One Night

Prologue: Aubade

Aubade (Fr.) - dawn, a song or poem written about two lovers separating at dawn




I awoke the soft light of the sunrise. The intricate designs of magenta and tangerine painted the sky with their hues as I squinted my eyes to observe my surroundings.

On first glance, I realized that this was in fact not my room. While I'd love to play innocent, but I have to admit that this isn't the first time I've woken up in someone else's bed. I'm not going to lie, I think I'm pretty good looking, and the girls seem to agree. I'm about as much a virgin as your average prostitute, and I've never been one to pass up the chance for a one-night-stand. To me, sex wasn't sacred. It was pleasure, enjoyment. Something to pass the time.

On second glance, I realized that this room was awfully familiar. I knew that if I wasn't so goddamn hung-over,-and yes, I was positive that I was hung-over, because I could swear that a Sumo wrestler was tap-dancing on my brain, and I couldn't remember anything from last night-, I would have known exactly where I was the moment I opened my eyes.

I rolled over, groaning softly as I collided with the person who I obviously spent the night with. My bedmate was fairly attractive if I do say so myself. A head of long, wavy reddish-brown hair spilled over her pillow, and her features were fresh, youthful. Her eyebrows were nicely curved, and she had a cute button nose. Her pink lips were curled in a small smile as she snuggled closer to me. She seemed familiar.

Then it hit me. Genesis Parker. My best friend.

Shit.

I’ve been in a lot of bad situations, but this one took the cake. Big time.

Fuck. Quite literally, I must say.

I’ve known Genesis for almost long as I can remember. I do believe that we met when we were three. She was new to the neighborhood, and she rang my doorbell. My mom opened the door to reveal a tiny, slender girl with big eyes, a wide smile, and head of bouncy auburn hair. “Hwoo, my name ith Geneithith.” She giggled in her young, girly voice as she bounced up and down.

Even then, Genesis was a tornado. She had the most uncontrollable ADHD; she didn’t stop moving. Ever. She was always balancing on the balls of her feet, lacing her hands in her lap, wiggling her little toes. There wasn’t a second she wasn’t in motion.

Needless to say, she always tired me out.

We were best friends since we first locked eyes. We lived in a neighborhood with a lot of older kids; there was no one our own age. We were too young for kickball and bike-riding, and they were too old for sandboxes and make-believe. We were all each other had.

Playing with Genesis was never boring. She wasn’t like most girls; she didn’t play with dolls, and she liked playing in the mud. Between plans to build rocket ships and who-can-spit-farther contests, there was never a dull moment.

Genesis wasn’t just my best friend; she was also my partner in crime. She seemed to be an innocent little girl, but under that adorable exterior, she was an evil mastermind. She always thought up the craziest plans, and I knew how to fulfill them, whether it was painting the walls with her mother’s nail polish or world domination.

Put it this way, Genesis had a way of getting in a lot of trouble.

In school, we continued to be best friends. It seemed in school, we were really different. Genesis was very popular, being bouncy and cute and happy. I was quieter, and I didn’t really fit in with the other boys, but Genesis was enough of a friend that it didn’t matter. I was better in school back then, as I could recite my ABCs and Genesis refused to color inside the lines.

Once we reached middle school, we branched off and formed our own groups of friends. Genesis’s group was a mix of boys and girls, and they all had band together. Most of the girls played the clarinet and flute, but Genesis played the trumpet. She wanted to play the tuba, but it weighed almost as much as she did. So she picked the trumpet, loud and cheerful. Even back then, Genesis always seemed to stick out.

My group of friends was jocks and other assorted “popular” guys. They wore baggy clothes and talked about girls all the time. They took me under there wing, and taught me how to dress, how to act, how to get “hotties”. And more than anything, they teased me about Genesis, who was, after all this time, still my best friend.

In high school, we were known as Genesis and Darren. The best friends. The soon-to-be-couple that wasn’t. We still had our groups: Genesis with her intellectual band girls and guys and me with my basketball jocks, but we were talked about as if we were one person.

But we didn’t date. I became a player, partying all the time and dating several girls at a time. Genesis studied all the time, and tried to make as many friends as possible in her various clubs. We were too different to be more than just best friends.

In senior superlatives, we were voted Best Friends. Genesis snagged Nicest to Know and Most Likely to Succeed; I received Life of the Party, Most Flirtatious, and Best Looking.

Then we graduated. Genesis graduated near the top of our class; I wasn’t the greatest student but I did well enough. Genesis was bound for Yale, while I was bound for a small college in rural Georgia.

We made the most of our last summer together. We went to the beach, looked at the stars at night, and tried to spend every waking moment together.

And then, that night. The night that changed our lives forever.

It was my going-away party; I was leaving for college the next morning. Genesis planned the entire party, not letting her social skills go to waste. Instead of chilling at Genesis’s place, I ended up coming over to her place to have about a hundred of my friends scream “SURPRISE!”

I don’t remember a lot of what happened, but I do remember alcohol. Lots, and lots of it. Even Genesis, who more than anyone I know did not support underage drinking, was completely wasted.

I remember drinking, then waking up, stark-naked, next to Genesis, who was wearing just about as much as I was.

I detached myself from Genesis, and scrambled out of the bed. I ran like a madman around her room, frantically searching for my clothes. I slipped on my boxers, my t-shirt, then a pair of beat-up jeans. I stuffed my socks in my pockets and shoved on my sneakers. I didn’t have time. I quickly pecked her on the lips and whispered “I love you” before scrambling out of her room.

Luckily, her parents were out of town, and I was able to get out of her house without confrontation of why I was here, and why I was in such a hurry to leave.

I vowed that day that I was going to college, and I would forget that the whole thing happened.

My plan was perfect. Except for one flaw.

Unbeknownst to me, Genesis remembered.

And eight years later, I discovered that she had living proof of that night.

Emphasis on living .