Till Next Time | completed | currently under re-edit

22

22
"Brooklyn."
"What?"
"Stop break dancing on the bed," she says, her words muffled. She has her face stuffed into the pillow.
"I can't sleep with all this noise," I grumble.
"Then don't. Let's go there."
I do not answer. I turn away from her.
"Jesus Christ, can you stop?"
I sit up on the bed. "I'm gonna tell them to lower down the music."
She grabs me by the arm, "No, you won't."
"We can't sleep like this!"
"You are being a real ass right now."
I scoff, "For wanting to get some sleep?"
"No," she argues back, "They were sweet enough to let us stay here. The boy even came to invite us. You shut the door to his face and now you plan on telling them to shut it. Real gracious."
She continues, "I don't know what's crawled up your ass but trust me on this one and get a fucking t-shirt. We are going."
"No." I collapse back on the bed.
She stares me down with steely eyes.
"Fine," she proceeds to grab and pull her wheelchair to her side, "I am going."
I try to ignore the sounds of her wheels against the floor, her angrily climbing onto it and undoing the lock.
"Okay. Fuck!", I throw my arms about and unwillingly drag my body off the bed.

It's less of a barn and more of an excuse for rotting and decaying woodwork with no roof.
A couple of teens that would come across as hippies sit on stacks of hay around a small blazing fire with their ukeleles, guitars and flutes.
Terry sees us coming and runs over to us.
"Hello!", he says, too enthusiastically for my teetering tolerance, "I knew you would come! Come on. I saved you two spots."
He leads us over to a wooden chair, sticking out in the crowd of low lying makeshift seats like a sore thumb. I sit down, too done to complain.
"Hey guys, these are the new kids," Terry introduces us to the crowd, beer bottle clutched in his hand, like we are here to stay forever.
Anastasia waves, I just nod.
Terry points to each of them, "That's Jonah. Emily. Benny. Smithie and Una."
Smithie tips his hat to Anastasia with a smirk on his face. I grow increasingly tense.
Benny passes a joint over to me. I almost convulse back, shaking my head.
You would have said yes had Anastasia not been here, my conscience taunts me.
"So Terry tells us you are on a road trip," Emily says, taking a long drag of her cigarette.
"Yes," Anastasia answers.
"In your condition," she looks down at her legs. My cheeks heat up.
"It's really not that difficult."
Emily shrugs. "And what about you?", she looks over to me. I can already tell she's going to be a bitch.
"What about me?"
She callously leans back, "You look like you got the richer parents."
"You look like you get your ass beat at parties by your ex's girlfriends, yet I dare not ask."
"Brooklyn," Anastasia whispers.
"Emily, shut up!", Terry says, "I'm really sorry. She has no filter."
"She has no manners," I correct him.
The group falls silent with Emily glaring at me from time to time.
"I'm really tired," Anastasia says to Terry, "Maybe we should get some sleep. It's been a long day. Thanks for the invite."
Terry nods without a word, obviously bummed.

I pull the covers over us as I lay down.
"Brooklyn?" I barely hear her.
"Yes?"
"You were right. We should have never gone there," she pushes her head further into the pillow. I hear her sniffle.
I sigh, pulling my cover down a little and freezing. I mentally calculate my move, eventually giving in to the safest option.
I wrap my arm around her over the covers and move closer.
I never in a million years want her to feel uncomfortable.
"Is this okay?", I ask.
"Hm."
I drift off to the sound of her heavy breaths.

In the morning, Jed finds me and brings me over to his garage.
"A valve malfunctioned from the engine heating," he says. He tries to dig out the grease stuck between his fingernails. "It'll take me two days, at least, to fix it."
I nod.
"Are you in a hurry?", he asks.
"No." I answer.
"I heard there was a small altercation last night," Jed says out of nowhere.
I frown and decide to play stupid. "An altercation?"
"Yes, at the barn. With the Scotts girl."
"What do you know about it?", I ask.
"Well," he hesitated at my tone, "There were some words exchanged and she did not take very kindly to it."
I laugh, "In my experience Jed, sometimes people ask for it." I think back to the night. "So word gets around here, it seems."
"It's a small town, son. When the Abe ended slavery, this is where the first settlement sprung up. Two or three people. My great grandpa set up shop first, then the rest all came. We all know 'bout everybody and everybody's business," he wipes away the sweat accumulated between his brows.
"Have you always lived here?"
"Damn right, I have. Fifty years of age and never spent more than half a day away from home. Never been to city either."
"Aren't you ever curious?"
"No. Not really."
"Why?"
"I am happy here. I got a house, a beautiful wife who gave me beautiful children. I do a job that puts some delicious dinner on the table. It ain't much but it's more than nothing," he dusts away some dirt with a towel wrapped around his neck that had long lost its actual color, "I've been through my time. I've been through the kickin', the screamin', the fightin', all of it. I had some dreams that I lost and I thought I'm gonna be nothing. But I'm not, because I'm happy. And when you're fifty, with your daughter away at college in a big city, two boys waiting to leave someday, all you want is to be around people who understand you and know you. The real dream is to be around people and around things that make you happy," he smiles with an intense kindness that makes me want to turn around and run away.
I stay put.
"I will get your valve tonight, son. You get some rest," he pats my shoulder inattentively, the dirt and grease smearing across it.
I smile at the sight of it.

I walk in on Anastasia shoving something between her pillows on the bed.
"What?", I ask.
"Nothing," she lies.
My eyes drift over to Ted, by her side, his mouth gaping open.
I climb onto the bed and rip the pillow away from her and there it was.
My journal.
She took my journal that I brought along with me to write anything I could finally muster up.
She read my journal, the only secret I would die protecting.
I snatch it away from her, stuffing it back in Ted and zipping the compartment shut.
"Brooklyn, I can explain."
"I don't need you to."
"I was just looking around and I bumped against your backpack and it just slid out."
"So you thought it was okay to read it."
I sling Ted over my shoulder.
"Where are you going?", she asks, her voice giving way to her panic.
"None of your business. Just like my journal."
I swing the door open as Anastasia's voice finally breaks, "Brook! I'm sorry!"
I yank the door shut, her cry ringing in my ears.
Step away, someone or something in my head tells me.
You need to find out how much she knows.

A/N: Nursing a mild writer's block right now. Finals week is here. :')