The Forest in the Fog

Chapter One: Party Life
I stood quietly in the middle of the crowded room.
“Breathe.” I whispered to myself. “Just breathe.”
I hated big crowds. I was a quiet, small town, girl.. My mother-practically the most ridiculous woman to walk this earth-had dropped me off at a party at some boy’s home.
Of course all of this was because I spent all my time pouring over music. Guitar chords, piano pieces. All day, everyday. Of course my evening run, too, but absolutely nothing else. It was a sickness I had developed for the passion.
I was not antisocial. If someone wished to talk to me I would respond. I was simply a social outcast. Although, I found nothing wrong with this. Lonely, lonely days were beautiful. I loved quiet. I loved making the music inside my head in the dead silence of study hall. I craved it.
And now I was at a party, completely out of place, in a sea of sequen-style low-cut shirts and loud music. Things I never acquainted myself with.
Perhaps, you could say, I was my own person. I had long, bleached blonde hair that almost touched my hips if I gained no more than an inches growth and perfectly straight bangs. I was wearing an innocent white dress that kissed just a little further above my knees.
And I was barefoot. Always barefoot. Everywhere I could get away with it, I was barefoot.
Of course, this made my feet callus-covered and cracked. So lotion was always in my slim black bag that hung limply on my shoulder. I stood utterly silent a few feet further than the entrance of the house.
“Hi there.” A boy smirked at me.
I looked up at him with big, blue eyes.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Um...” He clearly looked uncomfortable. “Who are you?”
“My name is Avery Lockhart. I am fifteen and a half years old.” I answered.
“Oh. Alright then...” He awkwardly walked away.
I felt no differently. I had no interest in the people that had no interest in me. I simply did not care.
“Uh oh. Come with me, honey.” A girl took my arm and pulled me gently with her throw the crowd.
She had short, black hair with purple streaks here and there tied up in a ponytail. She had piercings climbing up her right ear and standard black glasses on. Her eyes were outlined in a thick black border of eyeliner. Her nose had a small, black piercing in it as well. She had a kind face, though. With dark brown freckles spray painted like wings on her nose and cheeks. She wore long sleeves, but made of black lace, and a poofy short black skirt with ripped black fishnet tights.
“She’s lost, I think, Ash.” She told a boy with long black hair that shaded his eyes.
I couldn’t see who he was yet. His face was looking down. But he wasn’t much by the looks of his body. Skinny. Long. His t-shirt had some heavy metal band on it, and his black jeans hung low with a spiked belt slung around them. Chains dangled from his pockets.
“Hm?” he looked up.
Goodness. Absolutely gorgeous.
He, too, was wearing eyeliner, but thinner than the girl’s. He had one piercing in his lip. His lips were thin and pale. But none of those sparked my attention like the beautifully bright green eyes that popped on his lovely pale face.
“Oh. No. She was invited.” He said. “I invited her, yeah.”
He seemed slightly hyper. He was managing the DJ system. He pressed one side of a pair of headphones to his ear and closed his eyes passionately.
I watched him with utter fascination. So lovely.
“Who is she?” The girl’s voice broke my concentration.
“Avery Lockhart. She’s in my music class.” He said, looking up instantly to answer. His eyes danced under the black veil of hair that hung over his eyes.
“Do you know her personally?” The girl asked.
“Psh, I wish. She doesn’t talk to anyone. I wish she would though.” His head lowered again. I thought I might’ve seen the slightest discoloration of white to pink spill over his cheeks.
“Oh. Hmm...” The girl looked uneasy.
“Don’t worry, Daria. She’s fine.” Ash said.
“Alright...I’m leaving her here with you, though. You seem to be the only one who
has a clue who she is.”
“Kay.” He said.
I was astonished that I had never seen him in music. He was absolutely beautiful on every level imaginable. I was in the most advanced music class the school offered. If he were there too...well, that’s absolutely astonishingly impressive.
“Um...hi.” I said quietly.
“One moment.” He murmured. Then he pressed his lips to his microphone. “Alright, everybody havin’ a great-ass time?”
The room cheered.
“Alright, well I’m gonna tone it down a little for everyone who’s been craving a slow song for a special someone.” He sounded as if he were smiling when speaking to the room. When speaking to Daria about me, he sounded stressed out.
He backed away from the mic and played a slow, sweet song. The first few measures were soft, electric guitar notes and a synthetic sparkly sound in the background.
He scrolled through something on his laptop.
“You like Her Bright Skies?” He asked.
“What?” I asked.
