Better Hollow {Finished}

Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Instead of Kayla, it was James that woke her up in the morning. She opened her eyes to see him lying next to her. It seemed it was genetic to just walk into people's houses, apparently. "Well, good morning," she said, shocked that he literally welcomed himself in and laid in bed with her.

"Your aunt let me in, I didn't just waltz in," James said, realizing how weird it was. Ramona shrugged, deciding she didn't really care. She rested her head against his chest, glad to have him back in his designated spot. The worst part of not speaking to him was the coldness of her bed. "Kayla probably won't be up for another hour, so we can just hang out by ourselves for a bit," he said as he ran his fingers through her hair. She was so beautiful. To any passersby she'd be another face on the block, but to James she was more beautiful than any flower. If she stood in a field of the most beautiful flowers, he'd still only look at her. He ran his hands through her hair, it was so soft. He loved the soft waves of her red hair. Pretty girl, he thought.

She even looked beautiful in the lighting. The sun masked itself behind what seemed like thirteen layers of clouds. She'd just woken up, bare faced, her eyes still swollen from her sleep. Her face was dewy, it was that post-sleep sweat. He admired her freckles. It looked as if little ants had marched across her cheeks and nose, the mud on their tiny feet solidifying to create her freckles.

"So when are you gonna make it official with Lucille," Ramona asked. James thought, unable to respond right away.

"Hmm, well she's on vacation for the next three weeks, and I'd prefer to ask her in person," he said, still combing his fingers through her hair. Ramona smiled, glad she still had him to herself for the next couple of weeks. She loved laying her head on his chest, feeling his heart beating. She held the hand that wasn't in her hair, tracing the lines on his palms. His hands were rough and calloused, his fingers were long and slender and the back of his hands were embellished with veins. Their hands seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces, when their hands interlocked the world seemed to stop. Ramona's hands were freckled and pale, her knuckles scarred where the skin broke open when she fought Jeremy. James held her hand in his, massaging her thumb with his.

It was funny how things had changed over the past month and a half. Before James, Ramona thought that romance movies were stupid. She didn't see the point in people dancing in the rain, or listening to love songs. But now she realizes how spot on romance movies are. Yes, love is never as simple as it is in the movies, but it gets those feelings right. Suddenly the love songs were about James, he was what she thought about when waking up and going to sleep. It wasn't like the movies in the way that she thought they're fated to be together, but more so in the way that red has become her favorite color. James is not perfect, and Ramona knows there are a number of red flags, but she's learned to love the color red. After all, isn't love supposed to be a compromise?

"You know, the carnival should come into town tomorrow, I saw a flyer for it at Martins. We should go, I'd say we should bring Kayla, but there won't be much for her to do there," Ramona said, turning her head, so she could look up at him. He smiled at her, admiring the way she'd look into his eyes. Today, the darkness in his eyes didn't seem as cold.

"That sounds nice, I'll bring money, and we can ride all the rides and maybe even win a goldfish," James said. He loved Ramona in whatever way he could. He was the moon and Ramona was a lonely swan on a desolate lake. Together they were as beautiful as they were apart. There was sadness in their love, knowing that there would always be a distance between them.

Ramona moved, so she was no longer laying on his chest but instead being held in his arms, their faces inches apart. Ramona's stomach flip-flopped, seemingly doing backflips because of their closeness. She wanted to move closer. She wanted to kiss him with her fingers in his hair and finally kiss him. But she didn't. She backed away, her stomach dropping, and she sat up, crawling over him to get off her bed. "I'm going to go work on breakfast," she said, praying her freckles concealed the tomato her face was turning into. Why do I do this to myself?