This time, we're finally watching the end of Back Home. It ends with that the head characters gives birth to her kidnapper's child, and they escape together and start a new life, and her brother kills himself. The movie kinda sucked.
"That wasn't how I thought it would end," I comment when the texts start rolling in.
"I can't believe we put this much time on this movie," he agrees. "I'd rather have him in prison and with her raising that kid in the villa with her family, maybe visiting him and writing letters and all."
"I guess they wanted a happy ending."
But some happy endings are just bad. I mean seriously? The girl with a PhD in economics, her whole future ahead of her, runs away with her kidnapper and her two week old baby to a foreign country? She's ruined her future.
He's about to respond when knocks are heard on the door. He jumps up quickly and opens, revealing the guy from the counter.
"I'm sorry for disturbing," he says, his embrace full of wood pieces. "But we're awaiting a storm. It's gonna be pretty cold tonight, so I've brought wood and my greatest apologies. We suggest you don't leave the room until tomorrow at nine."
"Thank you," Landon says and takes the woods from him, putting them beside the fireplace. The guy doesn't wait for tip or anything; he walks away as soon as the woods have left his embrace.
Landon locks the door after him and walks over to his bag.
"I can already feel the wind blowing my skin off," he says and gives me one of his hoodies. I kinda like it.
I take on the hoodie and watch him as he takes off his shirt and starts looking for something. "Hey, have you seen that blue sweater?"
"Maybe it's in my stuff," I say and start looking for it. Pink, blue but not a sweater, purple, black, blue and a sweater. "Here."
I turn to give it to him, and he turns around as well. He's looking down all the while, making sure to keep his hands over his abdomen, or more precisely, his scar. "Why do you hide it so much?"
"I'm just not much for running around being a nudist like Dylan."
"Come on. It's not something you're supposed to feel ashamed over. The opposite, actually."
He meets my eyes but he doesn't drop his arms.
"I just don't want to remind people I'm the guy whose dad was killed by his uncle."
"But why do you hide it from me? It's not like I would ever judge you for something he has done."
"I know, but it attracts too much attention. I just don't like having people's eyes on it."
"I can assure you, it's not the scar they're looking at."
I might for ninety percents chance be blushing, but when he starts laughing, I ignore it.
Everything for his smile.
"Thanks."
He still doesn't drop his arms. Instead of handing over the sweater to him, I put it on top of the desk and then walk back to him, grabbing his hands and keeping them to his sides.
"Stop hiding it. At least from me. Is it okay if I....?"
He hesitates very obviously at first, and my worries get bigger as well since I have no idea what I'm doing, but then he says, "Yeah..."
I let go of one of his hands and look down at the stitched scar covering most of his abdomen. I can't imagine how a twelve year old has fought this.
I try to minimize the amount of panic that for each beat mixes together with my blood as I touch the at least six inch long scar.
"Look I can't imagine how hard it must've been for you to as a twelve year old have to deal with the death of your father, and with having it printed on you, but you shouldn't hide it. Do you know how much this means? It means he tried hurting you, and he did, he hurt you on the worst way, but you're still here. You're fighting back. This is proof that he failed of breaking you. He hurt you, but he didn't break you. You denying this scar is like you denying your victory over him."
He smiles and squeezes my hand.
"You're good with words."
"I've spent much time with you."
I jump when I hear the ear blasting sound of a bolt crushing down somewhere, and his hand grabs my waist. His grip loosens when we both realize it was, indeed, just a lightning bolt.
I look up at him and let out a laugh. He joins in, and it hits me he must be freezing by now.
"Here," I say and finally give him the sweater. "Take it on."
He pulls it over his head, concealing his scar, and then drags a hand through his dark hair.
"It's pretty late," he says.
"Yeah."
But before any of us can turn the lights down and go to sleep, another bolt is heard, moments before the lights flicker their way to dead. "What happened?"
"It probably hit the station of the hostel, don't worry. It'll be fixed by tomorrow."
