The car growled to life, and Austin haphazardly backed out of the tiny parking lot. I watched the beautiful freaks disappear behind us as we drove away.
"Where's this fun place?" I asked excitedly, bouncing in my seat.
"It's a surprise," he said.
"But I wanna know," I protested. What if he was taking me to a meth lab or something? I didn't wanna go into this totally blind.
"I'll give you a hint." He smiled. "It's older than Great Oaks." I thought about that for a long time, trying to make a mental list of every place in town that was very old. None of them seemed like places he would take me, though. Ultimately, I just decided that it would have to be a secret, because I was horrible with hints and guessing games.
"Okay," I sighed sadly, watching the moon peek out from behind some clouds.
"What kind of animal would you be?" he asked randomly, making a left turn. Watching him, I considered.
"I'm not sure. What do you think?" I asked. He laughed a little.
"A baby deer," he said, his eyes flicking to me. I blushed, and smiled. It was like there was no way to escape the good feelings.
"Yeah? I think you'd be like a red panda or something," I said, and he grinned.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Red pandas are like foxes." I explained. "They're really energetic, and have bushy tails."
"Is my tail bushy?" He craned his neck around to peek at his back side, and I giggled.
"Nope," I smiled, putting my feet up on the dash.
"Good. I trimmed it like yesterday, so..." We both cracked up, like idiots and he flicked on the sound system. Dear You by Man Overboard came on, and I smiled really huge.
"Is this my mixed tape?" I cocked my head, and he nodded.
"Don't ask in too much detail, but I've been listening to them nonstop since the other night," he breathed, then chuckled.
"You like them?" I smiled. It made me feel really happy, that he liked something I made. Everything he did made me stupid happy.
"I freaking love them," he sighed. "I was playing one while Michael was in the car, and he got all icky about it, like 'Ew, my brother likes this stuff, too' so I just ignored him." I giggled, nodding and just kind of soaking him in.
"Yeah, Michael is kinda... icky," I repeated his phrasing, making fun of him.
"Shut up, he is," he groaned. "I mean, he can be cool. Sometimes," he amended.
"Well, I don't like him," I grumbled.
"You wanna know a secret?" he asked. "Sometimes I don't either." I held my hand out for a high five, and he slapped it lightly. "Although, he did invite me to Sophie's grad party in a few days," he mentioned. Crap. I'd totally forgotten about that. She'd graduated this year, and would be heading to a university a few hours away in 2 months.
"Are you coming?" I asked nervously, hoping he would save me from hanging out with my family all day. None of them particularly liked me. My grandfather was kind to me, mostly, though. He was an old man now, with long ears and was constantly smoking, even though my grandma told him he needed to stop.
"Maybe," he said passively, shrugging. "I might have to work." This dumbfounded me; I had no idea Austin had a job. It was like the only plane that we existed on together was the middle-of-the-night-in-summer one, where everything was dark and adventurous and wild, and we never felt like failures. It had occurred to me then that we both had these separate lives, where bad things did happen, and nothing was a brand new journey, because all of it was boring and tiring.
"Where do you work?" I asked curiously.
"Would you laugh at me?" he asked.
"Never," I replied.
"Dick's." He said it so quietly that I could pretend I hadn't heard.
"What was that?" I tried not to giggle.
"Dick's. I work at Dick's Sporting Goods. My dad got me the job," he grumbled, and I didn't laugh. I didn't even giggle, even though I really, really, really wanted to.
"That's... cool." I bit my lip.
"I can see you trying not to laugh," he teased.
"Nuh-uh," I defended. His hand shot out from the wheel and lightly brushed my side, tickling me for a moment. Gasping and laughing, I grabbed his hand and put it back in the wheel.
"Both hands on the steering wheel," I ordered.
"I could drive this thing with my eyes closed," he said, smirking. "You are so ticklish," he remarked.
"No I'm not," I lied. Frick.
"Yeah you are!" He grinned. And then I said something really out of character.
"If you tickle me, I'll bite your hand."
His eyes widened, and he laughed boisterously.
"Please, Alan, bite my hand," he chuckled, jokingly holding his hand out. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stonily stared at him.
"No."
"You just said you would. That was, like, a promise, you promise breaker," he scoffed.
"I lied, I don't want to," I said, and he laughed at me.
"You're so weird." His fingers adoringly brushed my chin for a moment, disappearing back to the wheel as soon as they'd touched me. I could feel my ears turn red, and smiled.
"No, you're weird," I mumbled happily. The car halted to a stop, and my eyes fell upon the 'fun place'. Having absolutely nothing to say, I just stared at him in disbelief. Of course, all the other places he'd brought me to were fun. But, this? I had no idea how an abandoned house could be any fun. I'd seen this place many times, but I didn't know who owned it, or what it was still doing here. It was a huge, Victorian looking place with boarded over windows, and loads of urban decay. Vines crept up to the roof, practically swallowing the place whole. It had a scary vibe about it, and I felt small just being in its presence.
