yours.

[54] Jasper

A week passes, and I develop a simple daily routine.

At nine, I wake up. I stay in my room until either noon or one, when I go wait downstairs for Miles to come retrieve me. On days when my father is at work, I come wait downstairs for Miles for five to ten minutes before he arrives and entertain myself by watching clouds pass through the front window. On days when my father is home, I stay in my room until I see Miles walking up my driveway from my room's sole window and slip outside to meet him, remaining unnoticed by my father.

Every day, my mother avoids me, sticking to the back rooms of the house.

And every day, Miles comes to rescue me from the prison of my own home.

Today, Miles greets me with a smile and a kiss. I kiss him back hard, tasting the promise of a fun day together on his lips. He pulls away slightly, his expression pleasantly surprised. "What was that for?"

"I just... really like you," I sigh, then take his hand and lead him to his car. I don't mind him kissing me in front of my house anymore. If my father sees us, he sees us. My relationship with him has already hit rock bottom -- there's no way things can get worse. Absently, I touch the inside of my wrist, where a few more cuts have started to scab over. Those, Miles can't help me with, because he can't know. He wouldn't understand, anyway -- why I need to do this, why I can't stop.

And so long as I keep wearing my jackets, he'll never know.

"So, I was hoping we could try something new today," he tells me as he unlocks his car and opens my door for me. I slide in, waiting for an explanation. "I think you'll like it." He slams the door, then makes his way over to his own. "I hope."

"What is it?"

"Patience, grasshopper." He leans over to give me a quick kiss, then gently reminds me to fasten my seatbelt and puts the car in drive. As we ride, I play with the radio, switching from trashy station to trashy station, never once finding a good song.

"What is with the terrible music?" I mutter, cringing as some country singer screeches from the car's speakers.

"Welcome to Twin Hills," he laughs, gesturing to the town beyond his side window. "The home of literally two hills and horrible radio sta--"

"Watch out!" I shriek, blindly pointing out of the front windshield. He swerves to avoid a woman in the street, and we both breathe a deep sigh of relief. "Miles."

"That was close."

It was more than close. It could have been bad, very bad. I know firsthand. "Yeah," I agree shakily. "Close."

But Miles is clearly shaken, too, and he remains quiet for the rest of the drive, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.

Eventually, Miles pulls into a large, empty field. I peer out at it, wondering what Miles wants me to see. "It's just grass," I observe, and Miles lifts an eyebrow.

"Close."

"A... meadow?" I try again.

He shakes his head. "Try again."

"A field."

His expression lights up, and the sight makes me grin. I like it when he's happy. "Not just any field." He reaches into the backseat for something, and I crane my neck to see what he's doing. "A soccer field." He draws a black-and-white ball from the rear seats, and I feel my chest deflate a little bit.

"Miles, no," I say, defeated.

"Jasper, yes." He opens his door, and I try to lock mine before he can reach it. But either I'm too slow, or he's too fast, because he opens it before I can even figure out how to work the lock. "Come on."

Grudgingly, I join him in the grass, then stare down at my shoes. "There are probably ticks out here," I complain, but he only takes my hand and drags me deeper into the field. He wouldn't take me here if it was unsafe, I try to remind myself. He only wants to protect me. But that doesn't stop me from scratching my ankle every time a grass blade brushes it.

Farther in, Miles drops the ball into the grass and looks up at me, excited. Suddenly, his happiness seems more annoying than anything. "Okay, so, have you ever played soccer before?"

"What do you think?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Probably. Everyone has at some point." I roll my eyes, and he amends, "Or maybe not. Everyone's different, right? Anyway. I'm going to kick the ball to you, and you're going to kick it back. All right?" I don't agree -- I don't say anything -- but he kicks it to me anyway. It sails toward my left leg, and I jump aside to let it pass, scared of the sudden motion.

"Jas," Miles says, his voice full of pity, "you can't be afraid of the ball. It can't hurt you--"

I step around so I'm behind the ball, then kick it as hard as I can. It soars off the ground and hits him squarely in the stomach, and he lunges to grab it. "Oh, my... Miles, are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--"

Miles just laughs, cutting my apology short. "That was... a good kick, Jas. That was really good. You just can't kick with your toe, it gives you less control over the ball..." He comes over to stand beside me, coaching me on the proper way to kick a soccer ball, but I'm not listening. I'm watching his profile, in the calm intensity in his eyes as he explains his favorite sport to me. I like to see him passionate about something other than me. Because even though we've been avoiding the topic, we both know I may not live here for long, and when I move, we'll have no way of contacting each other.

But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, it's just reassuring to know he has hobbies and passions and a life outside of me.

I lean into him absentmindedly, watching as he demonstrates how to kick. He glances down at me, asking, "Are you paying attention?"

Slowly, a grin melts its way across my features. "Of course."

"You're not," he sighs. Abandoning the ball, he drops his hands to my waist and plants a kiss on my forehead. "It's okay, we don't have to do this."

"Yes, we do. You drove us all the way out here..."

"No, I..." Then he swallows, fixing his gaze on mine. "I should ask you more. We have to... talk, you know? To have a good relationship. Communication is key, and all that."

I raise an eyebrow. "Relationship?" I repeat.

His eyes widen, and his grip on me tightens. "No, I didn't mean that. I mean, unless you wanted me to, then I meant it. One hundred percent. But if you don't, I -- well, whatever you want, because I need to listen more--"

I kiss him to get him to stop talking. Against his mouth, I murmur, "Baby, it's okay."

His face goes red. "Baby?" he whispers.

"Oops." I smile knowingly.

Miles abandons all self-control and tugs me against him, kissing my lips and my cheeks and my jaw until a laugh escapes me, and I try to push away from him. But his hold on me is locked in, and I can't go anywhere without pulling him with me. Seeing the opportunity, I wrap my arms around him and give one firm jerk backward, and we stumble together into the grass. Miles rolls on top of me, and my breath catches as his fingers find the hem of my shirt.

"Not here," I warn, and he listens, dragging his hand up my side to cup my face. Relief washes over me. Not yet, I meant to say.

Suddenly, Miles lifts himself off of me, and I feel unexpectedly exposed without him to cover me. Some of his hair falls to shield his face, and with the afternoon sunlight slanting between its strands, lighting his face in a slightly golden glow, he seems almost angelic. "Um, I just realized, there might actually be ticks here," he admits, gazing down at me. "My teammates and I have only come here, like, three times."

My eyes fix themselves on his mouth. He's not kissing me. The thought runs through my mind. Why isn't he kissing me? "I don't care, Miles." I bring a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him back down to me. He kisses me over and over and over, and I know for a fact that I was right this morning. Today has been fun. 

And it's not over yet.