He opens the desk and picks out something, candles, I realize, when they're ignited and spreading warmth and light through the room. He puts the torch on the nightstand of my side and tells me to get some sleep. I jump once more together with the bolt, and he let's out a laugh.
"Come here," he says, and I grab the hand he's extended towards me. "It's just a bolt, and we're indoors."
It's just a bolt, yeah. We're safe from the bolt, but not my fear of it.
Minneapolis is practically the city of storm. It's always raining and snowing and hailing and being annoying. Since it was such a bad weather all the time, it was always lighting bolts crashing down everywhere during Noah's torture.
He doesn't seem to realize my change in mood, which I'm happy about, because I've decided to do it. I'll do it. Now. It's maybe stupid and too fast and all, but I want to.
"Can I ask you for something?" I start.
"Of course," he answers.
I can happily announce my heart's much calmer than I expected it to be in a situation like this.
I move closer to him and fold my arms around his neck, seeing the question marks over his head.
"Can you just.... not move...?"
"Is this really what you want?"
I nod.
I feel his warm breaths on my face. He's pretty tense, and I am too. His chest is rising as my sinks and vice versions, creating this sync between them.
"It won't be all.... the best, and it'll be my way, and I'm sorry for that, but...."
"Hey."
He strokes a string of my hair behind my ear as another bolt is heard. "Everything is going to be your way. Nothing will happen except what you're fully okay with. If you want this, if you really do, I'm not gonna say no. You're the one choosing to which direction we're driving, it's up to you. I'm just riding shotgun, reading your map."
I smile.
I would never think that someone like Landon would be the one handing over the steering wheel to me.
My grip around his neck tightens a bit, and I feel his arms snake around my waist. I can't believe I'm doing this for real. "We're doing this on your rules. You stop whenever you feel like it's enough."
I nod.
If there's anything that's pushed me towards doing this, it's that attitude; that he always keeps doing this my way without complaining. I sound really bossy now, but it's fine.
I carefully take down my right hand and put the tips of my fingers on his jaw, mentally preparing myself for the upcoming seconds. They will either be the best, or the worst of my life. Well, bad. Nothing can ever get worse. From now on it can only get better, Winnie the Pooh said.
I grit my teeth a second and come to the conclusion that if I'm gonna blink this much throughout this whole thing, I'd better keep my eyes closed. I swallow and lean closer, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating from him. My nose touches his cheek twice, and it's now I'm aware of our closeness, and that I surprisingly, don't mind. I like this. Close. The question is if I like the closeness on the other side of the line.
I slowly continue the path I'm walking on, and in the end I feel my lips brushing against his. He doesn't move from his place. When I realize how serious he is about that I'm writing the rules, I don't delay it anymore; I just place my lips on his. All kinds of images fly through my mind; Noah, mum, John, dad, myself in the mirror, my tears, the blood, everything. Minneapolis flashes before my eyes in a heartbeat, and I remove my lips from his.
"Sorry," I say, not opening my eyes and yet keeping my head down.
"Hayden never apologize to me again," he says. "Your apologizing is the only thing I like less about you. Why are you even apologizing? For kissing me? Yeah, you should be sorry."
I smile. I don't even know why I'm sorry. "Come on, get some sleep now. It's late enough."
He strokes my hair once and then grabs my hand and drags me after him to the bed. I cuddle up close to him, and even though it took its time, he doesn't seem to be uncomfortable anymore.
The bolts keep hunting poor people throughout town, and he keeps stroking his thumb over my waist in a movement I'm sure is an infinity sign. There's a comforting in doing these smaller things that mean nothing to other people, because I know, and he does too, what a great deal they actually mean. They mean success. The smallest things are the ones that in the end matter the most. Like that kiss, for example. It did feel good. Fine, I couldn't distinguish butterflies from panic from adrenaline, but in the end, it did feel good. His presence, his warmth, his touch.
He lays on his side and meets my eyes somewhere in the dark. He moves his hand from my waist to my back and I push myself closer to him, to the point where my forehead basically meets his chest. He doesn't stop that thing with his thumb, and I like it.
"Thanks," I say. "For everything."
