Nixie strolled through the house watering her mother’s many potted plants, each with its own individual name, before making her way to the dinner table where Tania sat, ready to devour her meal. Their home was like a museum for mythical beings. Anyone who were to walk in their little house might feel as though they’ve stepped into an enchanted fairy dwelling from Serafina’s porcelain winged figurines to her stringed lights hung along bed posts, lamps and walls in no particular order. Her delightful little quirks were what made her so unique and wonderfully eccentric and her daughters preferred her that way, for the most part.
Nixie scarfed down every bit of her food and ran to the door in a hurry but Serafina urged her to grab a light sweater before bolting out of the door and into the cool, crisp night. If she was being honest with herself though, it wasn’t the weather that made her wary since it was practically summer and where they lived, it was almost always warm out. No, it was Nixie’s outfit that was cause for concern. While she gave her fifteen year old daughter the freedom to express herself fully, she was still a mom and seeing her daughter walk out of the door barely dressed made her a bit uneasy. She was so thin and beautiful and the boys around town were no romeos. Little heartbreakers and womanizers riddled the neighborhood and the last thing she wanted was for Nixie to become some helpless victim. The Castle women were no damsels in distress.
She quickly ran to her room to grab a small jacket just as her mother requested of her and raced back out in a matter of seconds. Nixie was always good at respecting her mother’s wishes, she was many things but impertinent was not one of them. She was deep, pensive, daring and a hell of a sketch artist. She preferred drawing with thick pieces of charcoal as opposed to charcoal pencils. She felt one with the rock as she manipulated it to create her ideas and bring her imagination to life on paper. Something about feeling the messy, natural substance staining her skin in a rich, black dust gave her an organic sentiment that she treasured more than her skillful ability to create a descriptive scene or detailed portrait. She kept all her sketches hidden in a big yellow binder stashed under her bed for easy access, not to mention it was the quickest way to store it when she was done for the day.
Yellow happened to be her favorite color, not because she was a cheerfully spirited person but because it was everything she was not, bright, sunny, happy, you get the point. She had packs of clear page dividers and each drawing was carefully placed in one to preserve its authenticity, not that she believed her work to be of the highest standards and worthy of praise but just that she cherished each one like they held a piece of her broken heart in the shading of their precise silhouettes.
Tonight, she would be meeting with Trevor and some school friends to smoke weed on the beach and listen to music while a few of them pair off to wander aimlessly along the sandy shore in search of a nice secluded enough spot to have mediocre sex because sex on the beach is seemingly thrilling or at least it is to a group of teenagers who have no place else to explore their lustful desires. Personally, Nixie was too logical to buy into a fad like that as the idea of rolling around on a sandy floor, allowing the tiny, sharp particles to stick all over her damp skin and become lodged between two slipping body parts, rubbing them raw as salt water entered the mix to burn the already irritated flesh, all the while spilling forced moans from within to give herself and the poor boy she was entangled with the illusion that what they were experiencing was actual pleasure did not seem like a good time to her. Trevor wasn’t so foolish to believe she would be up for it either. He only invited her out for a taste of her exceptional bud since her connection provided the highest quality weed and he was an awfully elusive man for a drug dealer. Apparently, he only keeps in contact with people he knows and trusts and if they’re willing, he’ll allow them to sell to others on his behalf so he doesn’t have to meet new people because he’s that paranoid. It’s evident he gets high his own supply and too much of it at that. While Trevor has the money to buy his own stash from her, he prefers to bum off of hers as long as she’s willing to share.
Nixie’s not so naive to believe a guy like him would really go for a girl like her but he has a car and she loves the beach and she argues in her head that it’s more fun to smoke with a friend, if you can call him that. They have known each other since second grade but he’s not exactly a nice guy and definitely not someone she can trust with her secrets like you would a friend so maybe they’re simply peers who occasionally toke together to avoid being high alone. Whatever he was to her, it wouldn’t last long and she was okay with that. He wasn’t the same boy she played on the swings with competing to see who could reach the highest tree branches with their toes. He became one of those jerks who strived to be cool, popular, accepted and she couldn’t be mixed with trivial issues as such. She had her own problems to deal with such as her mom’s next wave of manic depression and scaring off the next brat who bullied her little sister for wearing her fairy wings to school for the fifth week in a row. But she felt she could finally breathe now that summer was swiftly approaching and she wouldn’t feel obligated to fill her days with school friends who actually believe they’re wild and free in a town like this. The only place that’s freeing to her is the beach but the sex-crazed group rolling around and moaning dramatically were making it hard for her to enjoy the cool breeze splashing against her face and the aroma of the moonlit sea swarming her senses. She needed to escape this scene and fast.