Ghastly Wonders

Chapter Four : I Love The Way You Lie

I arrived at Eric's house a little earlier than expected.
I collect my purse and phone and then I await at the door for him to escort me inside.

Eric opens the door. A slight glitch of exhaustion, nervousness and fear strikes me, instantly.
He looks very attractive. His hair is swept back. His striking, pierced eyes are delightfully glittering through the light.
And his smile is beautiful. He is like a dream boy.
Gorgeous, quirky and charming!
He is wearing a white, buttoned down shirt that perfectly frames his slight muscular figure.

He instructs me to come inside. I smile and greet him, politely.
His house is thickly darkened and lathered in candle lights. The distinctively dreamful house is lit perfectly.

"This look great!" I admit as I take off my shoes and place them down, carefully. "The house looks excellent!"

Eric clears his throat. "Yeah, thanks. Umm yes so it was my mum and dad's house.." he pauses for a very quick moment. I appear to look confused.
"What happened?" I asked with a slight smile.
"They died."

My smile automatically turns into a disappointed expression. "Oh my goodness. I am so sorry Eric. Honestly, I am. What exactly happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitates and turns his head. "It was a building fire. When I was ten they died. I went to live with my Aunt Joyce and then I got this house when I was eighteen."
He smiles and thankfully changes the conversation.
"Nice dress!" He compliments me as I strut through to the dining room.
"Thanks! Ey, you look great too."
He giggles and awkwardly turns away. "Oh it's nothing!" He replies. "Ohh la la French champagne!" He smiles, pleasantly as I hand him the bottle of expensive, French champagne. "Yeah. It's nothing!" I reply with a flustered look. "Tell me about your family. Do you have any brothers, sisters?" I ask trying to distract myself from my admiration for him whilst I fiddle with my bracelets on my arm.
He pauses with a blank expression. "Yes. My brother. His name is Nicholas. He is three years younger. He is a complete an utter hmm excuse my French but wanker! He is always as high as a kite. He is also an alcoholic too. His either on speed or weed, but either way he infuriates me. I paid for a
rehab camp that honestly costed quite a fortune."
He pulls our a seat for me and pours me a glass of the champagne. I gulp it down as I am engaged in his story. "Yeah. $600 for a month and a half! Anyway umm what about you? I don't really know much about you. Do you have any siblings?"
He asked politely as I finish my drink and ask for another.
"No. I'm an only child. My mum and dad tried for another child when I was three. But you know? Problems... hmm did I tell you they separated?"

He genuinely nods instantly. "Yeah well after they tried for another kid um it kind of destroyed their relationship together. So basically I have been back and forth from two different houses throughout my life. I have a Step mum Rhonda. She isn't the greatest. I tried to poison her when I was seven. I attempted to spray WD-40 in her tea once. Hahaha, come to think of it I was a little strange, still am. I still am today."

We both laugh. Then there is an awkward pause.

I embrace his fully committed conversations.
He then leaves the table to grab a photo album from a dusty, antique glass cabinet in the hallway.

"Here is my mother." He declares as he points to a Polaroid, 70s style photo of a youthful, slim and well dressed lady. She had wavy, brown hair and a content yet serenely satisfying smile to look at.

"She is so... beautiful!" I admit as I politely take the album from his hands. I flick through and see many more photos of her. She could of been a model. So precise, pretty and incredibly perfect. "I know... I miss her dearly." He weeps, lightly. "Oh I am so sorry. Here..." I close the album and give it back to him. He holds it closely to his heart for a few moments and places it back in the almost full cabinet. "What actually happened to her, if you don't mind me asking?" I question.
He begins to act tense and nervous. He fiddles with his clothes as he stares down at the ground. "W-well she was killed. Umm it was some kind of accident."