Chapter Twenty Eight
After the Storm
I wasn’t surprised the world hadn’t come to an end at the mention of those words, or that the human race hadn’t ceased to exist. I rested my back on the cushions of Dylan’s living room, and took a deep breath.
“I think I ought to get going home.”
We had cleared the table, and together washed the plates, yet there was a delicate atmosphere hanging around us. The feelings after a storm, you’re scared and uneasy to make any sudden or abrupt action.
He laughed, as if I’d cracked the world’s best joke. “Chloe, you’re not going anywhere.”
Perplexed I stared at him, “Sorry?”
He moved towards me, slowly, carefully, like I’d said, scared the smallest of things would break the energy between us. “You are staying here.”
For once, I didn’t mind him ordering me around, “What if I get bored?”
He chuckled, and came into the living room, “Bored? With me? You’re nuts.”
Which I was, but that was another subject. I smiled, “What will it be today? The drive in cinema? The Ice Cream place?”
“We’re staying here.”
Surprised I asked, “Really?”
“Have you seen your clothes? I’d never let you go out looking like that.” His hands signaled to the black short, knee-long socks and oversized t-shirt I was wearing. My eyes still held the shadows of last night’s makeup, and my hair had that ‘just-woken-up’ appearance.
I flipped him off, “Ass.” I muttered.
To my surprise he grabbed my waist and pulled me down with him towards the sofa, “You’re perfect,” he whispered in my ear.
I laughed, hoping the sound didn'tt sound like a giggle. “I’m not sure…”
His nose traveled the length of my jaw, carefully like the fluttering of wings, “I am sure.”
We laid like that for a while, in a comfortable peace. The drumming of his heart beneath my ear, and his hand resting on my back, the other playing with the strands of my hair absentmindedly. It was a moment that lasted too little, soon it was over, and I would have given anything to have it photographed, and saved.
“Are you thinking?” I whispered lightly, to not ruin the silence.
He nodded, careful to not jostle my head.
“About?”
“What to do together,” he answered.
He thought, and I remained silent. Wondering why it was we always had to do something and not nothing.
“A fort!” he exclaimed.
“A fort?”
He turned, and smiled, “Yes, a fort!”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
He had a point.
*
“This does not look like a fort,” I said disappointed.
Dylan laughed, “You’re supposed to look at it from inside, that way it won’t matter if it looks like a fort or not.”
YOU ARE READING
Eight Letters. Three Words.
Teen Fiction"I don't feel anything towards Dylan Miller." Leela nodded, combing through the messy knots in my hair. "Whatever you say." "I'm serious!" "Look, just try not to move so much this time," she said, making me feel happy as she dropped the subject. "...
