Nightland (m.c. / a.i.)

four

MICHAEL's POV

I don't think it settled in that my best friend was the richest person I know until I saw her sitting in the corner of a room, that is easily larger than my house, strumming Blackie.

For those of you uncultured swine, Blackie was Eric Clapton's Fender Strat.

Eric Clapton of Cream.

And Bailey owns his guitar.

"It's not that big of a deal," she tries to rationalize with me, knowing good and well I've always been a fan of this guitar. "I didn't even buy it, it was a gift."

"That's a... a..."

"It's a $900,000 plus guitar Michael," she frowns. "I know. Would you want to play it?"

"ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME MOVE OVER!"

"Shh!"

I freeze in place in the utter realization that Bailey trusted me enough to show her a place only one other person knew about, and the one rule was that I have to be quiet.

I could touch anything in the room, I could draw on the walls, I could play Eric Friggin' Clapton's guitar, and all she asked was that I do it all quietly.

Screw me.

"Sorry," I wince. "Maybe they'd think we were in your room?"

"Probably not, hold on."

Bailey sets Blackie on a stand and turns to her right, walking through the large room, occasionally skirting a bean bag chair or something. I follow along quietly when I see a door like the one we came through a few feet ahead of her.

Bailey drops to her knees and slightly lifts the small door, only enough to see through.

"I was watching YouTube, I didn't realize my headphones weren't plugged in," I hear Ashton's voice immediately.

"You and your sister are just noisy today, aren't you?", I hear an annoyed woman's voice snap at Ashton. "Just keep it down, would you? You're seventeen years old, the staff isn't here to babysit."

I hear the clicking of heels on wood tiles and once they echo out enough, Bailey pulls the square door open all the way.

"Be forewarned, this drops onto my bed, so let me move out of the way before you come out."

"Wait what-"

Before I can ask what she means, Bailey lowers herself into the small square and drops down. I peer over the ledge to see, what I assume is, Bailey's room. She moves off the bed and waves me down, so I follow her first movements, but end up landing face first with my legs hanging off the side of her bed.

"I really should have just taken you to the hallway exit...", Bailey says quietly before bursting out into laughter. It takes me a second to regain my bearings before I join her. "Welcome to my room."

I stand up straight and look around, feeling that this room, and upstairs, feel more like Bailey than any other part of this house.

"I like the paint choices," I say first.

Looking at the wall in front of me I see a dark purple, but when I look to my right, I see a semi-white wall covered in different types of paints and oils. Doing a 360, there's another purple wall, and on the wall opposite of the paint-stricken white wall is a wall of black, equally covered in paint.

"I don't like going to the craft store whenever I need new canvasses," Bailey says quietly.

Before I can reply, she walks away. I follow her to realize she's only going across a short- well, a regular sized -er hallway. I stay in the doorway to find that this is Ashton's room.