“This song. It’s called ‘Hollywood Dreamin’’ by Her Bright Skies.” He said.
“Oh. I’ve never heard them before. But I love the song. I want the tabs.” I said.
“Sorry, I’m not that kind of musician.” He said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’m a technical musician. Like special effects and all.” He said.
“Oh.” I had never thought of technical effects as music.
“I’m usually in the sound room while you’re all in class. The sound room has a one way mirror, so I can see you, but you can’t see me.” He said.
“Oh.” That explained why I had never seen him before.
“Yeah. You’re really good at piano. Sound Room students had a project a few weeks ago to edit music and I used a recording of you playing to edit mine.” He said.
“What? You never...no one told me.” I said. I felt offended that my music had been used without my permission.
“Yes they did. You had a project to compose something about a month ago, right?” I nodded. “Well, the music you used there, went to the Sound Room, so we could make our projects, too.”
“Oh.” I said, processing his words. “Alright.”
“If you wanna hear it, I can send it to you or burn you a CD.” He said.
“Oh. Sure.”
He nodded and the conversation fell into a silence.
“Why do you live on the complete edge of town?” I asked him.
“Because. I like to venture off into the woods and find inspiration. It’s very fun. You should come with me sometime.”
“Now?” I asked, curious and hopeful.
“Well...It’s like ten at ni-”
“Please?” I looked up at him with gentle curiosity.
He sighed and looked at me with pursed lips.
“Okay.” He said.
He leaned to the microphone and spoke in his party voice.
“Can I get Daria Blackwell to the DJ set?” He called to the crowd through the music.
Daria appeared in almost seconds.
“I need you to keep the party up. I gotta go.” He turned around and took his sweatshirt off of a rack.
“What? Where are you going?” She asked.
“Woods.” He replied.
“At this hour?” She looked at him, unimpressed.
“She wants to check it out.” He jerked his thumb to me.
Daria rolled her eyes.
“Just...be careful.” She had the same sigh-with-pursed-lips as Brett.
Brett took my forearm and ran to the back door of the house with me.
“Why are we running?” I asked between breaths.
“It adds adrenaline!” He laughed as cold, October wind rushed through every hair on our bodies.
I smiled at his happy laughter. He was beautiful. absolutely beautiful. His happiness was such a sweet explosion. He stopped in a small clearing after we’d run deep into the trees.
“Whoa,” He laughed. “That was so f***ing awesome! I’ve never been out here this late!”
I watched him pull off his jacket, toss it in the dirt, and dance around in the foggy clearing. He was so lovely. This was his fascination. He loved this. It was truly beautiful to watch.
He grasped my shoulders tightly and looked at me with a smile so freely spirited it was practically contagious. His eyes were electric in the moonlight. Gorgeous.
“Isn’t this amazing?” He asked.
“It really is.” I laughed.
He wandered to his jacket and sat on a log. I joined him.
“It transforms you.”
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“You become so free and outgoing and crazy out here.” I explained. “It’s lovely.”
“Oh, ha, well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. His breath swirled and tangled in the air. The fog swallowed us until nothing was visible except for us, sitting there, absorbing the moisture in our hair and clothes.
“Are you cold?” he asked me, water dripping from his lips from the fog.
“A little.” I nodded, causing little droplets of water to fall from my bangs into my eyes.
He wrapped his jacket around me. I instantly was brought into a new trance. Warmth, soft fleece, comfort.
The sweet scent of his cologne.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.” He breathed heavily. From what, I do not know. Maybe it was from running so much.
His eyes dropped to the ground.
“You’re barefoot.” He realized. “You’ll get pneumonia.”
“I’ll be just fine.” I assured him.
“No, no.” He said. “Let’s go. It’s getting late anyways.”
He took my hand and led me out of the forest. Then, we began our fairly good lengthened walk back to the house.
“So, then, Daria is your sister, I suppose?” I asked.
“Yeah. Twin.” He replied.
“Oh.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No. My parents are divorced.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” He said.
“I’m not. I would’ve left my mother if I were my dad, too.” I said.
“Can I ask why? Or is it personal.” He asked.
“My mother is just...she’s ridiculous. My parents live on opposite ends of town, so weekends I spend with my mom and weekdays I spend with my dad. I usually despise weekends.”
“But this weekend...?”
“I’m enjoying this weekend.” I said.
I thought I saw a little smile curve into his lips.
“And you? How are your parents?” I asked.
