Hideaway

I

Almost two whole months have gone by since Kian and I moved out here, and I must say, I'm living my dream.

Although I am to no service other than as your local Jimmy John's driver, I have never been so content.

Kian has a steady job, although the story he told was a bit far fetched. A construction company wouldn't automatically hire a seventeen year old, would they? I try not to think about it, he's happy and so am I and that's all that matters.

"Hey, I'm back," Kian walks through the door to our considerably messy bedroom and slumps down on the bed.

"Tired?" I judge based on his expression as he hits the bed and conforms to the blanket.

"Very."

He runs his hand through his newly blonde hair. Ever since the move, Kian and I had to make ourselves look different in order to remain hidden from our dark pasts.

I ended up remembering everything, seeing fear light up in my boyfriend's eyes at the mere speaking of his father's name. I finally understood how imperative the move was for him, and for me as well, in turn.

Kian is great, he's the sweetest person ever and not to mention, he's great in bed. ;)

I felt a little strange starting out dating the boy with barely any acknowledgement of my own past, but once I was hit with the flow of memories rushing back to my brain, it all made sense. I'm in love with Kian Lawley, and nothing's about to change that.

"Jack G. is gonna bring us some takeout," I explain to Kian as he buries his face in my pillow.

"Really? No pizza and weed combo from him? That's awfully peculiar of him," Kian sarcastically states.

Jack Gilinsky's habits were none of a joking matter, as it turned out. His dietary functions consisted of nothing but the two main food groups, or at least his improvised versions, pizza and marijuana.

Jack G. was only one of the many people we shared this house with. I became accustomed to my new roommates shortly after Kian hooked us up with the place. Among Jack G was his friends Sammy Wilkinson, Kenny, Jack Johnson, and a girl named Madison.

It was fairly strange making the transition from living in a normal functional family setting to such mess and illegal substance abuse coming from the Oregon house. Lucky for the house potheads, however, that weed is legal in Oregon.

"He will be back in like 45 minutes, judging off of how he left right before you got back," I explain to Kian.

He nods and continues to try at power napping.

"How come every single work day you come home and do the exact same thing, slump on the couch or bed or whatever and immediately fall asleep? Why is your job so taxing?"

He looks up at me as his eyes flutter.

"It's tiring, Sam. It just is."

I nod. No further explanation, a normality for Kian, to excuse himself from elaboration of any kind.

I wish he would simply tell me why his job hurts him. If he truly is a construction worker, I need to know that what he's doing is safe.

Kian pulls off his shirt and aimlessly piles it upon the heap beside our bed, the ever growing pile of regret and procrastination we have on our shoulders to uphold.

I immediately see it. There is an easily seven inch wide burn across his back. He takes no notice of my staring and covers his face with the blanket. I know for sure that if I say something now, I will never get an explanation, so I succumb to reality and throw myself next to him, cradling his ribcage and slowly falling asleep with him. I cannot help but have the image of the burn scarred into my memory as I attempt to ignore it and slip into the void.