The Renovation Complication

53. Terrified of What's Inside

"You're doing that wrong."

I stare at the Christmas lights I'm trying to untangle. "How could I possibly be doing this wrong?"

He lifts an eyebrow, "Well, first off, I don't think it's safe to have them switched on while you do that."

I pout and look up at the boy standing over me, "But I want to see them flash before I put them up."

The only reason I insisted on having Christmas lights hanging around my room is because they remind me of the fireflies. But I would never in a thousand years tell Mason that.

"Whatever," He drawls, but doesn't move. I try to untangle them, ignoring his scrutinising stare. The bulbs are becoming hot in my fingers.

After a few more attempts, I finally snap. "Fine! You do them."

He has the audacity to snigger before switching them off and taking a place beside me on the floor. His hands work easily through knots as I struggle with the same bundle for a few minutes. After the rest of the cord is smooth, he groans impatiently.

"You're so bad at this," He muses and I scowl at him. Before I can even release my hands from the trap of cords, his calloused fingers beat me to it.

Almost intentionally slow, he pulls the wires loose gently. I swear that the lights are still coursing with electricity, pumping thousands of watts into my fingers and up my arms. There's silence between us as my heart picks up speed at his proximity.

I can almost hear him inhale slowly beside me, being more patient than I thought Mason Donovan was capable. Finally, his fingertips brush against mine and I fight the physical plainness of a shiver.

I lift my head and find him mere inches away, crystal eyes entranced by the tangle of hands and white cord that is all but untangled now. I wish it wasn't. I want this moment to stretch on forever.

The cord falls on the floor, but his fingers move to mine, tracing along the edges. I can't stop the sigh that escapes from my throat, and at the sound he finally looks up, meeting my eyes. Thrumming, drumming, humming in my ears as his gaze grazes my face, mocking his fingertips.

All at once he shakes his head suddenly and flinches away, standing and spinning in a different direction.

What just happened?

I'm pretty proud of this lampshade. I mean, I'm no interior designer, but I followed the instructions well enough to have the thing actually turn on.

"Right... there." I nod as I position the lamp perfectly on my bedside table. I turn to see if Mason is appreciating my work, but he's busy drilling hooks into the ceiling for the Christmas light to hang off.

I've got it all planned out, you see. Around the skirtings of the room and across the ceiling, the lights will dangle above my head. But here is where the really elaborate part comes in, the problem solving in real life.

At night, I will switch on the lights for an hour or so before bed, and underneath are going to be glow-in-the-dark stars. The fluorescence of the bulbs will fuel the stars, and when all the lights switch off, there will be a galaxy above my head.

"How old are you?" Mason pulls a face as I explain.

"It's creative." I drawl.

"It's juvenile." He corrects, smirking at his own wit. I growl at him, pulling my hair out of my face. With great difficulty I push the strands upwards and tie them together. I haven't even bothered to brush my hair this morning, seen as I awoke to an annoyed footballer tapping on my window.

I'm still in my pyjamas.

I turn around, still securing the hair band, and find brassy curls frozen. Mason's eyes rake over me, devoid of any emotion I can identify.

And then I realise.

With my arms tangled in my hair, my pyjama shirt has hiked up on my midriff. And Mason is staring.

I clear my throat and quickly pull it down, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

Spinning, I awkwardly skip toward the box of paintings and wall hangings that Ashley collected for me over the months. And only gave it to me yesterday. She scolds me for not having my room decorated and withholds the decorations.

I don't understand her.

The air is dead silent as we both pretend to go about our business, I sticking frames to the bare, minty walls and Mason drilling holes in the ceiling. Every now and then I feel his eyes on me, but it's even worse when I glance up and make eye contact.

Every cell making up my internal organs is quivering for no particular reason, and I can't say anything in fear of my voice sounding the way I feel. Terrified. I don't understand why, but there's a cold fear creeping up through my arteries, all the way to my heart.

"So... I'll do the stars." His voice is quiet, which frightens me even more.

"Yeah." I reply, close to a whisper, and continue being extremely immersed in a bunch of picture frames of things that I've never seen before. There is some rather nice art in here, watercolours and paintings that I actually like. The others are too abstract for my taste.

Modern art is just about all Ashley sees.

I arrange candles on surfaces that look too empty and begin hanging fireflies on strings as Mason pours constellations onto my ceiling.

I feel like one lonely magnet on a plastic planet with galaxies separating the metal boy just feet away from me.

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I'm not really sure about this chapter and the next. I had to split it, and it's kind of really awkwardly written because I'm sleep deprived, sorry.