The Phantom of Scranton Hill

29

Justine woke to a distant hum, a vibration of song flowing through her ears. She rested on a strong mountain, a flat peak acting as a pillow, as pure heat radiated around her. She slept in a bubble of warmth, an object wrapped firmly around her waist, another hand stroking her hair involuntarily. Her muscles relaxed under the sudden wave of satisfaction and she kept her eyes closed, part of her wanting to drift off once more. She thought back on her dream.

They laughed. He held her hand as they swung back and forth at the park, letting go of their worries.

"Why'd you leave?" she asked him, her eyes distracted by his presence.

"I had to go away for a while," he told her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. "I had to sort some things out. But I'm back now. And I'm not going anywhere."

She smiled at him--something she always did when she saw his childish face. "Good," she pouted as she slowed to a stop on the swingset, releasing her grip on his hand. He followed in suit, missing the softness of her hand in his. She stood up, running to the jungle gym a few meters away, and climbed the rock wall with ease. "Because I missed you," she admitted, her words one hundred percent truth.

"Well, then it's a good thing that I'm never going anywhere ever again. And if I do, you're coming with me." He reached out to grab her hand, stroking small circles around the knuckle below her thumb. His other hand cupped her face, the pad of his thumb brushing past the corner of her lip. He leaned in, gradually closing his eyes.

"Ugh," Justine groaned as something vibrated on the nightstand beside her head. "I don't want to wake up." She reached over, her eyes half open, and grabbed what she thought felt like her phone. Holding the power button, the screen flickered on. "Six missed calls and eight unread messages?" she asked her cellphone in a whiny tone. "Who could possibly want my attention that much?" She squinted to see the caller ID more clearly. "Oh, mom." Her voice was a little too loud.

"Womp," a groggy, deep voice grumbled from below her, and that's when she realized she was on top of a chest. His bare chest. Her eyes began at his hairless pecs and slowly trailed north until she met with his glistening brown eyes, taking in every ounce of him as she went.

Justine froze, her heart beating expeditiously as the lay there on top of him, paralyzed. She felt something tickle the top of her ear--some loose strands seeping out of that tangled rat's nest she called hair. Her eyes widened even more as she pictured what she must look like. Or smell like.

Don't breathe, she internally lectured herself, nearly gagging at the taste of her own morning breath.

Dax smiled at her with sleepy eyes, his smooth chin without a single stub. It was impossible for him to grow any kind of facial or bodily hair. She'd never even seen him shave, nevertheless with cuts or nicks from shaving.

Does he even own a razor? she thought, unintentionally cocking her head to the right as she almost let out a breath. Almost.

He looked at her skeptically, his smile faltering as his lips fell into a straight line. "Why is your face turning purple?" he asked, reaching out to cup her cheek as they grew increasingly blue. In a panic, she rolled to the left--the wrong way--and was sent tumbling down onto the floor like a fool. To make it worse and more embarrassing, she landed upright on her butt.

Of course, being the child he was at heart, Dax jetted up, laughing uncontrollably as he held his stomach. He rolled around under the sheets in a fetus position, his short, obnoxious chuckles dragging on. She could listen to it all day, but he was laughing at her. Specifically, her mighty, three foot fall from the bed to the not-so-cozy wooden floor.

"Hey!" she yelled as she got up, pointing her index finger at him accusingly. "That's not funny. That hurt," she claimed and began to rummage through his clothes, beginning at the closet beside the door. She had slept in just one of his t-shirts and couldn't wear that to school.