The drive into town is really only two hours, but it feels much longer. When we finally get there, Andrew looks around, before quietly shrugging, "I'm lost". We drive around like hazy tourists, probably offending anyone with eyes, until he finally pulls into the nearest parking lot. He steps out of the car, pulls a cigarette out of his jacket, and lights it. I'd always found it interesting to watch him smoke, mostly because I didn't understand it, but partly because he'd told me he knew it was killing him, he just didn't care. He leans against the side of the car, eyes somewhere on the horizon, and mind a million miles away. I'd learned not to try to understand when he got like this, because it was nearly as confusing as how I'd managed to live as long as I had without an angry mob burning me at the stake; the idea had scared me ever since I was a child, and my mother let me watch Frankenstein with her one evening. I had the looming nightmares of pitchforks and torches for months afterwards.
"You look distracted," I jump, startled, when Andrew finally speaks. I hadn't even noticed him get back in the car, or light another smoke. Every word he speaks spews another little puff of smoke, and I can't help but laugh at him. I can't tell whether he thinks I'm funny, or he thinks my laugh is funny, because when he starts laughing too, I space out. I try hard to focus on anything but Andrew, which is hard considering he's hardly a foot away. I want to say something, anything, really, but the words don't take, so I do the next best thing I can think of.
I kiss Andrew.
YOU ARE READING
Bad Blood
General FictionSam has grown up his whole life...differently. He's used to being the outsider, but when things go bad, being cursed might not be the worst thing going on.