“Daria and I were adopted. Our birth parents were just...too young.” He said. “So our current parents don’t push us too much. That’s why we can have parties every weekend and get piercings and tattoos and all sorts of things.”
“You have a tattoo?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Umm...it’s...personal.” He said.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I apologized.
“No, it’s not like it’s in a naughty place or anything, it’s just...I’ll show you when we get to the house. I want to properly explain this to you.” He said.
“Maybe not tonight. My mom is going to pick me up at midnight. It’s eleven forty-five.” I said.
“When will I see you again?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” I replied.
“How about tomorrow night. Seven o’clock PM. Sharp.” He said.
“O-okay.” I stuttered. I was nervous. He made me nervous.
Made me stuttery.
He smiled and opened the door to the house for me. He led me to the front porch where my mother was in her car, waiting.
“Bye.” He whispered.
I turned back at him and smiled before getting into the car.

Chapter Two: Saved By a Song
I woke early. I walked over to the mirror. Just as always. Tangly hair slipping out of a loose bun and a pale face from a deep sleep.
I loved sleep. It was so blissful. Peaceful, quiet, deep sleep. Unconscious to all around me. Absolutely gorgeous.
But not even sleep could compare to the beautiful face of Ash Greene. So lovely. Pale, but not colorless. Shadowed, but not dark. A mixture between boiling hot and freezing cold. He was a beautiful contradiction. I absolutely adored it.
I skipped down the hallway to the stairs and took the walk one short hop at a time down the stairs. I entered the white kitchen with a sense of sweet sensation and calm disorientation at the thought of Ash. I walked over to the refrigerator with unusual pep and spunkiness over the joys of visiting him today. I knew I could either convince my mother to drive me or I could walk if she were busy. I was trusted and free in this small town. I could do as I pleased. The big v-neck t-shirt danced with my legs as I traveled around the kitchen to gather toast and butter from the fridge. I started a pot of coffee and gathered a plate and mug.
I sat at the table and ate silently but satisfyingly, gazing outside the window at some bluebirds whose wings were grazing at chilled breezes that swept over the grass and through the trees that stood firm in the ground of our small midwestern town.
I watched as fog swept in with the wind and rolled through the streets from the mountains.
After breakfast, I walked back upstairs and dressed. I put on a soft pink dress and little black flats. I brushed my hair out and added a small, leather, hippie-style headband. I smiled in the mirror and took my bag. I smiled while I skipped down the stairs and into the garage. I put my bag in the basket of my bike and hopped on. I rode all the way to the other edge of town, Ash and Daria Greene’s house.
When I had arrived, I hopped off my bike, left it in their driveway, and took my bag with me up the pathway. I knocked on the door with a shaky hand.
A woman with brunette hair pulled back into a ponytail and a hard expression answered the door.
“Who are you?” She asked, surprisingly pleasantly.
“I’m Avery Lockhart. I’m here to talk to-”
“Mom, it’s for me!” Ash pushed her aside and met me at the doorstep.
He took my wrist and pulled me upstairs.
“Well, now don’t break her, Ash!” His mother called.
“I won’t!” He called back.
He pulled me up the spiral staircase and into his bedroom.
Photographs covered a wall of the room. Pictures of Ash and Dalia growing up and Ash with his music. Lovely memories, really. Mostly, it was a room that obviously held his secrets. In some places of the walls, there were holes or scrapes.
“Sit anywhere. It’s fine by me.”
I took a seat on the floor, criss-cross applesauce. He opened the shades so that the washed sunlight dripped into the room.
I looked up at him as he stood over me.
“I shouldn’t have told you to sit. I want to show you something.” He offered me his hand.
I took it and stood up.
He clicked a button on a remote and a soft, beautiful song spilled from speakers somewhere that I could not see.
He guided my arm around his neck and took my other hand in his. He pulled me close and slowly began to move his feet in a manner so graceful that words do not explain the elegance. I let my body follow his and we danced.
As my eyes were beginning to close and my head was starting to fall against his chest, he stopped.
“Alright.” He let me slid back down to my seat on the floor. He joined me there. “Now for the hard part.”
He inched up his sleeve to reveal large, thick scars and black ink.
The tattoo was written in a font that reminded me of a love letter. Just the print was so casual but still very clean in every possible way. A handwriting looking style, really. It said “Saved by a song” with a little eighth note at the end.
