The Boy and the Beast

25| promises

"Where do you go?" She asks, her voice light. I breathe heavily, blinking at her.  Her expression is glossed with blank and I expect nothing less from her.

"If I show you, you're not allowed to tell anyone." I grin at her. Her eyes challenge me. She sits up from the sofa, bunching her raven hair over her shoulder.

"Show me," she demands playfully, a smirk curled on her lips. I grab her by her hands, pulling her straight out the front door.

"But you promise across your heart not to tell anyone." 

"I promise."

I lead her all the way down the farm, between the different crops and houses, until we reach my secret spot. The spot no one else knows about except Prue; she introduced me to the little safe haven.

The wind whips my hair back to graciously caress back over my forehead before sticking to my clammy skin. Her hand is warm in mine, a feeling I'll never forget.

She looks down from big rock to the pool distantly out of her head. The evaporation of the water is damp to my cheeks, making me claustrophobic. Even the rays of the sun make me claustrophobic.

She plops down on the edge of the rock, still keeping a fair distance. "Come sit here next to me." She pats the spot on the rock next to her. I plop down, not even considering how quick she slides closer.

"You know," she starts, "someday, you can bring a girl here."

"Why would I want to do that?" I grimace constipated-ly, as if I smelled something horrible. She rests her hand on my knee, making me nervous.

"You'll love her and you'll want the best for her."

"I don't want to love someone."

"You love your mommy and daddy, right?"

"Yeah."

"And Malarkey and Prue and Charlie, right?"

"No."

She laughs at me, her hand unnoticeably tracing up my thigh. Unfortunately, I notice. She rubs her palm into my skin continuously, warming up my flesh to a chargrilled heat.

It starts hurting when my skin hues into a subtle peach.

"What are you doing?" I ask, putting my hand over hers. She finally stops, giving relief to my aching thigh.

"Love can be gross," she continues without a concern, "but sometimes, it's okay to feel good when it gets to that."

"I don't wanna' know, aunt. I don't want a girlfriend."

"Your parents are so old school," she tuts, gripping my thigh.

"No," I demand, trying to push her hand away.  "You can't." I try to stand up, but she grabs hold of me.

"Let me go!"

"I can't do that," she growls, pulling me over her lap. For a split second, my heartbeat stops.

"Let me go!" I squirm beneath her grip, wringing my body into awkward positions, but it doesn't help. I give her a better hold each time I move.

"Alistair!"

She has a strong grip on me, pulling me back. Her hand shuts over my mouth, muting the screams that want to sneak out.