"Okay, now tell me everything," Maxwell stated not entirely kindly. But Kayla didn't seem mind. Although the last 30minutes of their acquaintanceship was spent with first Maxwell trying to slow his ragged breathes into a steady rhythm and then with Kayla attempting to make tea; a sense of calm and acceptance had grown around the pair.The feeling of comfort was foreign to Maxwell to say the least, and especially after such short time. Kayla moved slowly over to the large, padauk table and sat down. Maxwell was still trying to wrap his head around the way that she moved. Even seeing her simply float above a chair as though she was sitting confused him enough to make his head hurt.
She moved in so much grace that it required much will-power for Maxwell not to follow her movements with complete, fluid, awe. Even now as she sat down on the chipped, wooden chairs that surrounded the table it was graceful. Although it was unexplainably apparent that Kayla did mean, in a manner of speaking, to plop down heavily onto the furniture.
"There's not really much to tell," she stated her voice spreading smoothly around the room like butter.
"You can't leave this house. Correct?" Maxwell was trying extremely hard to make this conversation work and yet his attempts seemed to simply bounce of off his new acquaintance.
"No, well yes, but no," she looked down letting her long fingers glide gracefully through the solid cup as she contemplated the best way to answer Maxwell's seemingly difficult question.
Maxwell looked around the house as she thought. It didn't seem all that bad to be trapped here of all places. The beams of wood were the same coloring as those on the exterior of the house although they had an apparent sheen to them that made the building appear more up market. The floor was also wood but it was around four shades lighter than that of the walls and had a large amount of chips and discoloring, showing the real age of the building.
He looked back at Kayla whose enjoyment of moving her finger through various objects had ceased. "It's not that I can't leave the house," Maxwell's gaze reached her oddly vibrant blue-grey eyes that seemed to dance around trying to find something comfortable to land on. They found the crinkled morning blue fabric of Maxwell's collar and she continued.
"It is more like I am the house," her eyes finally reached his, "It's hard to explain really, I can just feel it. The house, it breaths with me, or rather I breath with it," her voice drifted off and she returned her attention back to moving the tip of her finger through the cup again something that Maxwell had begin to notice as a habit.
"Um, could you expand?" Maxwell pressed, his voice deepening slightly making him appear rude. Kayla smiled, not even slightly concerned with Maxwell's behavior.
"I would if I could, but I unfortunately can't." she pursed her lips letting the peaceful silence lapse over the conversation. And yet she began talking again.
"It is like we share the same soul or brain. I am the house, or more like I exist in these walls and I am as much like them as they are of me..." Maxwell decided firmly to himself that Kayla had absolutely no idea what she was talking about and that it would be very unlikely for him to ask her to explain anymore.
"I'm sorry, I'm not explaining it very well am I..." her voice faded into an embarrassed silence broken only by Maxwell's sudden intake of breath, most likely inaudible to all people besides Kayla who was sitting very quietly, looking very intently into Maxwell's deep, green eyes searching for clues as to whether she had just failed a possible friendship.
What had exactly shook him so much that his heart seemed to stop beating for more than a second, he could not entirely explain. If he tried, he expected it would fail as much as Kayla's absurd vindication. Although, Maxwell was beginning to believe that it is not as absurd or farfetched as he first assumed.
There was not a single thing that changed Maxwell's mind as, being a very intellectual being, he did not sway from his opinion unless an abundance of information was offered to him. Kayla seemed so confident when he first entered the house, and the house itself seemed welcoming and almost grateful for his presence. He had not noticed it, but as Kayla's excitable personality dulled into light embarrassment, he could see it in the house.
The false-crystal chandelier that previously held a playful twinkle seemed to land simply, reflecting no rainbow patterns onto the walls. The wood that held so much character and memories appeared to be just as it was, wood. It was, merely just a house.
Maxwell couldn't help himself but to feel slightly deflated by this sudden change in atmosphere. The house seemed perfect before, beautiful even. Like the girl it was part of. Maxwell's breath caught in his throat sharply surprising even himself. He splattered a cough to which Kayla returned with a worried, raised eyebrow. He didn't exactly know why he said that, there was an awful lot he did not know today but he knew that he had never considered girls as beautiful or anything more than a human who annoyed him (boys aswell).
But he was Maxwell J. Parsons. He noticed things, he heard things and he understood more things than everyone else realized. This was an observation on Maxwell's part and meant nothing more than stating that she was beautiful. It was much like saying that her hair is gold or that the dress that swayed like a current just above her knees was white; just observations. As if Maxwell would ever be caught of thinking it as any more!
Maxwell was at once aware of the silence. Not just the comfortable silence that surrounded the new companions, but the lack of noise outside the house as well. The rain had stopped. As had the claps of thunder and lightning. Instead it was replaced with the newly lighted streetlamps that appeared as yellow hues through the tainted windows. The lights came on at 6:30 every night this kind of year, all but the one lamp that stood in front of a rather small, yellow house two doors down from Maxwell's own. That didn't come on until well after eight. It was on now.
He cursed under his breath. Not swear words of course, he had a too large of vocabulary for that, just substitutes that he had picked up in his travels to fantasy worlds. He forgot his watch on his dresser at home, but Maxwell didn't have to be a genius to realize he was out well after curfew.
After muttering a quick apology and excuse for his rudeness to Kayla, he grabbed his jacket, arms straining slightly at the forgotten weight of the book and pulled with all his body weight on the door expecting it to be as stiff and rusted as it was before. But this time it opened smoothly causing Maxwell the stumble back a few paces. He regained his composure before he hit the hard wood below.
Maybe Kayla has more control over the house than she was letting on.
Maxwell thought to himself looking back at the mysterious girl, sitting slumped in her chair, showing no signs of moving any time soon.
YOU ARE READING
Pagebound
FantasyNo one knows what happens when we die, do you just lay in the ground unmoving or does your soul goes into your most precious possession. Maxwell J. Parsons loves his old, worn copy of Charles Dickens' A Tale Of Two Cities that he found in an abando...