“You see, when I was ten years old, I found out about mine and Dalia’s adoption. I did not handle it as well as she. She partied and drank and smoked and chased boys to divert her attention from it. I simply couldn’t put it out of my mind that my life had been a lie up to that point.” He took a shaky breath. “So, that night, I kicked my window out. Broken glass everywhere. I didn’t realize it until my parents’ footsteps were thundering up the stairs that the glass was sharp enough to cut anything I wanted. I picked up two good sized shards and hid them in my dresser drawer so that when the glass was cleaned that night, I’d have what I needed.”
He looked up at me, nervously. I nodded to allow him to continue.
“That night, I pulled out the shards and some black electrical tape. I wrapped the tape around one end of each shard to make a grip sort of thing for them. When I was finished with that, I went and locked myself in the bathroom. But, I suppose, it wasn’t closed all the way. I’d cut about five deep slices into my forearm by the time Dalia found me there, sopping up blood over the toilet with wads of toilet paper.”
He took another shaky breath. I remained silent.
“She didn’t try too hard to make me stop. She accepted who I was becoming and why I did it. I believe it to be because she understood how touchy a subject it truly was. You can’t control an unstable person. You just have to let them get over it. If scars are the only price to pay for that, then so be it. I cut for three and a half years each night with that same shard. I bled and I cried and tears and blood dripped into my soul and stained the skin so that soon enough, my skin was simply bloodred. Nothing could change it.”
I looked at him completely stunned.
“I quit just a year ago. A year ago, I began to find interest in music and the musical arts. I fell in love with the music and my freedom with it. Music taught me to live again. It healed me.” He took a deep breath and looked me dead in the eye. “That’s my story. You’re the only one but Dalia that knows. I hope you’ll hold it quiet.”
I looked up at him. My breath had long ago abandoned me, replaced with a ghostly substance that was eerily similar to air, but so cold and deadly. So unreal.
So liquid-like.
“That’s an incredible story.” I said. “I do not know that you could ever possibly explain the passion for music that you do possess. I can only admire you for how far you’ve come and how strong you are.”
I paused, deciding whether to say my last thought.
“And...” I decided to say it. “Thank you. For the inspiration and new perspective.”
He nodded and covered the scars.
“Thank you for showing me. It really means a lot to know you trust me like that.” I said.
I could sense how hard it was for him to say all this to someone he just barely knew. It had to be hard to say these things to someone who wasn’t blood related for the first time.
“You don’t have to say that kind of stuff. I know you don’t understand how a person could do this to themselves and how terrible it has to be before you actually-”
“No.” I said. “I totally get it. I may not have the complete same vision of it as you have, but I can sure imagine.”
He chuckled.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re cool.” He said. “I really like you.”
I couldn’t tell then if he was serious. He had said those awaited words in mid-laugh, so I was wary of their truth.
“I like you, too.” I smiled at him.
There was a knock on the door, so he rose and answered it. Dalia.
“Lunch.” She said.
I had not realized the time passing, but it had already faded into noon. Ash held out his hand. I took it and he led me down the lovely white staircase with him.
“You’re always barefoot. Why?” He asked. I had long ago stowed my shoes in my bag.
“I enjoy being barefoot. In this small town, you rarely get in trouble for all that ‘no shoes, no shirt, no service’ nonsense. I like to be barefoot. So I am.” I explained.
“Oh.” He said. “Well, we’ll be adventuring in the woods after lunch. You can borrow an old pair of my Vans.”
“That’s unnecessary. I’ll be fine. I have some flats.” I assured him.
“No, you don’t understand,” He seated me on a curved white couch in front of a large television. “It’s thorny and thick brushed out there. You’ll want shoes. Real shoes. And maybe better clothes. You can borrow some of Dalia’s.” He said.
“No, that’s alright. I’ll just ride home if it’s all that big of a-”
“No, no.”
“No, really. I’ll be more comfortable anyways. I’ll eat there, it’s-”
“No. Eat here. Then I’ll ride home with you.” He smiled and I couldn’t resist his offer.
Dalia brought out a beautiful lunch. Tortellini topped with parmesan cheese, a colorful Ceasar salad, and thin, wafer-like crackers with a buttery cheese spread. We sat around the coffee table on the white couch in silence.
I wondered how the family was like as a whole. Obviously, they weren’t shy of money, but how were they socially towards each other? What were their parents like?
“Avery,” Dalia spoke up. “How did you like the woods last night?”
“It was beautiful.” I answered. “A true pleasure.”
“It was terribly foggy.” Ash said, pessimistically. “A real downer. She was shivering.”
“No, I liked the fog.” I said, recalling the image of water droplets gently clinging to his soft skin and slipping off his face.
He blushed but looked down to hide it.