Sleeping With Ghosts

#3

Kurt:

18th of September

The day shot by faster than a speeding bullet. It felt like it'd never end whilst Dave and I spoke animatedly with a slightly tentative Layne about where he came from, what his hobbies were, what his last school was like. The talking was easy, hands flying as we shared stories, the canteen slop nearly forgotten. He didn't make us feel like we were intruding, apart from a few abashed sideways glances and nervous laughs when Dave asked about any previous girlfriends, winking jovially as he did so. I was glad Layne said that he hadn't been with anyone, I would've wanted to chop her head off... with a rusty fork. Those murderous ponderings  don't particularly  agree with me, especially when they don't piss off when I tell them to.
So no murderous thoughts occurred during the day beside the usual cutting jibes about  Courtney. What did not subside, however, was the yearning to cuddle into Layne's side when he blushed and looked away. The warm pink of his cheeks looked so soft and inviting. I wanted to smooch them, his forhead, too, and his nose, his chin, his lips. If he were mine, there'd be nowhere I wouldn't want to plant my lips.

The end of the first day of hell- school, I meant school, crept up on all of us. When the bell wrung for the last time, I walked home with both of them. I hadn't made the connection previously but apparently the family that had moved into the crumbling mansion two blocks away from the street Dave and I both live on, was none other than Layne's family. None of our places are very far from school, so we usually walk home together. Now we walked three.

We came to a stop at Layne's hand gesture, "This is my house."

I laughed aloud, "So you were the dipshits who bought this piece of work."

I used to visit a friend from play school nearly everyday who lived in this house. I can't remember that kids name, he moved away when I was five, but I remember that we'd sit in the attic, watching the old box television, huddled under a thin blanket, because we absolutely knew that the house was haunted. The floors, roofs and walls would creak in the night, and the wind moaned through the cracks in the doors and windows. But we knew it was really the ghosts. If the wallpaper was peeling even way back 11 years ago, I couldn't imagine what it looked like now.

Layne laughed, "Yeah, I know, it's kind of a shithole, but my Dad reckons he's gonna fix it up so it looks all classy and shit again. He won't get around to it for a few years though." He kicked at tufts of grass and clasped his hands behind his back.

I wanted to wrap my arms around his waist and kiss the embarrassment off his face. Although, I'd bet my only pair of shoes he'd shove me away, run into his house and slam the door behind him.

"Well, I always liked running from the ghosts in this house," I shuffled my feet the same way he had, "Let me know if you need any help unpacking or anything, you have my number."

My cheeks flamed as I realised what I had just said, we'd exchanged numbers at lunch, but no one needs help unpacking, I sure as hell wouldn't want anyone pawing through my stuff, what was I thinking?

Layne nodded, considering the offer, "Okay."

I tried to take a discreet sigh of relief but he looked up at the noise and tried not to laugh.

Dave patted both our shoulders, "Okay, ladies, kiss, say goodbye, I gotta get home, do some chores and stuff," he started walking.

I bit my lip. Layne, cheeks firetruck red pushed out, "Seeya tomorrow."

I watched Layne push open the gate and climb up the stairs to unlock his door. My eyes glued to his ass in those tight black jeans. I wanted to squeeze it so bad. Preferably when they weren't in those jeans, or anything else for that matter. Just when my mind started to slide into thoughts unsuitable for public consumption, Dave cleared his throat.

"Stop drooling, I wasn't kidding about having chores to do."

I snapped my mouth shut. Wiping the corner of my lips, I realised I had actually drooled a little. I jogged to catch up to Dave.

"You know you're not gonna be able to hide that you want to fuck him against a wall for very long, right?"

"Shut up, I only met him today, I don't wanna... Do that," I mumbled.

"If no one ever dived into it after knowing someone less than two hours- e.g. One night stands- there'd be a lot less kids in this world. Trust me, you want to hit that."

"I don't," I slapped him on the arm.

He laughed, "Whatever. Try telling him that when he goes to kiss you while you help him unpack later."

"What? He's not gon- I'm- what?" I shook my head. Why would someone so obviously not gay, kiss someone as plainly unattractive as me?

"Do you need glasses, Kurt? I swear he was looking at you like you were chocolate covered strawberries."

I squinted. "However much that analogy didn't make sense, he really did not look at me like that," I don't know what Dave was seeing, but it wasn't the same pretty blue-eyed, dreadlocked, pink-lipped skinny teenager that I saw.

"Believe what you want, man, I know what I saw," he shrugged in a, 'it's not my problem,' way.