firecracker // rodrick heffley

CHAPTER EIGHT

She followed him inside. They ascended two sets of stairs - one to the second floor and one to Rodrick's attic bedroom. The cold air in his room, as it always was in the fall and winter, struck them when they got to the top of the staircase. Rodrick's muscles relaxed, a feeling of comfort rushing over him now that he was in his comfort zone. He closed his eyes and stood in the light of the windows0 for a moment, letting his skin absorb the rays of light coming from outside. He sat on his bed as Sylvia began to explore his bedroom.

"It's almost exactly what I expected," she remarked, her gaze fixed on the band posters hung on the walls. "Dead Kennedys, Anti-Flag, Nirvana... Nice," she added, walking by the wall upon which the posters hung. She trailed her finger up the side of his shelf, examining magazines and books and a collection of drumsticks. The lights that were hung from his ceiling accentuated the rest of the dècor. Self-consciously, Rodrick glanced over at his bedside table, wondering if Sylvia would notice the old CD - The Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. He glanced quickly at each of the books he had stacked on the table.

She turned around, facing Rodrick from across the room. Her eye caught on the stack, and Rodrick saw a familiar glint in her eye - curiosity. He watched her walk across the room, gaze running up and down the stack. "State and Revolution, A People's History of the United States, The Conquest of Bread, Are Prisons Obsolete?, On Anarchism," she read aloud as she scanned the titles. "Do you ever read fiction?"

"Usually," Rodrick explained, "but recently I'm on a theory kick." 

"Damn," said Sylvia quietly, a murmur almost quiet enough that Rodrick nearly didn't hear it.

He looked her up and down, watching her as her curiosity was piqued by the collection of political theory he had amassed. Sylvia didn't notice his lustful, near hungry stare; she was consumed, trying to analyze the information dump she had discovered by looking through his room. Rodrick swiped his tongue across his bottom lip as she turned to him once more, a new darkness in her own gaze.

She swallowed hard. Rodrick noticed the way she looked at him had changed. Something in her eyes was frenzied and chaotic, as if she were looking at him for the last time before a public execution. He tried to pin the emotion it seemed to be reflecting - what the fuck could spark a look like that? - before he realized that he, himself, shared the look that was in her eyes.

Lust. Desire. Longing. 

The silence between them was strained, both waiting for the other to act on the mutual feeling. Rodrick glanced down at a slight movement; a twitch of Sylvia's fingers, fumbling at the hem of the sweater she wore.

"I can't take it when you look at me like that." Rodrick thought he imagined Sylvia saying it, but could have sworn he saw her lips form the words.

"What?" he asked, unsure of himself.

"I don't know how to handle myself when you give me that... that look," she said, sheepishly stepping toward him. Rodrick stood up, looking slightly down to face Sylvia. "It's unbearable," she said, her gaze traveling to his lips.

A smirking grin broke out on Rodrick's face. "How about if I do this?" He closed his eyes.

She put her hands on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He slipped his hands around her waist, their bodies now pressed against each other, warmth growing between them. His eyes still shut, she pushed him gently towards his bed. He fell onto the covers, pulling her down with him. He opened his eyes back up, placing his hands on Sylvia's hips as he urged her towards him. Reaching over to the stereo beside his bed, he pressed play on the machine and the sound of a heartbeat echoed from the speaker. The song grew louder until the point in the song where a man lets out a loud, crying scream. A guitar and drum beat kicked in as the album went to the next track.