Chapter 21 - House

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It was strange to… talk to him. He was still having a hard time being personal, but we talked a lot more. He even took me out to dinner again. I wasn’t stuttering very much either, which was a great feeling. I was truly feeling comfortable with another person, and it felt like… magic. Tonight we were taking a walk; it was the first warmer night since the snowfall.

“Can I ask you something?” he nodded. “Why did you tell me to forget where you lived?”

“I told you, I don’t like people knowing where my space is at.”

“Why haven’t we ever been to your house, you’ve been to mine?”

“Because I just don’t think you need to be there.”

“It was cute from the outside.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you embarrassed of it?”

“You live in a mansion, a Victorian style mansion with detailed, amazing, architecture. Do you really think I want you in my house? Not only that but, that’s very personal for me.”

“I’m going to your house.” I turned, starting down the road to his place.

“No you’re not,” he caught my wrist. It caught me off guard, little things still made me jumpy.

‘I-I am, if you don’t let me to tonight I’m going to drop by unexpectedly.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” I spoke in his face. His eyes locked with mine. He let out a huff and started down the road, releasing my wrist. “You are so moody.”

He rolled his eyes and kept walking. I liked watching him walk, he shoved his hands in his pockets at times. He walked with a strong step and a long stride.

After ten minutes of walking, we were in front of his cabin. He opened the door with a sigh, and I stepped in. It was adorable. Just off the right was the little dining room, which leads to the old fashion kitchen. The living room was simple, with a hall leading out of it to the bedrooms I assumed. It was painted very dark; they were painted black with unique white designs painted all over the place.

“You did this?” I asked, looking at the walls.

“Yes,”

“Cool,” I smiled, walking around.

“Finley,” he called when I went down the hallway.

“Your room?” I asked, about to pull open a door.

“No,” he pulled my hand away. “You don’t go in that room. Got it?” I swallowed, and nodded.

“S-Sorry,”

“Its fine,” he stepped back and opened a different door. ‘That’s my room.” I walked inside, it was painted black. His sheets were gray, his bed unmade and messy. He had clothes on the floor, paint brushes, half painted canvases, stacks and stacks of sketch pads on his desk, and floor. He had a TV at the foot of the bed, and a single lamp.

“This looks like you.”

“A mess?” he laughed.

I walked around, I glanced at him “Why do you look nervous?”

“I am,”

“Why?”

“I don’t bring girls home.”

“No?” He shook his head. ‘Why me?”

“No idea,”

I smiled. “I have an idea.”

“What is your theory?” I sat in his bed, helping myself to a sketch pad. His work was so amazing. It was still sad, and almost heavy looking, emotionally, if that made any sense.

“We’re cut from the same cloth in a sense. I get what it’s like to be alone, to want to be alone. You feel comfortable around me because I’m not the typical loud mouth Kelly that goes to school.”

He nodded and sat in bed with me, watching as I flipped through the sketch pad. The final drawing was of the locker.

‘What is the obsession with locker 161?”

He just shook his head. I sighed, and leaned down to get another. When I came back up he gently pulled it from my hands, making my heart race. He put one of his hands on my neck, his thumb resting near my ear. He tipped my head back and pulled me close, his lips on mine. We never really did anything apart from the random kiss… this was my first… make out? I guess that’s what you could call it. It was clearly his intention.

His lips were so skilled, and soft, shockingly soft. I tangled my fingers in his hair, gliding them onto his shoulders. I enjoyed feeling touch, exploring another body. I liked how I knew how his hair felt between my fingers, I liked how I knew how strong his upper body was, his arms that were flexed as they held me. It was a simplistic type of intimacy that I completely enjoyed. I enjoyed kissing, so much.

He kissed down my neck, making me pant a bit. Sexuality was… intense. It was like it was always inside of you, sleeping soundly, hibernating. Then when you wake it, it’s ready to live, it’s ready to see all corners of the globe.

It was overwhelmingly intimidating, and exciting.

“H-Harry?”

“Yeah?” he nipped at my collarbone, I jumped a bit.

“What is this h-heading to?”

“Oh something amazing I hope,” he kept kissing me all over, bringing his lips up my neck.

“I c-can’t have sex with you.”

“No?”

“No, I can’t lose my v-virginity to a guy who isn’t my boyfriend.”

He stilled and looked up at me. “I-I’m sorry, I forgot you were a virgin.”

“Really,” I sat up on my elbows. “It’s painfully obvious.”

He smiled. “It is but I forget myself.”

“Do you ever think… ever… a girlfriend might be in your future?”

“Ah,” he sat up; I did too, leaning against his bedroom wall. “I’ve never had one of those.

“Oh,”

“Yes, never. I’m getting used to just… having you in my life at all.”

I nodded. “I understand that. I’ll respect that.”

‘Thank you.” he said quietly. “This is it,” he glanced around his room.

“I like it, it’s cozy.”

“Cozy?”

“Yes,” I boldly put myself on his lap. “I um, I might not be ready for sex but… I’ve learned I enjoy kissing, very much.”

“Yeah?”

‘Yes,” his lips pulled into a smile; I shut my eyes as he leaned in. We fell back into the bed; he didn’t try a single thing.

Rachel was wrong. I wasn’t a notch.

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