To Break

XII

A/N: Hi there. I think my story is feeling a bit neglected. I haven't so much as opened it since my last upload, but what can I say? I'm a busy girl. So I really just wanted to give you lovely people something to read while I am swamped in homework. I know it's short. In all honesty, I probably could have written more. But I kind of like where this one ended and it's still more than a thousand words. That's something, right? Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. I'm in that sort of mood so this chapter is.... interesting, shall we say? I'm caught between wanting to evil laugh or giggle with cheekiness, neither of which I can do very well. So instead, I'll just stop my 1am-on-a-school-night-rambling and let you read. Enjoy!

***

“No no no no no,” I chant, shaking my head. I don’t want to be a part of it. I'd almost rather sit here in fear of the stupid storm than be a part of his distraction.

“What’s the best thing about elevator jokes?” And so it begins. Reece’s eyebrows are raised in expectation, reminding me of the exciteable eleven year old stuck in my memory.

Drumroll please.

“They work on so many levels.”

BOOM.

I shake my head to show my disapproval, but I can’t help the smile toying with my lips. I cover my mouth with my hand casually; hiding the fact that he might be succeeding in his distraction. Dammit, Reece; he shouldn’t be allowed to do this. It’s unfair.

“No?” He asks, not believing for a second that it didn’t work. “Hmm, would it be better if I said it in a Scottish accent?”

Oh good lord, no. Not the accent. It was bad when he was thirteen, and probably will be even worse now. There isn’t even a point in hoping he doesn’t do it.

Of course, he does as he says, repeating the lame dad joke in the worst accent I’ve ever heard. Its it bad that it only makes it even more amusing? I shake my head.

CRACK.

“You have not changed at all my princess.” He pretends to be disappointed, clucking his tongue at me while pinching my nose. “Then again, it makes it easier to distract you.”

Reece holds out his hand to me with his other arm behind his back like a true gentleman. “Do you care to dance?” He asks in a British accent this time. I can’t help the giggle that escapes my mouth, but shake my head, no. Dancing with Reece in the dark of an early winter’s morning does not seem like a good idea.

“Oh come on,” he reaches for my hand - grabbing my wrist instead - and pulls me to my feet. “Dance with me.”

I pout and try to retrieve my arm, but he won’t have a bar of it. I want to say that I don’t want to dance. I’m tempted, but for some reason, I stay quiet.

BOOM.

“Rainy,” he says, taking hold of both my hands in his. “Do you want to be scared of the storm? If the answer is no, you know that you have to dance with me.”

Sighing, I ask, “I guess I don’t have a choice in the matter then, do I?” I pull one of my hands out of his, only to twirl under his arm like I’ve done many times before.

“I guess you don’t,” Reece declares, pulling me to him. We sway to and fro for a moment as the effects of winter rattle the shed. The wind is a killer, pounding at the door. I involuntarily move closer towards Reece.

I can’t help notice the warmth that spreads inside me, the feeling that I’ve only ever had with him, with Reece. It’s strange to realise the effect a simple eighteen year old boy can have on me, even knowing deep down that he is so much more than that. I know now that he is still the boy I grew up with; the one who, in his own way, is broken too. But right now, dancing with him, it doesn’t feel as if we’re broken anymore.