"Let's go in." He grinned excitedly, and I just shook my head with my mouth hanging open a little. That house looked like it wanted to eat me.
"Uh-uh. Nope," I declined. He laced his long, slender fingers with mine. Austin had much bigger hands than me, therefore, my hand disappeared inside of his, tightly and warmly wrapped up.
"Please?" he begged. "I wanna see the inside."
"Does a-anyone own this place?" I wondered, trying to ignore the perfect way our hands fit together, and how my breath was jumping around in my throat to avoid any sort of hyperventilation.
"Not anymore. Story time?" he offered, and I nodded.
"Okay, so, like 70 years ago, there was a man named Damien. He was Spanish, and incredibly rich." I listened as he spoke, falling in love with the way he told this story, like it was one no one had ever heard before.
"Anyways, he was in his village square one day when he saw a beautiful American woman name Cecelia, and the moment he looked at her, he was in love. So he begged her to marry him, right on the spot, but she declined. He was determined, though, and head over heels for her. So he followed Cecilia back to this town, where she lived, all the way across the sea," he illustrated the endless miles of water with his hands.
"She still wouldn't marry him, though, so he asked her what she wanted, and she said 'diamonds'. And he bought her a hundred diamond rings, but she still wouldn't marry him. Finally, he built her this house, with his bare hands. He built her so many rooms, so that, no matter how she was that day, she'd still feel at home."
"Did she marry him?" I interrupted, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Yep. She married him after maybe a year of appeasing, and Damien was so happy that they'd finally be together. But, a while later, he came home one day, and she was just gone." His voice sounded sad and hollow. "He looked everywhere for her, offering thousands of dollars for whoever could bring him his princess back. But no one ever found her."
"What did he do then?" I asked, actually quite interested.
"He turned his house into a place where homeless kids could stay to eat and have somewhere to sleep, for all the children that he wished he could've had with Cecilia," he said. I looked between him and the house, and decided then that there was no way I would've ever spared Austin the pleasure of going in there. In fact, I even wanted to go in there now. Badly.
"Let's go," I said, and he brushed his thumb over mine before getting out of the car. "If I get killed by the spirit of some homeless kid, it's on you," I muttered, and he smiled.
"Come over here." He led me around the back, where there was a very creepy backyard with an old, rusty swing set and teeter-totter. Around the back side of the house, there was a broken down wooden door, which looked like one of those old ones that led into the kitchen. He gripped my hand and pulled me through the door, into what I'd correctly guessed was a kitchen, with extremely rusty old appliances.
Everything was made from iron, including the huge furnace in the corner of the room. The floor was an old fashioned yellow and white checkered tile, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, rust, and even some with vines. It was so dark, like a place that light hadn't touch in years. Everything looked so broken, like it needed some kind of love. All the same, it was incredibly cool. My footsteps echoed through the mansion, like the house begging to be filled with sound once more, so it was amplifying anything it could get it's hands on.
Wandering through another door with rusted hinges, I found myself in a sitting room. The couches were ripped open, stuffing spilling out and badly tarnished. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling by wires that looked like they might've snapped, so I made a mental note to stay away. He followed me, looking around at the wallpaper that was covered in mold and ripping, and the places where paintings had once hung. Other couches, tables, and chairs were covered with sheets. Moonlight shone through the ceiling, which was falling apart. Warm nighttime summer breezes came straight through the rickety old place, blowing rusted wind chimes and rattling the sheets.
"Woah," I mumbled, staring at everything. Austin knocked my elbow with his.
"If I built you a house like this, would you marry me?" he joked, cracking up. Yes.
"Nope," I mumbled, taken by the moment. A set of stairs sat off to the left. "Can we go up there?" I asked, pointing.
"The stairs might be kind of fragile," he replied. "Come with me first." He led me towards another door near the stairs, and on the other side was a huge dining room. Empty bowls and plates sat on the huge, rotting mahogany table. Mostly broken chairs surrounded it, at least 20 of them. The freakiest part was that there were children's boots, toys, and coats placed randomly on the floor and hanging off the backs of the chairs. Everything looked so old, and it scared me a little. It was like they were still here, eating dinner after coming home from school or something. I couldn't quite see where I was going in here, for the ceiling was in better shape in this side of the house, and allowed no moonlight through.
A loud shudder shook the walls, sending wooden boards cracking and shifting in the frames. Jumpily, I backed into Austin, who held my shoulders from behind, comfortingly rubbing.
