Chasing Freedom (Book 2)

Chapter Ten: Where She Belongs (Cole)

Chapter Ten: Where She Belongs (COLE)

The subject of our conversation had become lighter in the many hours that followed; long after we spilled everything there was to spill with lighter hearts.

It was well past midnight and I was surprised Skylar still had so much energy inside of her.

But then I guess it was the alcohol, allowing both of us to cross lines everyone knew not to cross when they were sober.

We had surprisingly finished most of the hard liquor I kept stashed underneath the floorboards of my old house, and Skylar was doing exceptionally well for someone who had never touched the alcohol at parties, or been to parties at all.

She wasn't throwing up yet and I was sighing in relief that she wasn't a sad drunk, because I'd never been good at comforting people.

I was also surprisingly enjoying her company.

Everything about this house seemed so suffocating and sickle sweet, but it had always been that way, even when my father was still around. There was something about the too large windows and the way that the lights casted shadows on the walls that had made it seem like it would swallow you whole.

But now that Skylar was around, it wasn't as suffocating anymore, and I think that had to count for something, if not everything.

"Hmm..." I say, seemingly running out of things to ask her, "favourite colour?"

She shoots me an amused look and her eyes are dreary as she slurs out the word pink after a moment of pondering.

I snort and she glares at me playfully, her eyes dancing with amusement, "don't get judgey," she warns and then smiles, "how about you?"

"Gray," I decide.

I chuckle at the sound of distaste coming from the back of her throat as she scrunches her nose.

"Got something against the colour grey?" I ask, feigning hurt.

She rolls her eyes, "everything about this whole goddamn city is grey. It's so boring. Call me a practical and stereotypical, but I think this place could really use some pizzazz."

I burst into laughter, "you did not just use the word pizzazz." I shake my head with a smile.

Skylar reaches across the couch to punch my shoulder but stops when she realizes she won't be able to reach and we fall into a comfortable silence; sipping at our drinks quietly before we think of a question worthy enough to break it.

It was a simple pattern that we seemed to follow; ask a question, answer it, make fun of each other's responses, and then fall quiet, before repeating the whole process again.

"Birthday," I say, even though it's pointless, and she jumps a little in her seat, for what reason I'm not sure.

"August twenty-nine," she says almost too quietly, but doesn't get the chance to ask me mine, which is good because I don't know what I would have said without straying far enough from the truth.

"It's a little over a month away," I say matter-of-factly, cutting her off, and then smile at her sour expression, "that means I'm going to have to plan you a party. The best one you'll ever have. It'll be full of presents and people that don't want your head on a stick, and I'll even add some pink balloons if it'll make you happy."

She shakes her head no and I sigh dramatically, "What? Come on, don't tell me you have something against birthday parties too."

"What's the point in celebrating our age when in a couple hundred years we're just going to lose count and more importantly, lose all the people that make birthday's what they are?" she blurts out, her voice muffled by the glass pressed tightly against her lips.