On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Two - "Momentarily . . ."

Chloe

 

I lay awake in bed, hoping for the sound of the front door.

It was ridiculous how much I missed him, considering he’d only been gone for a day. But in that day, I’d done the most exciting thing I’d ever done in my life, and the year had changed.

Maybe that’s why I needed to see him. So that I could know that some good things really did come out of the last year. Most of all, him.

I sat up suddenly at the sound of the jangling keys.

Dressed in his sweatshirt and my leggings, I crawled out of bed and padded into the living room, just as the front door swung open. He stepped in and noticed me standing in the middle of the room. Waiting. Exhaling. Inhaling.

I grinned.

He returned it, but looked at me a little warily, “Hi,” he said hesitantly.

“Hi Fitch,” I croaked, finding that my voice had suddenly disappeared. Maybe it was all the screaming from hanging upside-down over a vast sea.

“Happy New Year,” he said, walking over, “Sorry I’m late.”

I looked up at the clock on the wall. 2.56 a.m. Perfect timing. Unnaturally perfect; was I dreaming?

He leaned down slowly to kiss me and I quickly held my hand over his mouth. He frowned and muffled, “Chloe?”

“Pretend we’re in California,” I said, slowly taking my hand off his mouth.

“Okay?” he said questioningly.

My eyes darted at the clock, “It’s still 2012.”

He smiled slowly, his hand cupping my face, and we stood like that for three minutes and fifty-four seconds. Staring. Waiting. Exhaling. Inhaling.

I grinned again. It was becoming a habit.

“Six . . . Five . . . Four . . .” I trailed off.

Three.

Two.

His lips pressed against mine as he pulled me tight against his chest, my hands making their way up his arms.

One.

*

“Chloe, come on,” Kayla said from outside the closet door.

I let out a breath and stepped out. She scanned my outfit and let out a whistle, “I approve,” she said.

“Isn’t it a little short?” I asked, pulling it down. It was a mid-thigh length lace dress with long sleeves and an unnecessary body-hugging feature. Coupled with lace-up ankle boot platform wedges and a fully styled head of hair, I felt very uncomfortable.

“Any longer and you’d be going to choir practice,” she said.

“Well, thank you,” I said.

She just shrugged in response.

I’d agreed to go out with them to some club, and though I felt hesitant about the entire event, I also felt an ounce of excitement, and that was how I knew I was changing.

I didn’t like the idea of becoming someone else entirely, and I found that sometimes I couldn’t really recognize myself; it terrified me. What would this part of me do? What could she do? She seemed less fearful, more open, even a little euphoric. What would it take to make it all go away? And even worse, what would she do when it did?