"It's just an old house," he mumbled, and I felt his fingertips graze my hips as he let go, most likely by accident. Whatever the case, my heart was pounding in my ribcage.
"I don't like this room," I mumbled, and walked back out, headed towards the staircase. Tiptoeing up the old, creaky stairs, I observed the faded paint and chipping walls. When I got upstairs, I found a series of bedrooms, mostly children's. They were all empty, save for sagging bunk beds and some clothes.
After exploring for a while, I went to the far end of the hallway, where there was only one door. It's ornate gold rusted doorknob was stuck, but, after jiggling it for a moment, the door swung open with a loud cre-e-eak! The inside was lit by moon, dripping in through the holes in the ceiling. A huge bed, adorn in a ripped red blanket and pillowcases, sat right in the center.
There was a feeling inside this part of the house that made me feel like I shouldn't have been there, but I stayed anyways. On the left hand side, there was a big closet made of dark wood. On the right, a dresser of the same color. Approaching the dresser, I found it covered in old, antique colognes, and some men's rings and watches. After deciding not to touch any of it, I noticed one feminine item: a hairbrush. It was wooden, light yellow, and decorated with tiny painted roses. The soft bristles had a few long hairs on them. Out of impulse, I reached out and touched one. It fell to dust, and I snatched my hand away. Wondering briefly if it was Cecilia's, I backed away and went over to the closet. The doorknob was stuck, and wouldn't open.
By the bed sat a little nightstand, though, and beneath it, there was a wooden box. It had a silver, intricately decorated latch on it, and was about the size of a shoe box. Picking it up gently, I set it on the bed and kneeled down to look at it. After screwing with the latch for a while, I eventually got it open. Inside lay at least a hundred letters. All of which addressed to one Ms. Cecilia Dellman. Chills traveled up my spine at the sight of it.
"Austin!" I called softly. "Come look at this!" I heard his footsteps approach a minute later, and I was so thankful for his presence. It felt like I'd almost gotten lost in this time frozen house.
"What's this?" He kneeled beside me, looking at the box. I pulled a yellowed letter out and looked at it; they were all sealed, organized chronologically. The first one was dated September 1st, 1937. My stomach rolled at the idea that these were older than anything I'd really ever seen or touched before.
"He wrote to her. He wrote her a hundred letters and never sent any of them," I said quietly. It felt like there was something in the room, the sadness of these letters that Damien never sent, and I didn't want to disturb that.
"Oh, my god," he murmured, looking through them. "I wonder what they say." For a while, neither of us said anything, until I spoke again.
"This might be the saddest thing I've ever seen in my entire life," I whispered. He patted my back.
"Let's put these away," he suggested, and I decided that it was a good idea. Putting them back into the box and latching it, I left it right where I found it, and stood up.
"No one should ever read any of them," I said quietly. Austin nodded.
"Are you okay?" he asked, bending his knees a little to look in my eyes. The close proximity put a lump in my throat.
"Mhm." I nodded. "It's just... it makes me sad," I said. He smiled in a way that said 'cheer up!'
"Let's go back downstairs. You should see the bathroom." He grinned. And, just like that, my sadness was gone. I felt all better, and followed him downstairs. In a door off of the sitting room, there was a small bathroom. It had an old fashioned toilet, rusted over, and a little basin with a cracked mirror over it.
"This place is so weird," I giggled, and he nodded.
"Do you think anyone ever squats here?" he wondered.
"It looks pretty untouched," I responded quietly. "It's really incredible," I thought aloud. It was like a small piece of the past, all wrapped up in Victorian brick and dust.
"Yeah," he smiled, "I'm glad you think so."
I walked out of the bathroom door, back into the sitting room. The sound of crackling got my attention, and, without anymore warning, a wooden board fell from the ceiling. In fright and surprise, I jumped out of the way, but the end of it cascaded down and slammed into my arm, sending a few splinters into my flesh. Howling in pain, I clutched my arm close to my body and teethed at my lip, trying to breathe deeply. The waves of stomach turning, rooted pain crashed over my forearm, right in the middle, and I tried not to let a single tear squeezed from my eye. Austin was there in a moment, holding me and worriedly speaking.
"What's wrong? Oh, my god, did that hit you?" he demanded. I couldn't speak, so I nodded quickly, whimpering. Before I even could, though, he was gingerly holding my arm, looking in the dark for bruises and the like.
"I need to pull some splinters out," he informed me, and plucked a few from my skin, making me jump. Once he was done, he just kissed it. He literally just kept pressing soft kisses to the wounded area, as if he thought that would heal it. Coincidentally, it did make me feel a little better, and the pain turned into a dull throbbing. Along with that, my whole body was exploding in butterflies and warm, for his lips were touching me. Actually touching me.
"I-I'm okay," I said. He raised his head and watched me worriedly, panicked breathing and regretful eyes.
