Together Alone

Ch. 6. Why are the rich always misunderstood?

Levi's POV:

I certainly did not expect Darby's house to look the way it did. The building was monstrous; a grand balcony with elaborate balustrading almost completely encircling the second floor. The door was large enough to bring in an elephant and the gold detailing across the house's façade glistened in the afternoon sun. Only once I managed to draw my attention away from White House's cousin, had I noticed the Aston Martin, yes the ASTON MARTIN that was parked in front of the triple door garage.

"I get that a lot," Darby smirked.

I shut my mouth, not even realising that my jaw was gaped open so wide it was practically hitting the cobblestone ground.

"Is- is it yours?" I stuttered in disbelief.

"Yup," he replied, seeming completely indifferent to the fact he owned one of the best cars ever manufactured.

"Why don't you drive it then?"

"It's embarrassing. It screams new money. All cash no class. I rather have my bank balance tattooed on my forehead than drive in around in that. I'd look like a complete dickhead."

I smiled and nodded, following Darby to the front door, still not breaking my gaze from the metallic black of the car, still in partial shock. I knew he was rich but this was richrich.

The inside of the house was even more impressive than the exterior. Everything looked like a Kardashian household, from the slick white kitchen, to the massive chandeliers that graced every room.

I continued to shadow Darby up the staircase, past bedroom after bedroom. I noticed one room bursting with pink; a carriage shaped bed and palace-like doll house in the centre of a glittery rug. It must have been Bella's.

Once up the corridor, we entered the smallest room on the level, which happened to be Darby's. Unlike I had expected, the walls were bare of posters and art and the furniture was bordering on purely the essentials. What I did notice was the guitar, almost identical to the one I once owned. Darby must have followed my gaze, as he picked it up and held it out to me.

"You play?" he asked.

"Used to," I replied, carefully taking in the instrument. "Mine was the same model, darker though,"

"What happened?"

We were both seated on the bed at this point, as Darby leant in closer to me to study the guitar in my hands.

"Dad didn't like it. He got rid of it."

Sensing the arise of an awkward conversation, I quickly changed topic.

"I'm thirsty."

"No problem, Button. I'll go grab something."

"Thank you," I murmured, as I aimlessly plucked the strings.

"I'll be back. Wanna come or are you happy here?" Darby asked, getting up off the bed.

"I'll wait here," I smiled.

Once the room was empty and only the faint echo of Darby's footsteps could be heard, my fingers instinctively positioned themselves in an A minor chord formation. For the first time in forever, I played.

Darby's POV:

As I trotted back up the stairs, two glasses of lemonade in hand, I was taken aback by what I heard. Melodies swelled through the empty halls, a gentle voice humming to the tune. I crept to my room and silently leant against the door frame, taking in the magic electricity filling the air.