On The Run

Chapter Seventeen - "Free Falling"

Fitch

 

I’d never been more fascinated by anyone. Ever.

“So, are you going to take off the mask?” I asked, turning to look at her as we got outside.

She shook her head slowly, “No.”

“What changed your mind? Why did you come out?” 

She shrugged, “Ricky, among other things.”

“Wow. How’d he do that?”

She shrugged, “He made a good point.”

I smiled, “What do you want to do now, then?”

“Fitch, you brought me out here, remember?”

I was dying to see her expression or just her features, but I wasn’t going to push it. The mere fact that she was hanging out with me was slightly unbelievable.

“Okay, come on,” I replied, and we walked off in the opposite direction to the club. She followed without question.

“You’re so going to get fired,” she said quietly.

I chuckled, “I really don’t care,” I replied.

“You went through the trouble of getting the job – a job you’re terrible at, by the way – and you don’t care?”

“The one night you actually come out and you expect me to be working?”

She scoffed, “Why do you care so much?”

“Do you want me not to?” I asked, unprepared to tell her the truth.

She let out a breath, and hesitated for a second, “I just don’t get why.”

I was thankful that we had arrived at the skate pit, because there was no way I was going to say, ‘Because I’m so into you, it’s like an addiction.’

I’d tried to avoid it all week, by spending as much time as possible away from her, and from the house in general, but I just thought about her more.

“What are we doing here?” she asked. I could hear the amusement in her voice.

I shrugged, “Nothing.”

“You brought me to do nothing?” she asked.

“I just like hanging out here,” I answered, heading down to the bottom of the pit. On days when there were no parties or other distractions, I usually went over and just lay at the bottom, staring at the heavens.

I crouched and lay on my back.

“What are you doing?” she called in disbelief.

“Like I said, nothing,” I answered, crossing my hands beneath my head.

She walked down, and stood above me, “You’re weird,” she stated plainly.

I snorted, “Really? You’re calling me weird?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, sitting next to me, cross-legged.

I leaned up on my elbows; “You’re wearing a smiley face mask – an irony which I do find hilarious – outside of a masquerade party.”

“That’s not weird; it’s just . . .” she frowned in thought, “Actually, it is.” She slowly pulled it off, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away, no matter how hard I tried. She was beautiful, plain and simple.