Winter Moon [Complete]

Chapter Five

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said, as he walked behind me. "It's weird having a girl here...." he looked down at me as I sat on his couch, then he left the room. I could feel the soft cushions beneath me, I sank into the couch and just sat there. I looked around and what I saw surprised me all to hell. The walls were all painted this relaxing grey color, and nothing looked as expensive as I thought it would be. It looked, homey, except for the fact that there were no family photos anywhere. After I sat in his living room for about three minutes I wondered where he had disappeared to so I called out to him "Max! ohm, w-where are you?"

Seconds later he popped up behind me and whispered "Shhh.." in my ear, his warm breath on the back of my neck. He startled me, so bad I almost shrieked.

"Y-you scared the beg-gibers out of me," I whispered back, my hand found the spot where my heart would be, and rested there lightly for a moment. "How c-come?"

"Only the fact that my little brothers are upstairs sleeping" he raised his eyebrows then smirked, as he circled the couch. "Come on let's go," he waved his hand in a come here motion and led me upstairs. My stomach tightened into a knot, but I kept walking. When we got to his hall I noticed a bunch of old oil paintings lining the walls.

"Wow!" I couldn't believe my eyes. "These c-copies are so accurate." I should know my dad is an art history teacher at the local college. They weren't just prints they were painted. He gave me a weird look, a crease forming between his brows, then shrugged. He went into his room, hurriedly shoved a bunch of dirty laundry into the hamper, and began shuffling through his drawers. I sat down on his bed and couldn't help but think how strange it would be to bathe in anyone's bathroom but my own. The whole day had been the epitome of strange.

"You ok?" I came out of my head, for a moment to answer him.

"Yep, g-great," I replied sarcastically, he plopped the clothes down at the foot of the bed and sat on the love seat at the back of the room. When he stuck his thumb in his mouth and started biting the barely-there nails, I said "C-can I ask a d-dumb question?"

"Elyzabeth, no question is a dumb question, and of course you can." He took his fingers out of his mouth long enough to say that, then stuffed them right back in. I took my time saying this and pronounced everything carefully and slowly like my old counselor said I should.

"Why did you stay with me?" he looked at me in shock, and then just sat there. His leg jiggled up and down, a nervous tick I presumed. "Well?" I looked at him inquisitively.

His eyes found the floor as a nervous laugh escaped his mouth.  "Uhm...." is all he could get out before I interrupted him.

"N-never mind..." I got up off the bed and turned to the door. "Where is-"

"Down the back end of the hall, the very last door." He got up too and came towards me.

I tried to back away from him inconspicuously but ended up tripping on my own feet and waving my arms through the air trying to catch my balance. As I fell back he launched to catch me. Then I was lying on his bed, but next to him, and in his arms! My breath hitched and a cold sweat began in my palms. His comforter was bumpy underneath me, the pillows were overwhelming me with his smell. "Oh, jeez, Elyzabeth! Are you all right?" We sat there quietly for a moment until I broke eye contact with him.

"H-help m-me up." he got up off the bed and took my hand, then pulled me up effortlessly.

"Are my pajamas ok?"

"uh... ya its f-fine, thanks" I took the pajamas

"No problem." he smiled. "Sorry I knocked you over..." I nodded and shrugged my shoulders. I went to the bathroom and then went back over to his room.

"This is am-mazing! How in the hell, do you NOT spend all your t-time in there!"

" Well last time I checked, I'm a guy. Does that give you any clues?" he smirked.

"Smartass..." I grumble, and head back into the bathroom, in absolute amazement. The first thing I do is make sure the door is securely locked.

I sit in the shower wondering what I'm supposed to do with myself. Max likes me enough to rescue me and bring me here.

It's been about an hour since I got here, I've bathed and am now just sitting here. His house is amazing, I can't believe all the artwork in the halls, and he has electronics that have only recently come out. I am currently listening to the system in his room, which is blasting my favorite artist. I notice a picture of two little boys and a woman on his dresser. I think they are twins and his mother, I wonder where the dad is, and why Max isn't in the picture as well? My hand hovers over my stomach as it grumbles annoyingly. I realize I never got to eat lunch.

Max walks into the room. He smiles at me and asks me if I'm hungry. I'm surprised at how intuitive he is. I realize he probably hadn't eaten yet either. I wonder what he has to eat as he says "We've got packaged California rolls, sandwich stuff, and ramen... that's about it. The rest of it is for the boys, you know pizza rolls and cereal kinda things." For a moment I wonder why they are still not out and about as I follow him downstairs and through the dining room to the kitchen. Making light conversation he asks what that was I was listening to. When I tell him the name of the band he looks at me like I'm weird, it has a very long odd name. I shrug my shoulders at him.

"What?" I ask. He smiles at me and continues into the pantry, coming back with a package of my favorite flavored pop tarts. "SMORES!?" His grin gets even wider as he opens the package to put them in the toaster.

"You like these too?" I nod my head eagerly. "I think we like a lot of the same things... I'm glad we ran into each other today..." I blush ferociously at that, turning my head away so that he will not see the look on my face. "Who's your favorite artist?" I look up quickly forgetting that I'm still pink in the face. I blabber for a moment trying to think of a single one to give him.

Then I remember the portraits by Renoir. Those are my favorite and I tell him so, enthusiastically describing the one I like most, of a little girl sitting on a rock. She wears a white dress and bonnet with pink ribbons. She is a great example of chiaroscuro I think to myself. Then I remember that I can't wait to go to the museum this next month, where for the first time there will be an exhibit fully dedicated to Romanticism.

"I think that's great," he exclaims when I'm done. "I'm in love with Modi, his work is so inspiring and the thought behind it is deep." At this, I let out a slow grin.

Again I can't possibly fathom how exactly I ended up here. Our S'mores' pop and we dig in just as two little dark-headed four-year-olds come barging into the kitchen. They look nothing like Max. I'm surprised to realize I've only just noticed this even though I saw their photographs.