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dissociation

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The girl down the hall from his room, who walks around with a Walkman like it’s fucking 1985, never introduced herself to him, but she didn’t need to. 

 

The entirely too expensive alcohol he just shotgunned is racing through his veins, music is pumping through his ears. She’s leaning up against the wall at the back of the bar that they both apparently used fake I.D.’s to get into. Some band’s shirt is tied underneath her chest with a jean skirt and fishnet tights covering her lithe legs. She looks positively miserable, eyes downcast and a beer dangling from her hands. Ben’s head is just fuzzy enough that embarrassment won’t deter his actions. 

 

Something about her has him stumbling away from his friends, both of whom are too busy laughing at their own slurred speech to notice and Finn already disappeared, to her solemn place against the exposed brick wall. It’s a normal Friday night, the bar is at almost full capacity, so he trips over at least three blondes wearing half the amount of clothes they would wear to class. 

 

She doesn’t notice him approach her between the noise of the music and the lack of light. “What’s got you so sad?” He laughs a little at the sound of his own voice over the music, something with really heavy bass. 

 

When he looks back up, her eyes are wide, her arms protectively wrapped beneath her tiny tits. Her nose is scrunched in a way that has him wanting to rub the lines out that are forming between her eyebrows. He should not be openly ogling her the way he is, but he is too drunk to care. 

 

Ben hasn’t slept with anyone since high school, and it was nothing more than a pity-fuck. She left him in the bedroom at that party as soon as it was over, never talking to him again. Ben figured she was embarrassed, so he didn’t tell anyone, she probably would’ve denied that it happened.

 

He thought it would be easier to put himself out there once he got to college, where no one knows his awkward phases, but he was wrong. He’s tall and muscular, but he’s still not good at talking to girls, never was. He always says the wrong thing and they walk away from him, offended. One night, in particular, Poe had to pull a couple of girls off of Ben because he was complaining about a girl who sings nonstop in his chemistry class, only for that girl to appear and be the roommate of the girl he was talking to. 

 

It seems like he’ll continue his streak. 

 

Closer up, he can see that her cheeks are slightly damp and her nose is reddened. He didn’t think she was actually sad, just mad at the world or something, like most angsty college students.

 

“Oh, I… uh…”, he grasps for words but just feels like he’s intruding on a personal moment. “Sorry, I’ll just go back–”

 

“It’s fine,” she cuts him off. “I’m over it now.” 

 

“Okay…” he mumbles as he leans back against the wall next to her. She takes an unenthusiastic sip and swallows hard. 

 

Hoping to fill the lack of conversation, he sticks out a hand, while saying, “I’m Ben” with a little more articulation than necessary. He didn’t want to slur his own name. 

 

She regards his hand before shooting back a noncommittal, “Rey,” up into his ear, completely ignoring the shake he was going for. 

 

He awkwardly retracts the hand and tries not to be too hurt. He’s still looking at her face while she stares around the room, probably looking for an excuse to leave him blubbering behind her. Her eye-makeup is smokey and dark, but her blushed cheeks override any edginess she was going for. 

 

“I like your makeup,” he announces it to her like it’s the most common thing to do. She turns her head towards him again, narrowing her eyes before raising her eyebrows, like she understands that his compliment was genuine, just weird. 

 

“Thanks,” her voice has a little bit of an edge to it that he doesn’t mind. “I purposefully cry over my eyeliner to make it look like this.” 

 

She once again leaves him speechless. 

 

“Kidding,” she states dryly at Ben’s wide eyes. “I’m just fucking with you.” 

 

“Oh, yeah, I–I get that.” He definitely didn’t get that. 

 

He wishes that he grabbed another drink when he came over. Now, he is standing there with nothing to do with his hands. Rey keeps drinking the bottle that was hanging from her hand on the way over, but she doesn’t look like she’s necessarily enjoying it. She keeps pursing her lips and scrunching her eyebrows. 

 

He wavers a bit on his feet as his head swoops, he’s thoroughly intoxicated. Rey seems to be almost completely sober compared to him. Her feet keep switching places, one over the other. She’s wearing ankle boots with a tall heel. The top of her head is about level with his eyes, but he bets she’s a lot shorter without the shoes. 

 

“You’re really pretty,” he winces at the sound of his voice, he just sounds… pathetic. 

 

She scoffs before grabbing his hand and pulling him to a nearby booth. “You’ve had too much to drink and you’re seeing things. I’ll grab you a water.” He doesn’t realize that she’s left him because he’s too busy looking at the hand that she touched and feeling the shocks jump around his skin. 

 

She returns and sits across from him, placing a clear glass filled with ice water in front of him. He hesitatingly takes the glass to his lips, cold on his fingers, and sips. Maybe his coordination is going too because water slips out the corners of his mouth and slides down his neck. Setting the glass back down, he wipes the water away with his sweater’s sleeve, trying not to be too embarrassed. 

 

“Thank you,” he says looking over at her. Apparently, she’s even more bored than before, her soft lips raw from chewing on them. 

 

Ben’s used to people being bored around him. All through high school and sometimes with his friends now, he thinks people more or less tolerate him. No one is ever excited to see him. His parents don’t hug him when he comes home for breaks. Humor is not his strong suit, he’s far too serious, often ruining jokes before they are even told. He’s not too fun at parties. 

 

“Are you here alone?” 

 

“What? Are you trying to kidnap me? I have pepper spray and I’m not afraid to use it.” Her face holds a serious expression for a long ten seconds before breaking into giggles, dimples piercing into her cheeks. 