"I've done nothing," he says nonchalantly, as if he hasn't saved my life from the second I stepped foot inside the house.
"You've done everything and more. You didn't have to, but you did."
I feel the weight of his head heave down on mine when he leans down on it. I'm so glad he thinks less before doing anything. At first he was doubtful about everything, and even if he's been moving forward like a snail (if he even has moved), he still does some things naturally. Like taking my hand and getting close to me and leaning his head on mine and hugging me. Doing those small things.
"And I would've done it again if I had to."
I lift my head a bit, causing him to do the same.
This time there's no hesitation between thought and action. I just do it. I brush my thumb over his cheek and lightly kick myself up to meet his lips. This time, there are only butterflies. No panic, no adrenaline, no nostalgia trips, just simple butterflies with the sound and power of the bolt outside.
He puts his hand on my waist again, and from that I know he's got less problems with kissing me too.
I somehow place my hand on his shoulder, and a second later his lips move, causing me to very lightly jump a bit. He realizes.
"I'm sorry," he says a second after he pulls away.
Instead of answering I just hug his neck, feeling his soft skin with my fingers as he tightly circles my waist and buries his head in the crease of my neck, an action I'm still trying to get used to. I'm making progress.
I start drawing small infinities on his shoulder with my thumb, and he reflects the move I stole from him.
I really like him. That's what I've learned today.
•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•
We've spent more time together than before we kissed, if that's even possible, and I can announce my latest progress; we've kissed a few more times than some nights ago, and the last time I was more than okay with his lips movements on my own. After assuring himself I could never be safer, happier, braver and better than by his side, he was much more comfortable to touch me, and my flinching has neared a point near gone.
I learned that he was, indeed, drawing infinity marks on my skin. It was something his mum started doing when things went wrong, when his dad died, to remind him whatever happens, she'll always and forever protect him and Jordan, and it just made me like him even more when I realized what huge things he has shared with me.
It's been the same most of the time, go out and then come back and watch a movie, and surprisingly I haven't been bored even for a second.
He still hides his scar from me, and I try telling myself not to push him, but I can't exactly do it either. I want him to know I'm here for him, just like he's been there and will be there for me when I need him, but he's still turning his back to me when he changes his shirt, and he's always making sure to somehow cover it up.
I found out he's a Disney geek. He's practically in love with Disney, most in Finding Nemo, and so the second I found out, being by Dylan, I said we should watch Finding Dori. Now we're sitting with our backs against the frame of the bed, his hands locked around my waist, watching Dori's mouth form an O and her eyes look up as center as possible.
"I feel sorry for her," he says.
"She's...," I start. "I wanna give her a hug, but at the same time she makes me crazy."
"Exactly."
After a few minutes into the movie, I ask him the million dollar question.
"How does it come that you like Disney?"
He looks off somewhere distantly, as if he'll find his answer in the cracked paint of the walls.
"I don't know. They're so innocent and childish. I just like the ease of their lives I guess. I mean, she's so stupid that she's happy, and she reminds me of Dylan and all he's done. I don't know."
I've come to realize when people say I don't know, it's not because they don't know, it's because the things they're talking about are so important to them, that what they don't know is how to form their thoughts into the shape of words.
"Well it's cute. It suits you."
He looks down at me, a half smile on his lips.
"I'm cute?"
"Well, yeah."
"Cute is way too...." He scrunches his eyebrows. "Cute, to describe me." I smile.
"You're cute."
His grip around me tightens and he leans down his head a bit to rest it on mine, and I put my hand on his and continue watching his best friend being stupidly happy.
Stupidly happy may be laughed at by practically everyone, but it's still happier than many people are in themselves. I'd much rather have a memory for three seconds and be stupidly happy, than remembering everything in life that makes me unhappy. Then, though, it can be argued that I won't remember any of my time with the boys, and that's another question I don't feel like answering. It's not right to answer it.
My birthday's today, but I've just stayed silent about it, in hope he'll forget, since I don't wanna cost another billion dollars. That however, changes now.
"Hey," Landon says and answers the call from Bro. "WoW, you're not in a good mood."
