Playing With Fire

Chapter Thirty-Three

                                          Recap 

                “You know those monsters in your closet?” 

                 Mason’s eyes bulge, and I wonder how they managed to stay firm in their sockets. He covers his ears and starts to run past Travis with a panicked and defeated look. 

                  “Okay!” He wails in surrender, “I’m going—just don’t bring them out.”  

                The door shuts moments later and Travis, who was staring at the carpet and listening to his brother, smirks in a celebration in his small victory. 

               “That’s cruel.” Layla jokes, trying to break the awkwardness before it even builds. “I like it—teach me your ways.” 

                 Travis glances up to look at her. He shoots me a knowing glance, his eyes filled with such an indescribable amount of humor. 

                    I can almost feel the hidden sarcasm when he replies with, “Maybe someday.” 

                    Then, before either of us can say anything, he shoots me a solid glance before stalking out the door. We follow his movements until he’s out of sight. Once he’s gone, I bring my already crimson gaze to Layla. 

                   However, she’s already staring at me with a strange look on her face. She raises an eyebrow and motions towards the direction he in which he left. 

                 “What was that about?” She inquires, clearly having noticed some type of double meaning in his reply. 

                   I shrug my shoulders immediately, pursing my lip as the truth burns the tip of my tongue. As if a light bulb has gone off, I suddenly understand why his eyes held such mockery and humor when she commented on his techniques. She considered that cruel, but Layla really had no idea the depth of cruelty he has seen and taken part in. 

                 If only she knew.

                Again, I shake my head, “I have no idea.”  

                                    Chapter Thirty Three

            It’s pitch black. With hazy, grubby vision, I wiggle my sleepy fingers in an attempt to exercise the sharp pins and needles in my skin. Sometime last night, Layla and I had fallen asleep in the same clothes we came in. 

           My shoulder is tucked under the somewhat earthly carpeted floor while Layla’s soft snores indicate towards the queen sized bed meant for the two of us. As my eyesight begins to adjust to the darkness of the room, I gradually notice figures of objects.

              Through the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a dimly light red beam light that agitates my temples. Despite this, my gaze follows the light and lands on bland alarm clock which reads 3:02 AM.

             Restlessness seeps into my bones as I stare up at the ceiling. The gentle lullaby of Layla’s rem breath is rather loud within the overwhelming silence. So, I give up on the thought of going back to sleep, for my mind is still racing over the theftless robbery.

             With a suppressed sigh, I slowly roll forward, arching my back until I’m sitting up. Now, I can see clearly. As I stand, careful not to disturb Layla, I chuckle at her sprawled position. A soft smile forms across my features when I observe how each foot is attached to opposite corners of the mattress. Her right hand droops off the edge of the bed while her left is awkwardly twisted behind her back. Her face is nonexistent, for her disheveled, blonde streaks of hair cover it.