the room.

She took inventory silently, trying to figure out what made her curious enough to come in here. She slowly turned around to look at the other side of the room, looking for anything that might be even the slightest difference. She did the same thing with the other side of the room, but nothing seemed to be different, or suspi-ciously different, at least.

She turned back to leave the room, but just as she laid her hand on the doorknob, she felt the…presence of someone else in the room. She turned, expecting to see some creepy guy in a black trench coat holding a bloody kitchen knife above his head. But there was nobody but her in the room.

To reassure herself, she said quietly, “Hello? Is someone in here?”

In response, she felt a cool rustle of wind, from where she didn’t know. She was really starting to get creeped-out. Okay, that was just a coincidence. It had nothing at all to do with that feeling I just had. Or that I thought I just had.

“Okay, I’m leaving now,” she whispered to herself.

She turned back to the door again and saw her mom’s mirror do something…odd. It almost seemed as if it shimmered.