B L U E
6
Someone shoot me.
Mom and her boy toy are going at it again. Painfully enough, the thin walls seem to be parading their unrestrained howling. My efforts to drown out the sounds with music has proven to be futile. This is not the Saturday night I had hoped for. I am truthfully cranky from not getting much sleep last night either, with Ross and his crackhead friends causing a ruckus in the garage whilst mom was on a late shift at the diner.
I sigh with deep irritation and lift myself up from bed before switching the lamp on. Deciding my best option, for the sake of my sanity is to leave, I get up and quickly throw on a pair of sweats. I dig around the mess in my room for my Chucks, slip them on and thereafter sluggishly drag myself to the front the door.
It's chilly outside, as I had expected and the cold air bites mercilessly at my cheeks. But the silence is tranquil, a temporary escape from reality and the friction of my thoughts. It's a full moon out, the glowing sphere beautifully brightening the night sky. I make a mental note to take late walks more often- I have been missing out on such bliss. I take an aimless stroll towards the park, famous for it's majestic hyacinth colonized pond, a charming habitat for aquatic life. I am purposefully crossing the road when my eye catches a vehicle that looks far too familiar. It slows down, coming to a halt on the side of the road.
No way, this can't be. What would he be doing here at this hour? I shake my head, acknowledging the absurdity of my thoughts, the result of sleep deprivation. That El Camino could belong to just about anyone. It could never be him. Curiously, I stride towards the car, careful not to make my intentions too obvious. I scrutinize it carefully and spot a dent on the right hand side door, exactly like Maxwell's.
So it is him.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, my heart starts racing at this realisation. Is it surprise? Frightening hope that I might get to talk to him tonight? Everything in me wants to so badly, even if I have to endure being patronized and undermined by him. He so easily makes me overlook such things about him- his dismissiveness, impatience and how evasive and unsympathetic he can be. I should run for the hills, anyone would but there's just something about him that is disarming, alarmingly addictive. He is crafty but in the most subtle of ways and in his presence I seem to forget my own name.
I should stay away.
He flashes his headlights like a police officer filled with suspicion. I am obviously shocked by this, realising I wasn't as discreet as I had hoped to be. He then turns them off and coolly jumps out of the car. It's strange seeing him outside his work clothes but there's something about him in this leather jacket that makes breathing a luxury I could never afford. I feel a blush stain my cheeks and I mentally chastise myself for allowing such thoughts of him. I think I really need to get some sleep.
"Would you look at that, it's pretty boy!" he shouts
He's somewhat chirpy and a part of me believes I am imagining the whole thing.
"I told you not to call me that," I scowl
"You're still pretty, even when you make that face," he persists
My cheeks burn fiercely at his words and I am thankful that the streetlights are too poor a light source to expose the nakedness of my emotions.
"What are you doing here?" I ask
"I was seeing-" he pauses for a moment, "A friend."
What kind of friend?
"Really?"
YOU ARE READING
M A X W E L L
RomanceMaxwell is a college student with a little too much on his plate and a deeply traumatic past. Known by his best friend as Mr. Grumpy owing to his unwavering distaste for life and his volatile temper, he is as handsome as he is aloof. But what happen...
