Domestic Bliss

07.

...and so was Grace.

They ended up talking late into the night, huddled together on the porch, watching the stars travel across the sky. The night was warm but Fezco had still brought a thick wool blanket from the living room and draped it over Grace's legs resting on his lap. The last few surviving crickets lamented the end of summer, barely audible over the music spilling from inside the house. As they talked, Grace realized being around Fezco felt like they had known each other for years. They shared the same sense of humor and similar taste in music. She learned Fezco preferred dogs to cats and he found out her favorite movie was Romeo and Juliet from 1996. He promised he'd watch it and she smiled contently.

She had just opened her mouth to ask Fezco a question, when a loud wail split the silence.

Police sirens.

Grace and Fezco shared an alarmed look and sprang to their feet. A quick glimpse through the window told Grace there was no point going inside. People were running over each other, trying to get out of the house before police got there. It was a matter of seconds - the siren sounded much too close for Grace and Fezco to escape through the front door. Fezco swore under his breath and threw his backpack over his shoulder.

"Where-?" breathed out Grace, panic gripping her throat. If her father found out...

Fezco grabbed her hand, interrupting her thoughts. "Follow me. C'mon, Grace."

She squeezed his hand and they sprinted across the garden. A tall fence rose before them. There was no door, the only way out, over.

He couldn't be serious. "Shit. Fuck. Fezco this is too high!"

He didn't listen, only threw his backpack over and jumped, gripping the edge of the fence. His muscles strained under his shirt and Grace felt another wave of panic. He pulled himself up, but there was no way she could follow, not as drunk and high as she was, not with her shoulder, still sore from her father's grip.

"C'mon! Hurry up!" he called to her from the top, reaching his hand to her.

"I can't, I..."

Loud voices behind her made her look over her shoulder. A policeman stood on the porch, pointing at her. "Fuck," she breathed out and glanced up at Fezco, basked in warm streetlight, his eyes filled with dread.

Grace took a few steps back and ran. She jumped and grabbed for the top of the fence, almost missing his outstretched hand. "Fuck!" she cried out when he pulled her up. Fezco grunted, but didn't release her.

They tumbled over the fence together and fell into thick shrub on the other side. The branches stabbed and scratched at every exposed inch of her skin. Her left hand was throbbing and she realized she and Fezco were still holding hands in a bone-crushing grip.

"Fuck," he mumbled from somewhere on her left. She couldn't see him clearly, his features draped in darkness. Grace giggled. "Yeah," she breathed out and burst into another fit of giggles.