Fly ∆way Girl

|14|

|I WON'T BE LONG|

"Harley?" Larson asked as I fell into his arms.

The sob I had been holding in finally released itself. I tucked my face into his shoulder, and wrapped my arms tightly around his waste.

"What happened to you?" He asked quietly. He brushed my stringy hair from my face so he could get a better view.

"I..." Deep breathe. "I had a memory. A bad one."

Silence. Then his lips were suddenly in my ear, and his arms pulled me closer to him. "Tell me what happened, Harley."

I didn't really know where to start, or if I could even get the horrific words out. "I can't right now." I finally said.

He inhaled deeply, but otherwise remained silent. I was glad he didn't press the matter further, I'm not ready to talk about it now.

I wanted to look up at his face, into his dark blue eyes for some insight to his feelings. I longed for nothing more than to get lost in their depths this very moment, but, I couldn't. There's no time for that. I squeezed back the tears that were still flowing. There isn't time for crying either.

"Tell me what I can do for you.." He said. His voice was smooth in my ear. I could feel it draining the energy from my amped up body as I listened carefully to his every word.

I need to relax, to calm down. "You can distract me." I said finally. I pulled my head from his shoulder to get a visual of his response.

His naturally sly smile crept across his face. "That's what I do best, right?"

I let a small smile escape from my own lips. "Yup."

I grabbed two fists full of his hoodie, and then we were no longer at the school. Instead, we were at the so called "most horrible place known to man".

"We can explore a little bit before Ronald gets home." Larson said as I unraveled myself from him.

I stared up at the house, now more visible in the afternoon sun. The entire house was shaded by two green trees that had just started to get fresh leaves. Red rose bushes were planted along one side of the house, and their blooms were bright and full.

One small car was left in the driveway next to the spot the hummer was parked in earlier. The neighborhood was nice, and it seemed like a place that friendly people would choose to live. I could easily imagine people jogging, and walking their dogs, and waving at any passing cars.

"Come on." Larson said, giving my hand a tug. "Let's go inside."

I followed after him through the wooden door. The house was well lit from several windows that lined the living room, but the white color scheme contributed some too. The room itself wasn't very cozy looking, instead it looked more for show; just decoration.

"We weren't allowed in here." Larson said. "The kids I mean. The Jackson's didn't want it looking untidy when guests were over."

That confirms my thoughts on the room.

Deeper into the house, we came to a large dining room table with elaborate carvings on every leg. The only light source was a small chandelier that hung from the ceiling, and it didn't go very far in lighting the room.

"This is the dining room. Guests only, no kids." Larson informed me.

I didn't say anything. What was there to say?

The kitchen was next, and it was pristine to say the least. With curtains that perfectly matched the chair cushions, and a sparkling empty sink, it was a picture from a catalogue. A basket of fake fruit completed the faux homey kitchen. I noticed that there wasn't a dish in sight; not a left over cereal bowl from that morning, not a cookie jar, not even a teapot.

"Do people even live here?" I wondered aloud.

Larson chuckled. "No. It's a pretty little house that isn't allowed to be lived in." Any hint of a smile, or even amusement had faded from his pale face, and it had been replaced with a tightly clenched jaw. Larson hated this place, and he likely hated it's inhabitants as well.

I swallowed hard, not used to seeing a scowl on his face. It gave me an uneasy feeling.

"So where do the kids stay?" I asked cautiously.

"Follow me." He said simply, with no emotion to his words.

We headed up a narrow flight of stairs that branched off in two directions. He led me to the left first, and we entered the bedroom, not bothering to use the door.

"This is Ronald Jr's room. Most people called him Ronnie. As the name implies, he's the Jackson's real son."

I looked up to Larson's face hesitantly, wondering what his feelings were towards Ronnie.

"Hated his guts." Larson said plainly, not needing a verbal question from me to answer.

He's good at reading me.

I watched Larson walk around the dark green room. The walls were covered in posters of half naked girls, and video games controllers were tangled in the floor underneath the television. The room was cluttered with random articles of clothing, and half empty glasses. We found the dishes.

Larson picked up the mini trash can, and dumped it out under the covers of the messy bed. He then proceeded to tuck the covers in around it.

"Larson!" I said with a giggle.

He turned to me with a resurrected smile. "What? He really needs to tidy up this room."

He took my hand, and we were back in the hall. The bedroom to the right was further down the hall, and the single hanging light bulb barely shed light on the door.

"This is where the kids are allowed." Larson said.

He chose to open the door this time, and he did it slowly, allowing it to creak with every inch.

Dirty, off white walls took up the majority of the room. There wasn't much else to focus on besides a full size mattress on a skinny metal frame, and a chest of drawers with a missing drawer. Nothing was on the wall except for ugly stains. The bed was made with white sheets and a blanket that looked like a hospital comforter. The carpeted floor was bare.

"How many kids live in here?" I asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Before I died, three." Larson answered.

I gasped. "Where do they keep their clothes?" I asked. There wasn't a closet in the tiny room, in fact, I don't think this room was meant to be a bedroom at all. It was obviously made into one.

He moved over to the drawers and pulled the top one open. It was packed to the rim with bright socks and tiny pink underwear. We opened the next few together, all of them packed with girls clothing.

"They must have found a replacement for me." He said, closing the last drawer.

His attention focused on the set of windows off to the right of the bed. Black curtains were pulled tight in one, but the other let in a single strand of light.

I noticed the window was open, and a tiny dream catcher swayed in the breeze. He rubbed the feather between his fingers, sighing deeply. "This thing isn't doing its job very well." He said quietly to himself.

Then his long arms dropped to dangle by his side, and one shoulder of his hoodie sagged off.

I don't like sad Larson. I wanted to go to him and pull it back up, and to hold him in my arms and tell him that everything is okay now. But, I didn't. I let him have his moment of silence to think.

I sat on the bottom step, waiting.