floating | ✓

19| haunted

Owen disgusts me.

I stand up so quickly, like Owen is fire and he is burning my flesh off. Owen takes his time.

“Well, well, well,” Owen says. “Fancy seeing you here, Gwen.”

I see his smirk because of the dim lighting of the room. I am glad it’s not dark.

I remember the conversation I had with Oliver earlier. My blood boils over. I have never hated anyone more than I hate Owen now.

What Oliver went through and how Owen was not there for him doesn’t make me think better of Owen. I knew something about him never sat well with me.

“Why are you here?” I ask. Honestly, he was the last person I wanted to meet here.

“Doing what you’re doing?” Owen says with a shrug. “ Having fun?”

I look around. I can’t see anyone else around us. So it’s just me and him in this particular room.

“So you came here alone?” I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“No,” Owen smirks. “But I’m alone now.”

Then he winks. I roll my eyes.

“Oh please.” I look around us. It’s like nothing is in this room. They thought they should give the visitors a break from everything, just let them sit here and get some rest.

“What’s with this attitude?” Owen asks, leaning against the door.

“What attitude?” I ask.

“I get the feeling that you don’t really like me,” Owen says, almost smiling.

“You bet I don’t. At least you have a brain to realize that. Thought you don’t have one,” I reply and lean against the wall.

“Why? Have I hurt you in any way? Even if I did, it was not intentional and I’m sorry.” Owen stands up straight.

“Hold up, hold up,” I say. “Now you are being nice.”

“You have a thing against nice people?” he asks, like he is surprised.

I look away and don’t say anything.

“Oh, now I see why you like Oliver, not me,” Owen says with a smug smile.

“I mean, if you know I don’t like you why can’t you just stop with the disgusting flirting?” I shudder saying it.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Owen says.

“You invited me to your room,” I say.

“I was just being nice. I asked you to hangout, can’t I do that?” Owen says, like he actually doesn’t see any problem.

“Yeah, right. You are just being you,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Hm, the problem is the idea of me,” Owen says, almost smiling.

“It might be,” I say. “Can we stop talking and resume with this? I wasn’t actually planning to do it this way.”

I wonder what Oliver and I would have done if we were here alone. I sigh.

“Sure,” Owen says. “Let’s go forward and see what awaits us. But I think we are at the end,” Owen says, looking at the room, which has nothing in it.

Then I hear someone screaming. I look at Owen, and he looks at me. From the other end of the room, a man—not a man, a psycho—walks in with a giant machine saw like he is gonna cut us off with it.