 

Ben forces himself to let out a few nervous chuckles, coming down from the stress of being accused and threatened within the same five seconds. 

 

“I am alone. My roommate forced me to leave the room before leaving with some guy in the first ten minutes that we were here.” The betrayal in her voice doesn’t slip past him unnoticed. 

 

“My friends brought me out, but I don’t think they noticed that I kind of left them.” Yup, he’s definitely entered the sappy phase of the night. Telling strangers his feelings of rejection isn’t exactly uncommon after a couple of drinks. He gulps down more water to swallow back the tears that threaten to spill from his eyes. 

 

“You’re spilling water all over yourself.” 

 

Swallowing hard, he mumbles, “agh… shit.” There’s water all down his neck spilling onto the front of his sweater. He’s rubbing at it with his hands, willing the water particles away. 

 

A delicate hand pulls his own away from his chest and brings a napkin to the fabric, gently patting. It takes his brain a moment to register that the hand belongs to Rey and that she has moved next to him, her face very close to his. 

 

His heart jumps when she gently runs the paper napkin across his neck and around his mouth. He wills his dick not to do anything, but the way she’s caressing him and taking care of him, it was inevitable. 

 

“Messy,” she whispers, mostly to herself. Ben flushes at the word but continues to sigh into her gentle strokes with the napkin. His hands tighten on the edge of the booth seat, aching to touch her. Her face looks dewy and plush up close. She has a smattering of freckles that he didn’t notice before. Not of his own volition, his pointer finger gently traces a constellation from the bridge of her nose to the middle of her cheek. Her face is just as soft as it looks. 

 

A cold set of thin fingers begin to wander along his throat. “You live down the hall from me,” he blurts, feeling that he needs to let her know that he sees her. 

 

She smiles, a genuine one that makes his stomach warm and fuzzy. “I know, you’re kind of hard to miss in the hallways.” Heat creeps up his face. He knows that he is a large presence, but most of the time wishes that he could just blend in. 

 

His hand leaves her face and settles on the thigh closest to him, feeling the textured pattern of the tights. “I’m really drunk, aren’t I?” His mind is numb with the swooping of his emotions, all caused by her. 

 

She laughs softly into his neck, her fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe more than, you literally can’t drink water correctly right now.” 

 

His lips spread across his face, unwittingly. He leans against her shoulder, sniffing at the hair that falls around her face. “You smell good.” 

 

“I smell like stale beer, no need to lie.” But he’s not lying, she smells soft and like lavender and clean sheets. His jeans tighten a little. 

 

He sits up before curving around her, searching in her face for a signal to stop. Her hand rests against his chest as he wraps his arm around her, pulling her in close. Her eyes blink up at him while her tongue runs once over her top lip. All inhibitions out the window, he leans in to place a chaste peck against her lips. 

 

Her breath catches in her throat when he pulls away slightly, only enough room between their mouths to exhale. His signal to continue never comes because she grabs him by his collar, pushing their mouths urgently together. 

 

He’s lost in the sensation of it all. Her lips are softer than he dreamed. She keeps making these small sounds that have him growing more and more uncomfortable in his jeans. His fingers run across the exposed piece of her back between her skirt and shirt. 

 

Rey opens her mouth against his, inviting him in. The easy glide of his tongue against hers has him dizzy. He never did much kissing, but she’s so patient and eager with him, taking charge and setting their rhythm. 

 

She breaks away from his mouth with a quiet pop of their lips. Pecking a couple of kisses against his neck, she takes his hand in hers and pulls him out of the booth. Ben stumbles to his feet, high on the feeling of her body against his, drunk on the kisses she fed to him. 

 

“Wanna go back to my room? I think Rose is gone for the night.” She’s standing in front of him, rubbing up and down his sides. He pushes the hair out of her face so he can admire the redness now ingrained into her skin, especially around her mouth. 

 

“Yes, please.” He doesn’t even care if they have sex, he just wants to see her in some light and touch the skin of her neck. 

 

She pulls him through the crowd of people that have amassed as it got later into the night. Outside, their peers are walking around laughing and enjoying the atmosphere of college life. Ben should be used to it by now, he’s in his second fall, but it still always shocks him that life can be that fun for some people. 

 

His arm is wrapped around her shoulders and she is tucked into his side. He feels her shiver against the cool breeze of the night, but he has nothing to offer her to wear. It’s only a couple more blocks until their dorm, and he’ll just warm her up. 

 

Her boots click against the pavement, he can’t wait to take them off of her and kiss his way up her calf as they deserve. He feels a little crazy with how obsessed he is already. 

 

They’re in her dorm room before he registers that they entered the building. Her room is warm and cozy with the soft grays and blacks of her bedding and pillows against the backdrop of fairy lights that line the ceiling. 

 

And then he’s on the floor, her shaggy rug beneath his knees, unzipping her boots while she sits on the bed, her chest rising and falling heavily. 

 

Clothes fly and scatter across the floor and they huddle for warmth under her covers, skin on skin. 

 

Kisses and sighs, gasps and moans. Falling into the hazy realm of ecstasy.



Until he hits the ground…  hard. 

 

Waking up to a room, not of his own, his head pounding, his skin clammy and cold. 

 

Barely remembering how he got there, he pulls on his clothes with as much energy as he can manage with a hangover more demanding than his mother. 

 

Then he sees two high heeled boots by the door, and the girl with smeared eyeliner and gentle hands comes rushing back. 

 

And he smiles.