collided

phone call

"Why are you smiling like that?" Olive says, furrowing her brows at me as I sit with her on the couch, watching TV.

"Huh?" I shake my head, shaking away the smile from my face. I didn't even realise I was doing it.

"You were sitting there, smiling like a creep."

"Oh. It's nothing. I just thought of something funny."

It's now the next day, and Richard didn't leave my mind once. I spent the afternoon after I woke up just pacing around the apartment, waiting for that phone to ring - but nothing yet. It's killing me, even though it's not even been 24 hours since I last saw him. I felt pathetic, like a nine year-old kid with an elementary school crush.

I decided to watch a movie with Olive, to take my mind off of it, off of him.

She has the Sunday's off work, so it's nice to finally spend time with her. I didn't tell my sister about Richard, not yet anyway. I know she would just tease me for it, like she did in high school when I liked a boy.
I wouldn't be able to handle the embarrassment of it all, so I told her I was waiting for a phone call from a friend back in Nevada.

"How'd you find work last night by the way? I forgot to ask you about it." Olive asks from the opposite side of her lime-green couch.

"It was okay. Uneventful." I lied, shrugging my shoulders.

"Hmm. It will get more entertaining as the summer goes on, I guess."

"Yeah." I uttered, staring at the screen as I play with my split ends, not really paying much attention to the conversation.

"What's the boy you work with like?"

"What? Why?" I quickly sat up straight to look at her.

"Woah, I just wanna know what he's like, that's all." she squints her eyes at me."Why?...do you like him?"

"No. Obviously not." I snap, with a defensive tone.
"He's weird, anyway." I huff, folding my arms against my chest as I slump back into the couch.

God. Why am I being like this?

"Okay. Jesus." She rolls her eyes at me, continuing to watch the movie in silence.

A couple hours passed before Olive called it a night. I decided to stay up and watch another movie by myself, this time a horror. My sister hates them, yet I find them oddly comforting.

I slide 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' tape into the VCR. It came out a few years ago, but I never got the chance to see it. It seemed fitting to watch it now, while I'm actually in Texas.

I position myself comfortably on the couch, a knitted blanket wrapped tightly around my body, snuggling my face into the warm wool. I begin to immerse myself in the movie, my vision glued to the screen. Not a single thought behind my eyes but the gruesome series of events unfolding frame by frame in front of me. The grainy low-budget film has me hooked, so much so, I can physically feel the tension before a jump scare.

I lay there wide eyed, feeling uneasy as I anxiously wait for Leatherface's grand appearance. But just as the room falls eerily silent, the house phone blares from the hallway. I jump out of my skin, almost knocking me clean off the couch.

"Jesus fucking Christ." I groan, throwing the blanket off my body. My heart thudded erratically in my chest as I quickly ran to the phone. In this moment, I completely forgot about Richard - I just needed to put an end to the deafening tone that filled the whole apartment. I grab the phone off the hook, placing the baby blue handset against my ear.

"Hello?" I croak into the speaker.

"Willow?" A familiar husky voice speaks through the phone. A smile creeps upon my lips as I lean my back against the wall, twirling the curly telephone wire around my finger.

"Richard." I sigh, a smile now plastered across my face. "It's 1am."

"I didn't wake you, did I?" The sound of his voice is so smooth and sweet, like honey.

"No, no. I was watching a movie."

"Wanna have some fun?" I could feel him smirking through the phone.

"It depends." I chuckle. "What kind of fun?"

"Meet me at Concordia in 10 minutes."

Before I could respond, the line cut off - leaving me standing there with the phone pressed against my ear, nothing but the monotonous sound of the dial tone and Texas Chainsaw Massacre playing faintly in the background. I place the handset back on the hook, my fingers still trembling slightly.

My mind is now racing with ideas about what he's got planned. Should I even go? I mean, I hardly know the guy. He could be a serial killer for all I know.
But fuck it.

I dash into my room, throwing a leather jacket over my cropped white tank top, leaving my pale midriff on show. I keep the grey sweatpants on my legs and shove a few sticks of gum and a 20 dollar bill into the pockets. I begin to wipe the smudged eyeliner from around my eyes, before leaning into the mirror, applying a shiny gloss to my lips. I press them together as I ruffle the roots of my long wavy hair, smoothing it out along the ends.

Silently, I creep towards the living room and switch off the television - I guess I can finish the movie another day, right?

While I sit down on the floor, I secure my converse laces tight - awkwardly smiling, reminiscing about the night we met.

I lock up the door, before taking the familiar route around the block to Concordia. The night air had a bite to it, it felt cold on my skin, but at the same time, it felt fresh and comforting. I wrapped my jacket tighter around my body as I started to walk quickly through the sleeping neighbourhood, making sure to stay well into the glow from the street-lamps.

Soon enough, my feet reach the rusty iron gates to the cemetery. I tried to look out for Richard but I couldn't see much through the bars, just an empty mass of darkness with a few headstones poking out through the bushes. It felt sinister - far more creepy than the last time I was here. But maybe I'm just more nervous this time around, I thought to myself as a shiver ran up my spine. I drag my shoes along the dusty gravel pathway, keeping a watchful eye out for a tall, dark haired boy lurking in the shadows.

As I trail along, my eyes gravitate towards a gravesite surrounded by a cage, with the initials 'JWH' carved into a metal plaque bolted on the front. I stop in my tracks to take a closer look at the unique burial ground.

"John Wesley Hardin." a deep voice spoke from behind me, making me flinch.
"He was a gunslinger from the 1800's."

I took a deep breath, not wanting to turn around just yet. I knew it was him.

"Tell me more." I smiled, still standing facing the grave.

"They say he killed 42 men. The first one when he was only 15."

I turn my body around slowly to face him.
And there he was.

A fur lined tan jacket draped over masculine shoulders. Blue jeans, adorned with a dark grey belt wrapped around his slim torso. His hair looks freshly washed. His curls are even curlier.
And that face. Oh, that face.

"His grave is surrounded by this to prevent people from digging up his body." His gaze still on the metal cage above my head. 

"You came." Richard whispered as his eyes trailed down to meet mine. I smiled sweetly at him, to which he returned almost instantly.

"Well you didn't really give me a chance to say no, did you?" I shook my head at the ground with a girlish giggle. "Now please tell me why on earth you invited me here at 1am."

He smirks down at me.

"I told you." He says, pulling one of his arms from behind his back, revealing a full bottle of Southern Comfort Whiskey in his hand to hold in front of my face.

"To have some fun."