Wildest Dreams

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"What the fuck was that?!" Glen yelled, pacing around the room and shaking his hands.

"Do I look like have a fucking idea?!" I yelled back, going away from the door and breathing heavily.

The doorknob began to jiggle, which caused Glen and I to jump. We froze when there was knocking on the door. Glen fixed his hold on his flashlight, ready to lunge, and slowly opened the door.

"What is happening in there? Why are you two shouting?" Grandma asked us, calming us a bit.

"We're watching a scary movie, Gran," I quickly answered.

"Then put on something less scary, turn down the volume and turn on your lights. You're making the neighbors want to call the cops." She shook her head at us.

"Will do, Mrs. Benson." Glen gave her a nod. She left without another word.

Glen and I sighed after he closed the door. I turned the TV off then placed my flashlight on my study desk. The two of us flopped down the bed at the same time. Glen, who fell face-first on the covers, said something muffled.

"What?" I poked him and he moved to his side, looking at me.

"I said — the two of us screaming in the attic, jumping down to the office, slamming doors, yelling at each other, and you managed to keep hold of that newspaper."

I only then realized that I was holding the newspapers that he gave me in the attic. Luckily, Grandma didn't notice when she came.

"Guess I got caught in the moment," I nervously laughed. I folded the papers in half then placed them inside my drawer, hidden under my shirts.

When I turned back around, Glen's face was millimeters away from me. He had propped his elbows below him, making him sit closer to me, overwhelmingly very close. My face heated up when his velvety comforting smell filled my senses.

I looked into his dark brown eyes, almost jet black. They pierced through and melted away all the thoughts that was once inside—him being the only one left.

"Glen." His name escaped my lips in a whisper.

"Maple." He gulped, blinking down to my lips.

"I-I'm sorry... I need some space," I told him.

He stopped leaning in and looked back up to my eyes. "Oh."

Cruel thoughts had been swimming for far too long inside my mind that if I think of him only, he might drown in the toxicity. I just got him back, I can't lose him again for the same reason I had years ago.

I'm still not ready.

A car pulled in on the driveway, filling the building awkwardness in the room. I left the bed to take a look outside the window.

"Who is it?" Glen asked.

"It's my grandfather, and he brought something with him in a box," I answered.

"I hope it's pizza."

I glanced at Glen to grin at him, but his soft expression before became crest-fallen dismay. He left the bed, taking a pillow as he sat on the office chair inside. He noticed a turned down picture frame and picked it up.

"Oh, hey. I've never seen a picture of your parents before," he said with a growing smile on his face. He sat on the chair, holding the frame carefully. "You do look like your mom. She's pretty. Although, you got your hair from your dad, huh?"

He glanced at me with a small grin. I copied, not knowing exactly how to respond. I've touched and spoken to that picture only ten times in total. Sometimes, I just couldn't bare to have them see my grief and undying accountability for their death.

I inhaled deeply as I watched Glen tilt his head and wondered what might be inside his mind as he looked at their picture.

"I'd love to meet them one day," he said, returning the frame on its place.

"Me too," I absent-mindedly said.

Glen turned his head back to me. "You said something?"

"Nothing." I shrugged.

Silence conquered the room again. Neither of us knew what to say next. I thought maybe we weren't taking the sudden change of things between us well. I pursed my lips and fumbled with my gloves.

"Kids! Why don't you come down for dinner?" Grandma called from downstairs.

"Coming!" I replied. Glen and I looked at each other. "Do you wanna eat with us?"

"Sure." He offered his hand which I hesitantly accepted. He turned to face and I almost believe he was going to lean in again, but instead his two hands brushed over my gloved one and asked, "Why do you wear this again?"

"Sweaty hands," I said, watching him study my hand thoughtfully. My exposed fingers tingling when he laced our hands together. I tried to hide my smile so I pulled him out of the door, heading down the stairs to eat.

#   #   #

We were quiet as we ate our dinner, although my grandparents would ask Glen a question from time to time. He wasn't nervous, I noticed, and he gave a straight-forward answer every time. I did notice, however, the way he looked at my grandfather's scarred hands. It was still a mystery to how that happened, even to me.

After eating, Glen announced that he should be going home. My grandfather offered to give him a ride home, as his father would do to me every time I went to their house. As Grandpa prepared the truck, I pulled Glen to the side of the porch.

"So uhm, thanks for coming, Glen," I said, looking down at our feet.

"I actually had a great time. It's not everyday you're about to get killed in your friend's attic," he joked, making me smile at him.

Then I remembered about what we discovered.

"We still have to find out who the Springwood Slasher is," I whispered to him. "And they definitely know something."

"We'll find out about it someday, I promise you the—"

"You have to ask your parents too," I cut.

Glen rolled his eyes. "Not tonight, Maple. I'm sorry but too many things have happened today."

He glanced at me knowingly. Too many things was definitely something we agreed with.

 "Maybe I'll think about it first."

"You promise?"

"Yes." His expressions softened. He raised his hand to my face, cupping it, when Grandfather called him in the truck.

"Goodnight Maple." He gave me a kiss on the cheek then walked away towards the truck. He sat on the front passenger seat. I stood there motionless watching them drive away.