"This is all my fault! I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought you here," he muttered, kissing my arm again. "Does it feel better yet?" he asked hurriedly, rubbing it very softly with his hand.
"It's not your fault, Austin. I'm fine," I said, feeling stupid for making this a big deal, even if it did hurt pretty badly. "And, yeah, it feels a lot better," I said sheepishly. He managed a small smile.
"I feel really bad. Are you sure you're okay? Is it broken?" he asked, inspecting it again. I chuckled, and shook my head.
"Not broken. Look," I said, moving my arm around. I winced a little, but it really wasn't that bad anymore. "See? All better."
"Okay..." he said slowly, watching my arm like it might suddenly start squirting blood. "Let's go," he said quickly, taking my uninjured arm and leading me back outside. The night air was cooler now, at around 3:00 AM, and it was easier to breathe.
"Thanks for bringing me here," I said happily as we slid into his car. "My arm is seriously fine. You're getting way too worried." I smiled, and he watched me cautiously. His hands flew to cradle my left arm, and he looked intently at the pink, almost turning purple skin. It was bruising quickly, but that was all it was: a bruise.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, leaning over the center console and kissing my skin softly. Here, without the worry of the moment like before, his kisses were a lot different. They were much more intimate, and long. My heart felt like it wanted to explode, watching his soft pink lips glide briefly across my bruised skin.
"I-it's okay," I choked out. "Not your fault. I-it's just an old house, right?" I chuckled, but it sounded kind of strangled at that point. Letting go, he sat back up smiled.
"Just an old house," he repeated. The car was comfortably silent until he started it up, the mixed tape turning on quietly.
"Do you think Damien is still in there?" I wondered aloud, looking at the windows like hollow eyes of the house.
"No," he said softly. "When you're done with things, you put them away, but you keep them because you don't want to forget that period of your life. I think he always loved her, but he had to put her away, just like the letters. I think he moved on," he explained, and, for a moment, everything was quiet. My body was bubbling with warmth, and I wished desperately for none of it to end.
"I hope so," I said, listening to the music play softly.
"Are you tired yet?" he asked a moment later, and I shrugged.
"Kinda. Not really. You?" I replied.
"Not quite. You wanna just sit here for a while? I like being near the house. It's kind of... calming," he said, and I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more.
So, we pushed our seats back all the way and laid side by side, staring at the ceiling and talking about anything. The air in the car was warm and quiet, and his voice was smooth, like it had always belonged there. When we laughed, it felt like we were going to die from how hard we were laughing, and when we talked about serious things, it felt like nothing had ever been more important. The moonlight made the car glow, casting soft, silvery light into Austin's form. He had these deep, dark brown eyes, like they wanted to swallow me every time mine and his met. The supple shadows under his lips and nose were beautiful, and, both of us facing each other on our sides, knees curled to our chests, I knew that I'd never felt so at ease before.
Damien's house was watching over us tonight, and that was something I appreciated deeply. The center console was at our middles, a tiny block of separation. Him being about a foot away from me, we just spoke about pretty things and excited things, and everything that doesn't exist, but should. He was such an incredible dreamer, constantly asking 'what if?'.
For another 2 hours or so, we just talked like we had all the time in the world, and I immersed myself in his words. Honestly, it really wasn't enough, but by the time it was almost 5:30, I knew he needed to take me home. So, begrudgingly, I sat up, and he quickly drove me back to my house. The ride there was just us continuing whatever we were talking about before, unable to let go of the thread of conversation. It felt like, if we didn't, it wouldn't never rest.
"You have no idea how glad I am that we're friends," he said as he stopped in my driveway. Friends.
"Yeah, me too," I replied lamely, but smiled. "Thanks for everything," I said, yawning.
"Awe, you're tired," he teased.
"Aren't you?" I wondered, and he nodded.
"Yeah, I am. I better go. I might see you at Sophie's grad party, though," he said hopefully. I dearly needed him there, and wished for him to not have work.
"Okay, see you then!" I said, and started to get out.
"Wait." He stopped me, and pulled my arm towards him again, sliding up the sleeve and kissing it quickly. "One for the road. Sorry, again," he said embarrassedly, and I grinned.
"It's not your fault," I repeated for the hundredth time. "I'm fine. Bye!" I whisper-called as I walked away, closing his at door quietly. He waved, and drove away slowly. Making my way inside, I crept into the house and down to my room. Luckily, no one was up. The whole house felt empty and quiet, but my body was screaming in bubbly happiness. Exhausted, I ripped my clothes off and collapsed into bed, warm and contented.
--------/-/------------/--///--------
Hey! Please vote if you liked it! What was your favorite part? Who's getting fūcking antsy for the first kiss?!