He takes down the phone from his ear and clicks, and a second later Dylan's voice is screeching in the room.
"Shut your mouth a second, I'm about to give orders," he says. "Am I on speaker? Have you followed my orders?"
"Hi Dylan," I say.
"Happy birthday bestie!" he exclaims, causing me to widen my eyes. I feel my neck turn red when I hear it. He remembers. And Landon didn't react. He remembers too. They all remember. "Okay next.... Number two, buy a camera, because that matchbox of yours won't take any good pics of my bestie on her eighteenth birthday. Number three, she likes vanilla, number four, buy her something from me, number five, take her out, number six, don't you fucking dare make her sad on her birthday, number seven, give her some alcohol. Just some, it's her goddamned eighteenth birthday, and number eight; kiss her right cheek, right on her cheekbone from me please. I mean, if...."
I swallow when he stops. There's this awkward tension that not even Dylan can fix.
"You'll do it yourself," Landon says. "We'll arrive at eleven fifteen, so you'll have forty five minutes until her birthday's over."
"Really?! I fucking love you!"
"I know."
"You heartless bastard, you love me too. You just don't wanna put your guard down in front of you giiiiirlfriend. Do you have any idea how much Iona shipped this?"
"Okay Dylan...."
Once more, silence is created between the three of us, and this time I decide to cut it.
"Dylan, how are the others doing?" I ask.
"Yeah, they, they're fine. Isaac says hi."
"Really? Say hi from me too."
He does as I say, but I see Landon harden his features. I squeeze his hand as Dylan starts talking again, and he looks at me, cracking a small smile.
"Yeah, we miss you. I swear, when you come back, you and I are going to Hawaii, leaving all the psychopaths behind, especially your boyfriend."
It's still weird hearing someone call someone else my boyfriend, especially Landon, but I do kinda like it. "We're so going on a yacht or something. A bestie crus or whatever, we just need to go."
"Sure.... Dylan, has my mum disturbed?"
"No," he says, his tone serious now. Well, more serious.
"Dylan-"
"No really, she hasn't. She called the cops once and they talked to us and got it confirmed we have no idea where you are. We really don't. Was it the hostel at the beach or at the park?" I laugh and he continues. "But there's nothing more."
"Okay..."
"I'll call back Dylan, go plan your yacht vacation," Landon tells him.
"You don't believe me," Dylan tells him. "But seriously, don't come and cry on Isaac's shoulder when you find the note telling you your girlfriend has been kidnapped by your bro."
He's Dylan, it's a joke, but for the first time in a while, my stomach flips over. I drag all the connections to Noah. All of them. And it doesn't make it better that the both of them realize. "I'm so sorry," he spits out the second he finds out. "I just... I'm... I didn't-"
"Dylan," I interrupt him. "You're my bestie okay?" Breathe Hayden. "You could take me to the top of a volcano in Hawaii and I'd still trust you. Kidnapping isn't hard. In fact, let me help you."
He laughs, a fake laugh, not because my joke was bad even though it was bad, but because he doesn't laugh genuinely.
"Hey, I've got to go, Thomas just called mine and Parker's asses into the living room. I'll call you later okay? Don't forget my orders Landon, I'm currently trusting you."
"Don't worry," Landon says. "She's fine."
I smile at him, but Dylan snorts.
"I can hear the half smile half grin on your face you bastard, rub it off."
And then he hangs up.
"I miss him so much," I say.
"Yeah," Landon agrees. "But we're going back tonight, and then you'll be anything but missing him."
I look up at him to answer.
"No, I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"Because he's Dylan. You can't not love and not miss Dylan."
I look back at Dori and see she's busy swimming after Nemo, but then the screen goes black. "What happened?"
"We're going out. That's what's happening."
"But why?"
I really like going out with him, but I know he's up to something. It's embarrassing enough that I keep costing him thousands of dollars each time we step foot outside the room, now my existence is what costs him money.
"Because I'm saying so. Come on."
He holds out the usual jacket for me and I take it on without further useless attempts of convincing him to not take his shoes on.
