CPRDI - The Creature Protection, Restoration, Defence Initiative

Three

At some point in time my fear had left me, and it had left me enough, so that I was almost in a fit of laughter when Keith had extended this knowledge of Oliver being my 'boyfriend.'

"I have to tell you," I said within my fits of giggles, "that I've been debating if I'm dreaming for a while now, and you've just confirmed my answer."

"You're... awake?" Keith questioned.

"Of course not." I suspended the laughter.

"Why do you say that?" He asked.

"He's a boy." I started. Keith's shook his head the slightest bit to indicate a question: what did that have to do with it? "He's you-know." Keith raised an eyebrow slowly. "He's good-looking."
Slowly a smile grew across Keith's face, and he looked almost menacing. 

"Good looking?" Keith asked.

I held up my thumb and index figure and showed a very small gap between them both. "Just a little bit." I squeaked. 

"Well," Keith nodded, "You should know he is popular at school."

Another round of applause from my mouth. "Remember how earlier, I said you and he were crazy, I'm bringing that story back to life. It doesn't make sense. Weird," I gestured toward myself, "and popular," I pointed to the door, "don't get along."

"That, is a pretty stereotypical view," Keith pointed out, finally taking a seat again, and placing his palms on his knees. 

"That doesn't matter. I know for sure that is not the case. We are not lovebugs."

"Lovebugs," Keith mused. He rolled his eyes at me. So casually too. Like he knew me. Like we had plenty of conversations like this before. "Deny it if you like, but I'm not lying," He then added. 

"You must be." I said.

"Why would I lie about this?"

"First off, you've done some questionable things today, like kidnap me, tell me you know me, tell me I know you but have somehow acquired amnesia, so three years of my life are gone. So I wouldn't take lying off your list."

"Okay." Keith said, and went quiet.

"I'm just not the kind of person boys are into."

"Why's that?" Keith asked.

"My favourite colour is brown."

"Oh yeah. Touché," he said, and then after a moment started laughing. More casual laughter. Then it died down. He sat beside the bed, and started to look awkward about it. His finger tapped his leg. If his stories were true, what were these moments generally like? When I knew him? Would we often be stunted for conversation?

"I should get home," I announced, and then repeated "I want to go home." Keith nodded, and turned in his seat and looked toward a clock on the wall, it was in the shape of an oak tree, and sat ticking away near the kitchen entry.

"Yeah, of course. Just a few things first." He stood up and wandered over to the desk, and started pulling out the drawers.

I could hear him muttering strange things to himself. "Dwarf Oil... cockatrice feathers, dryad birch... damn it." He shoved the drawer closed and started on the next one, but all he was pulling out were papers. Behind the desk was a dark wooden cupboard, on decoration on top of it were multiple odd do-dads. A small bonsai tree, a head dress made from still blooming flowers, a mason jar full of dead bugs, and another sword, though this one had a magnetic red coating the blade. Keith was already in the cupboard pulling out more bits and pieces.