All American Boys

30. They All Die

All American Boys

Chapter 30: They All Die

I woke up to the scent of the sea wafting through the room. I rubbed my eyes, not used to the sunlight shining into the room through the open window. The ocean breeze sent the white curtains fluttering as I tried to remember where I was. My head was pounding a little bit, my pulse throbbing at my temples.

I looked around and realised I was naked. It was only then when it all started slowly coming back to me. Cyril was nowhere to be found. His side of the bed was already made. In his place was a clean bathrobe, all neatly folded. Stretching my arms in front of me, I got up. After getting dressed I was about to go outside and look for my boyfriend, but the open glass door leading to the balcony was just too tempting.

Slipping on a pair of slippers I found, I stepped outside. The morning sun shining down onto my skin and the wind blowing against my hair was an amazing feeling. Pacing outside, I eventually stopped and leaned over the balcony, my hands grabbing onto the wooden railing. The sun hovered over the glimmering sea, the waves causing ripples in the reflective light. The sound of the Atlantic crashing against the sandy beaches filled me with a calm I hadn't experienced all week, ever since the incident at the Anderson house.

And I truly needed it. In a few hours I was going to see Isaac again. It was the day of the funeral after all, and I dreaded to think what would happen.

"You're finally awake," I heard Cyril say from behind me.

I turned around and flashed him a smile. My boyfriend was wearing a cerulean bathrobe and white slippers. His brown hair was slightly messy but his eyes were as bright as ever.

"It's a really fine morning," I replied, leaning back against the railing.

The young man walked up to me, planting a kiss on my left cheek. His lips were soft, just like they were the night before.

"I've made breakfast," he said, the excitement in his voice akin to an enthusiastic child at a science fair who wanted to show me his project. "I hope you'll like it."

I lazily let him lead me by the hand downstairs and to the back of the house. We entered the kitchen, where I was greeted with the aroma of coffee. There was an alcove to the side of the room, where a table had been set.

Set on the table were two plates, both holding a few sausages, some scrambled eggs and a couple of hashbrowns. There was a pitcher of juice, as well as a spread of various cheeses on a platter.

"How'd you like your coffee?" he asked me as he took out two mugs from the cupboard.

"Black, please," I said, still staring in awe at the breakfast that he had made for us.

Yeah, I knew he could cook and all, but I didn't expect him to go through so much effort just for me.

"Well what are you just staring there for?" my boyfriend chuckled as he walked up to the table, a mug of coffee in each hand. "Go ahead."

Cyril placed the mug with black coffee in front of me, before I took my seat.

"You know," I said, trying hard to not gush too much from excitement. "You didn't have to trouble yourself."

The young man only chuckled as he pulled out his chair. But I could notice him wincing as he sat down on his seat. I suppose it still hurt from last night. Well, as long as he didn't complain, I'd say nothing about it. Then again, he hadn't mentioned anything about last night. Which I found rather strange, but oh well.

A part of me felt that maybe he didn't like it. But even if that was the case, it wasn't really my problem.

"And you didn't have to be so modest," he replied, the conversation bringing my mind back to breakfast.