Dollface

Part 68

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As we entered rural areas, I almost dropped my anxious attitude. Having successfully escaped my father, I knew we had reverted to some old habits and that helped me calm down a little.

Although my stress levels have gone down, I still had this strange feeling that turned my stomach, it's the kind of feeling when you know something is wrong but you just can't put your finger on it.

S: Relax.

Simon advises with his monotone, which does absolutely nothing to comfort me. It only upsets me more.

Regardless of his feeble attempt, I turn my head and look out the window. An hour in the car flew by and our current position was calm, more like usual.

Simon drives down the road, fully focused. I leave my thoughts and continue to admire the vast surroundings we are passing.

S: I know that look.

He speaks again, and I answer without hesitation.

I: That's not a special look.

A sigh escapes his lips and he gives the steering wheel a quick squeeze.

S: Don't.

He warns, but that's all he says for a while. Neither of us speaks due to the lack of energy. It's obvious he knows something is bothering me, but we both know that any topic that comes up will only get us into some sort of argument.

Despite our lack of conversation, which I hoped wouldn't last, he reaches for my hand and squeezes it lightly. His attention stays on the road as his free hand intertwines its fingers with mine.

I look at him briefly, my eyes roaming the seemingly dubious side profile of him. If I was going to survive, I had to realize that this man is no longer just a guardian. I love him. And I'm not planning his death or mine.

I know for a fact that people know we're gone. The thought makes me sick, my father probably sick with worry, fuck.

Between impressively tall grass and tall trees we manage to hide the car pretty well, remaining isolated and completely unreachable.

Further down stood a dilapidated old brick house. The size was small, and it was a relief for once. Not another huge chamber of secret passages and deception. Gray chipped bricks and vines spiraled up the sides.

Simon approached me, duffel bag over his shoulder, while the other nudged the door lightly, when it didn't open he pressed his foot against it, causing the latch to fall apart immediately.

Inside there are small details. Old, antique furniture. A floral couch and a coffee table, and an old teacup sat next to a dusty book; Pride and Prejudice.

I: How long will we be here?

I ask quietly, closing the door behind me. The lock was useless and now in two pieces.

S: Five, six hours.

He answers and opens the bag to reveal weapon after weapon, weapons were certainly plentiful.

S: The flight leaves in six hours, considering we still have a lot to figure out before we even think about leaving Italy, we have six hours. Possibly eight before they find us.

I nod slowly, my eyes wandering numbly around the dim surroundings of the room we were in.

I: How do you know about this place?
S: I was eight at the time, my first knife wound happened here.

He continues to spread his weapons, unfazed by the completely abnormal subject. He says it so casually that I frown in response.

I: Simon... you were eight years old?