The Marriage Contract (PUBLISHED!)

Chapter Twenty One

Slowly, I closed my eyes, exhaling a deep breath, and counting down from ten to one. My hands clenched against the soft fabric on my lap- my chest heaving, as Richard's minty breath blew into my neck.

"If you don't back off," I whispered, my teeth clenched. "I swear you'll lose a very vital part of your body somewhere down south. Don't test my patience."

Though my eyes were tightly closed, I could feel his smirk extending from cheek to cheek, as a light chuckle escaped from his lips.

"Did you say somethin'?" Uncle Jeffrey asked.

I turned my head towards Uncle, who drove the car to the end of the dimly lit garage, before turning off the engine. My thumb held down a button by the door, rolling up the window- my gaze taking in the familiar garage. Apart from the walls, which were pressed with a fresh coat of cream paint, everything was as I'd left it two years ago.

"No," I lied. "You're hearing things."

He laughed. "I think I'm getting old."

I stuck out my tongue. "You think?"

He ruffled the top of my head, messing up my already frizzy hair, giving me a cheeky grin. I shot him a smile, as he got out the car, pushing the door closed. Richard followed his lead, exiting out, and swinging the door closed. While Uncle went to the back of the garage, closing the door, Richard approached my window, staring at me in that way of his. That way in which the light would catch the glimmer in his eyes, forcing them to seep into mine, causing me to look away.

But instead, I looked past him, leaning my head against the car seat, my seatbelt still attached over my chest. My bubble gum pink bike still rested against the wall of the garage, a rainbow tassel hanging off one end. When I got off the car, a blast of nostalgia hit me, and for a moment, just for a moment, I wanted to cry.

I missed home.

I missed my baseball bat that rested in a worn out wooden shelf at the front of the garage, on top of a stalk of books, all jumbled together, threatening to fall off the edge. The ceiling bulb illuminated the cement ground, as a life size poster of an astronaut hung against the other side of the wall, the bottom part pressed with duct tape.

"Are you getting out now, or next year?" asked Richard, leaning an elbow against the windows edge.

I sighed, lifting my eyes towards his, giving him a tired smile.

"Step back," I said, glancing at the ground, then back at him.

He wiped a thump against the corner of his mouth, brushing away whatever was there, though I saw nothing. But then again, why was I staring at him wiping his mouth?

I shivered, diverting my gaze, as a gust of discomfort slinked through my spine.

He eyed me speculatively, as though trying to figure me out, his eyes roaming over my face, before stopping for a moment, on my lips.

"I'm not the kind of guy that steps back from things," he whispered, leaning his head towards me.

I blinked at him, not quite registering what he meant. My mind was already in a haze, and his riddling words, only increased my headache.

"I don't care what kind of guy you are." There was a light tremor in my voice. "I just need to open the door, and unless you want this door to slam into your stomach, then I suggest you move back."