Lighting. It's a weird concept really. You see something so small before hearing something so loud. Most of the time, we don't get scared by the far away light. We jump at the sound of a terrible crash in the air. But there are those weird instances where the lighting is more frightening. When the light blinds your surroundings and takes you by surprise. But then there is the 1 in 700,000 chance, that you get struck by it. Something that you'd never think could happen to you.

Until it does.

You never think that something bad is going to happen to you. You never think you'll get cancer, or you never think that you'll get in a car crash, or lose a finger or even lose a family member too soon. You never think about things that you don't want to happen until they smack you into reality. That's what this one night stand did to me. One hard stinging backhand to the face.

Now, I'm no stranger to one night stands. That sounds really bad, but hear me out. I'm usually the one to, well, initiate the night, and I proceed to leave before any damage can be done in the morning. I don't leave my number, any piece of clothing, not even a strand of my hair. No heartbreak, no crying, no emotion... At least on my part. I was the heart-breaker, I was the player. Going from girl to girl, one girl on one day, her best friend the next, that girl's cousin later in the week. We'd dance the night away, getting buzzed and possibly a little high and then go back to my room. I'd wake up at sunrise, grab my things and leave, not without paying for the room first. Hey, I might not be a gentleman, but I'm certainly not a jerk... Well...

This was my routine, going from bar to bar at the speed of sound every night, not having a care in the world. That was, until the tables were flipped.

11/4/2012 - 2:57 am

I shot up straight in bed at the sound of thunder. My heart was racing as the room soon lit up through the window. My eyes adjusted to the dark as my heart slowed down and I took in my surroundings. Empty bottles of gin, peach and lime daiquiri, and an assortment of champagne, cocaine, and gasoline were scattered around the room. Clothes lined the floor, starting from the door, all the way to the bed, my gold and black jacket hanging over the lampshade. Probably a fire hazard, but I wasn't thinking about that now. I looked to my side to find that no one was there. Looking around the room once again, I noticed that the only clothes on the ground were mine. I slowly got out of the bed that was now empty, something it hadn't been mere hours ago. I stood on the carpeted motel room floor and slipped on a pair of boxers, and walked into the living room area. I saw more bottles on the sofa, and on the tables that were in the room. The TV had been left on from the previous night, the weather anchor talking in an overly enthusiastic fake voice.

"And the thunderstorm is coming from the north. I guess you could call it, a northern downpour." He laughed, as chuckles from around the studio came through the speakers. I cringed slightly before feeling a chill go up my spine. I looked over at the door to find it open.

Haven't people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?

I sighed, walking over and looking out the door. My red 1972 Chevrolet Impala Convertible was still there, thank god, but the car that was parked next to it earlier, gone. The dry spot of where the car used to be, was dampening quickly as the rhythm of the rain kept time, a steady beat representing my heart beat. I heard the sound of tires hitting puddles off in the distance. Still in shock, I closed the door. I looked around the living room area once more, as the TV continued talking. Probably about the election, but I didn't really care. I slowly walked back into the bedroom, grabbing my undershirt that was over the antenna of the TV in the room. This TV was playing static, which was an accurate description of my mind at the moment. Mixed up, buzzed and confused. I slipped the fabric over my head and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. As my eyes read the time, 3:12 changed to 3:13. Next to the clock was an ashtray, with a cigarette that was still lit, the smoke flying up into the air. I looked around more, to find that anything I remember her touching, in perfect place, as if she was never here.

"She's better than me..." I muttered, grabbing my phone from my pants pocket. I opened it up, to see my photo roll open, and the photo I had taken with her, gone, not even in my deleted photos. I closed my phone and sighed, trying to rack my brain for her mind. "Miss. Jackson." I whispered, her name feeling like a sin. "Goddamn..." I scratched the back of my head. Normally this wouldn't bother me because normally I'm not the one left in the dust. I suddenly felt bad for all the girls that I had gone ghost on. Being the one on the receiving end felt horrible, but honestly made me more intrigued in her. "Miss. Jackson," I repeated, sitting on the bed with my head in my hands. This was my cancer, this was my lighting. Being the victim of a one night stand, was something that I never thought would happen to me.

Until it did.

~

fun fact

i wrote this part for a class and the teachers thought i was brendon and almost had to report me to the school

i misinterpreted the project lmao

deadass that's not a joke

anyway enjoy, and i'll update soon?

idk man i'm trying to get into college still

see y'all on the flip side