14 Days

8

Game of Thrones was right. The night is long and full of terror.

In my case, terror came in the form of a quiet blonde that, to no fault of his own, was far too close for my insane mind to handle. Yet again, I managed to invade Beau's side of the bed. Dark lashes contrasted against full pale cheeks. There was the faintest sign of a shadow on his chin.

Any movement resulted in a quiet hum or minuscule twitch from the resting danger. Worrying over my bottom lip, I contemplated the right move; drag myself away and in doing so wake Beau, who would certainly tease me, or torture myself by laying there. Oddly enough, the decision was too difficult to make. Turning away resulted in more yearning for the warmth that he unknowingly gave.

Sleep eluded me that evening. I only chanced moving away when his alarm went off, signaling that we would leave for Portland Head Lighthouse soon.

If he thought anything of my back facing him, certainly closer than when we went to sleep, he said nothing of it. I pretended to sleep for about five minutes before he kicked me. I was grateful for the rough housing; made me believe nothing had changed when my heart was arguing that, little by little, my whole world had become as turbulent as the sea outside the door.

Not long after waking, we met up with our parents. Mom and Aunt Zoey were driving, claiming that after my dad's mishap on the drive here, they weren't willing to risk turning a twenty minute drive into a three hour one.

With my new set of headphones, I ignored Beau during the drive.

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"Here we are!" Mom announced when we came upon a road that seemingly led to nowhere.

Popping out a headphone, I searched for the supposed lighthouse only to see the shoreline and a small parking lot. To the left there was a stretch of land with an old military bunker. The structure was left in our rearview mirror as we continued on. Mom followed the road further up a steep hill. There were two more parking lots. She drove through both then found a spot.

"The lighthouse should be right over the hill," Aunt Zoey claimed when clambering out of the car.

I was already on the move.

"Are you running off without us again!?" Mom hollered.

"You old folks are too slow for my taste!" I taunted. Mom's shout faded into the distance.

The grass had been freshly cut. The heady scent mixed in with that of sea salt. Ocean waves crashed against an unseen shore.

Beau jogged to meet me. I broke into a run, smiling when his footsteps mirrored my own. He never caught up. I was always faster, but we still raced over a hill, down an asphalt road, and past other tourists that laughed at two overzealous teens. We rounded a bend where the road led to a roundabout.

Portland Head Lighthouse sat at the far end on the cliffside. The white house was well kept with pale green molding and a soft brown tiled roof. Behind the house was the actual light tower, made of white brick, reaching into the sky. Two smaller buildings sat on the property, both the same in color. Brown posts with wired fences encircled the area, keeping the tourists from the cliffside of jagged rocks and foaming waves below.

"Fort Williams," Beau read. He stood in front of a green sign, slightly battered up with chipped paint. Next to the sign was a rusted bell in the grass, and a few benches. "This former military installation, begun in 1873 and known as The Battle of Portland Head, was a subpost of Fort Preble until 1898 when it became a separate independent fort."