It's still really cold. The skin of my hands is cracked and my lips are too. He gave me some money, because of my girl needs (his words, that I just covered up my embarrassment with by smiling), that I also came to use just once, when I actually had my girl times. But even with the money, I'm not buying a moisturizer or even a chapstick. Stupid, I know, but again, I'm not gonna cost him more than necessary.
He grabs my dry hand and we start walking. The cold would be bearable if it wasn't because of the winds that are ripping my face apart. It feels like when you're walking behind someone in a forest, and they hold one of the branches to get past, but then let go and it ends up whipping you in the face.
"So there's something I need to tell you," he says after a while, and we stop. "I talked to Kaitlyn."
I freeze. Kaitlyn can't be trusted, not with this. She'll ask my mum about everything and then they'll find us. I don't know why they haven't reported me missing until now or why they haven't done anything to find me, but it's freaking me out. I know I've got a box loaded with TNT hanging over my head, and I'm just waiting for them to let go of the rope that's preventing it from cutting me in a million pieces.
"Why would you do that?"
"Because she's your friend, she knows you. I needed help."
"She'll tell my mum you called her, they'll come."
"Look."
He puts his hands on my arms and squeezes lightly once. "She promised she wouldn't tell them. She told me to tell you she loves you and misses you and is sorry she didn't realize."
Kaitlyn may have been the living definition of beauty, but she never acted as if she "was something". She always treated everyone the same and she was always there for me, even though I didn't let her in. I can't believe I haven't thought about how much I've missed her until now. "Besides, even if she would tell your mum, which I highly doubt, it'll take them a while to find us and get here, and by that time, we're on our way back."
"Why did you call her?" I ask instead.
"Because. She's your best friend, I needed her help to do something. She knows you better than me and the boys, only she could help."
"With what?"
"Hayden it's your birthday, and the circumstances aren't the best, but I'm working with what I have, and what I have, is Kaitlyn. She told me you're not into material stuff, and therefor it'll get hella hard for me to buy you your wishlist, so I've made a few things up by myself."
He holds his hand out, and even though my mind's a cinema, playing a movie called Thousand Things That Can Go Wrong Tonight, I put my cold one in his. "I don't want you running around here thinking about how and why and blushing and being embarrassed. From me and the boys, please just try to enjoy tonight okay?"
I smile at him and nod, when all I really wanna do is tell him I'm already embarrassed.
He leads me to the small fountain in the middle of the small street and sits down. "Okay, first, I need to give you this."
He picks out a yellow paper from his coat that I recognize to be a card, the letters reading "Happy Birthday!" being written in rainbow colors and with a small girl in big glasses carrying a cake in the middle of the card.
"Happy birthday," he says when I take the card and open it.
Hey Hayden,
so we miss you. A lot.
We wish you all the best on your eighteenth birthday and we hope you'll always wear that pretty smile of yours to brighten up our day.
We love you, extremely much, and we're currently sending you mental hugs.
Happy Birthday,
/Dylan
/Parker
/Isaac
/Thomas
/Iona
/Emma
/Linda
/Meagan
/Celine
/Ally
/Felice
The whole letter is written in Dylan's handwriting, except the names. From there, all of them have written their names, but something catches my attention. Isaac's name. It's not his handwriting. Isaac's left handed, so therefor his whole handwriting is written in cursive since he thinks it looks awfully bad otherwise, but his name is written in Dylan's handwriting. Is he still mad at me? Is that why he didn't wanna sign the card?
It does hurt a little to see that he didn't sign it, but what else was I expecting? I should be grateful that just one of them did want to write.
I move my eyes towards the last three rows of the card, and I smile so wide my face hurts, but also blush;
/Kaitlyn
/Landon
We love you <3 ;3 xoxo
~
And that, something as small as that, was all it took, to put an eternal smile in her heart. One that couldn't be wiped away.
~
It's a bit late, I know, but it's here.
Why was the conversation so tense?? Does Dylan know anything? Is he hiding something?
I hope you liked the chapter and if you did, don't forget to
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See you next Friday.
xoxoMichelle