𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚘𝚢 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙳𝚘𝚘𝚛

19

𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢 ( 1 hour earlier )

"Mmm.." He smelled nice. More than nice, he smelled so fucking good. Isaiah's scent lingered in the pillowed that I had squished beneath me. I couldn't stop the warm flutters I got just from being wrapped in the musk that is Isaiah Benjamin.

Once again I found myself in his room, walking around it, being a nosy, annoying and mischievous little person that I am. He had a lot of cool irrelevant trinkets. Mainly though, his space consisted of anything artsy. Most of them he did. Turns out the boy liked pottery. Pretty much anything he could get his hands on. I was getting comfortable. Too comfortable. Showing up uninvited and especially when he's not here.

He'd offer his place as a way for me to escape my many arguments that I have with my mother.

"This is all you do." Jada started. My mother drank herself silly once again. "Sneak around like you grown with that damn boy. Don't think I ain't know about you sneaking in his house. Fast ass."

My face sat blank. Here she was making assumptions and still consuming copious amounts of alcohol right after her recent over dose. Pathetic.

Side stepping her, I grabbed the picture of my father. It was dirty. Greasy finger prints and dried up drops of whatever alcohol she had drank were staining the glass, smudging and blurring out his once handsome face.

I huffed passed her, grabbing a napkin and wetting it up before going to work on the picture frame. "Jeez Jada, the least you could do it make sure daddy's picture is nice and clean. He can't see through all your mess!"

Once again as I passed her, she stood there like she was stuck on stupid. I could see the hurt behind her burning eyes of rage.

"Get the fuck out! NOW!" She screamed. Her body was shaking, her chest heaving with every pull of her harsh breath.

I got out of there before she could hit me with something. She probably started to break shit but oh well, nothing new.

It was how I ended up here most of the time though. I loved sitting and watching him work or even sharing small details of our lives with each other, loved watching him lose himself in his work, and given the three little months that we had known each other, I'd say he loves when I stay and watch. More than once have I caught him using me as a muse.

Sometimes he hid things from me. Drawings that he never wanted me to look at. Some that I could tell told a story.  Text messages he'd try hide. Holding his phone away from me. Whispered phones calls. Late night runs I'd seen him go on from my window.

He scared me sometimes. Liked he lived a whole other life that nobody knew about. Well except his little crew.

They were always together. Plotting and scheming, whispering amongst each other then going back to normal. Acting as regular teenagers.

Sometimes I wish he would open up to me. I wish he would trust that I would keep his secret safe. That I was strong enough to handle whatever he was going through.

It was clear to me that I was crushing on him more and more each day. The more time we spent together made everything feel so easy to just fall in place.

Closing my eyes, I imagined what it would be like to be with him. Would he tell me all his dreams? His wishes? Would he listen to mine and hold me when I needed someone to guide me out the dark.

I imagined him holding me close. His hands rubbing up and down my sides, even them going lower to grip me from behind, pulling me to him with a possessive touch.