𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰𝒔 𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅| 3

33: Re-elections and scandals

*
“Forgive me, for all the things I did
But mostly, for the ones I did not.”
–Donna Tartt

*
Kam

It was much harder hiding the car than I originally thought, but we parked the luxury car stealthily across the house, taking care to turn off the headlights to not alert anyone inside.

We crept into the house, different from the original community flat I was expecting and spent the night wrapped up in each other's arms.

I thumped my self control on the back for keeping me on my best behaviour and not pushing to take from her more than she was willing to give.

"Sleep, Kam," she had whispered and I had fallen asleep, almost as if I had been drugged.

I woke up to Asa, curled up against me, almost childishly, protectively, her face in my chest, her arms, around my sides. She was sleeping softly, evenly, soft lashes, catching the sunlight. Specks of dusts, settling on her skin.

I shifted, hardly at all, and she reached for me, sleepily, murmured; 'Kam,' and I had to bite back a smile as her hold around me tightened, pulling me back to her.

I kissed her cheek and traced absent circles across her skin, lingering on her shoulder and back. She smiled sleepily and rolled over, disentangled herself from me.

I stood up and stretched. Well rested and rejuvenated, I realized that I was starving and thirsty

Here comes the hard part; Facing her family. Good thing it was a weekday, everyone must be out.

Remembering my mother's long long list of hygiene rules, I brushed my teeth with the spare toothbrush I found in her bathroom and washed my face. I  walked out of her room, stretching my aching muscles, my stomach, making growling sounds as I tried to find my way around the small house... Which was a stupid thing to do, if I look at it in retrospect.

Hunger was clouding my judgement.

I found my way down the hallway, lined with ash and purple wallpaper along the walls, gleaming floor and antique lights. I bursted out into the living room, taking in the brown couches, ash center table and black armchairs, converging to face the 55" screen tv that hung from one the walls. I passed the living room, out of the dining room and into the average sized kitchen, complete with a standing fridge, quartz countertops and cooker.

My eyes zeroed in on the cereal boxes stacked on a shelf close to the fridge. Sighting my breakfast, I got a bowl and spoon from the rack, grabbed the box of cereal and a gallon of milk from the fridge and waddled into the dining room with plunder.

And nearly had the fright of my life.

I shrieked, high-pitched and embarrassing as fuck, when I saw a girl, maybe 10 or 12, sitting at the dining table and... Was she painting?

She turned to look at me, blinked, confused, then, as if uninterested, she went back to whatever it was she was doing on the sketchpad.

Chills ran down my spine.

I walked slowly, almost remorseful to the dining table, sat down and fixed my breakfast.

There was stone cold silence, only punctuated by the sound of my munching.

"Hey, uh..." I swallowed awkwardly, stretched out my collar. "That's... That's a nice painting."

And she was staining the table cloth, but I said nothing about that substantial observation because it was her home after all.