They were both in his room, lounging after a long day of operation 'Renovate Dave's Old Treehouse And Turn It Into A Tree-Palace.' It was too long for a name, but they couldn't think of anything else.
It has been a week since Arabella and Dave were hanging out, and they soon became good friends. Although it greatly confused Dave in so many ways because mostly Arabella was being nice and maybe a little too careful around him. It secretly weirded him out, but who was he to complain? He was hanging around with the girl he's been crushing on after all. She goes to his house after school and it's either they hang out or go out on their backyard to fix the treehouse. It's become a regular thing now, only when Dave asks something related to her family or what happened when he saw her at the grocery store, or probably anything related to herself, she would always turn him down and change the subject herself. He knew now that he needed to be more careful of what he says or questions around her. Otherwise Arabella would always only reply;
"Don't ask."
So he mostly doesn't, he doesn't want her to avoid him. Dave lets her do all the talking.
But that wasn't enough, as he sits on his bay window watching his treehouse from outside get soaked from the rain, all he could think about was the questions he wants to ask Arabella, and how he hopes that this time she'll answer. Surely after a week of spending time together, she would have somehow have a little trust for him right?
He steals a glance at her, from a sitting position Arabella was now sprawled out on his bed, her chestnut curls spreading like liquid through his white sheets. Her head was tilted towards the ceiling, her hand clutching her silver-clad locket, also lost in thought. He takes this time to watch her, he watches how the light of his room gleaming and winking at her porcelain skin. Her skin was delicate and covered in pure white, he wondered how it felt touching her.
Her head suddenly snaps at him, and he feels his palms sweat, but he also likes the feeling settling on his chest and spreading like wildfire. It was warm and it felt good, really good. He liked this feeling, he never wants it to end.
"Arabella," He softly says, and she frowns at his slightly unsure voice.
"What's wrong?"
"I want to ask you something,"
He expects Arabella to show her stony look again and stare him down until he eventually cowers away from his boat of questions and with no emotions hidden in her face and will say; "Don't ask." But this time, she only sighs and sits up his bed, scooching over to give him space to sit in.
"I think I already have an idea on what you're going to ask," She mutters, frowning and looking at her feet, wiggling them.
"Tell me about your family." He had mustered up all the courage he could collect from the deepest parts of his soul, and he hopes she'll give her a good enough answer.
"My family doesn't have the nicest and purest of souls," She laughs without any humour. "But I'll tell you about them anyway."
"I'm listening." He does, he always listens to her.
"My mother left when I was young, told me she'd buy groceries and make me my favorite waffles, I was too naive back then when I believed her that she would come back. She didn't, she once mentioned she was too tired of taking care of my Dad, and me. We were both like heavy rocks on her back, and she wanted those rocks off. So she ran away. And my Dad- my dad..." Her brows furrow and she sighs, "He's been really worse. He always goes home late and I would always smell liquor all over him. He's always mad at me, because he blames me. He blames me for my mother running away, for ruining his life. So I never liked going home, that's why I'm always here with you." She looks up at him like he was hope. Her hope, that things would somehow be okay if he stayed by her side. It made his heart ache seeing her like this.
"That's why I'm like this. Causing trouble everywhere, honestly it's the only way to express my feelings out. I never talk back to my father even if he yells at me and blames me and pushes me around. He's still my father." She doesn't cry. She just looks sad. Arabella told him once that she doesn't cry, she never does. Tears don't get you anywhere.
"That day when I found you on the parking lot of the grocery store, it was because my father was hunting me down. He found out something that I've been hiding from him and I was so afraid on what he'll do so I left the house and found you."
"Everytime I come home, I always make sure he's not around, because I know he'll yell at me, or God knows what he'll do. I don't want to know. I just want to avoid him at all costs, and everything, everyone. It's too much y'know? Having to show that you're tough when you're really breaking inside. Taking out all your anger on violence and trouble. All I want to do is run away, Dave. I want to run away."
He sets aside how soft and how gentle she says his name, he was more focused on calming her down and wanting to make her okay. He fights himself but decides against it, he touches her hand and it surprised Arabella and even Dave himself. They both glance each other at the same time, and this time, Dave was so close to Arabella's face that he could feel her breath fanning his face.
Beautiful, is what she was. He could see more of the freckles dotting her cheeks, and how her jade eyes seemed like they were begging him to help her, and how her lips were starting to dry but they still looked amazingly luscious. He forgets everything around him, he forgets what happened the whole day, where he was, he was afraid he'll somehow even forget his own name. All that was invading his mind was-
"Arabella,"
"Hm?" She looks up at him.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't run away, don't leave."
"Dave."
"I don't want you to,"
"What if I want to?"
"Then I'll come with you. I'll run away with you."
