Page 85 of Playing with Fire

The moment I picture kissing him I find myself thinking about much more intense encounters.

Oh my god, this is bad.

I move my head back and forth while searching for different thoughts to focus on. Despite my efforts to move past him I find myself thinking about him again and wondering where he could be.

He got on the phone to talk with his mom some time ago. Their typical conversations probably don't reach twenty minutes unless something important is being discussed.

Despite my desire to avoid it, I find myself returning to the room and following the path he took when I ran away.

His voice outside leads me to open the sliding door. I assume we're having a typical conversation yet finding myself listening to an important discussion.

And I don't even mean to.

"God, Mom, I don't want him around."

I feel my expression change when I hear him speaking. He sounds out of breath like he's...crying.

What the fuck.

I stop moving when his sniffle reaches my ears because I realize my suspicions were correct. I am unable to move or speak even if I could. He remains unaware of my presence behind him while he moves around the house.

My brain is overwhelmed with numerous racing thoughts. He doesn't cry. It's unusual for guys to cry but when they do it's an intense experience. His only display of tears happened when Laura's guinea pig passed away when she was a child.

He told a lie saying his tears didn't fall. He deflected responsibility onto his emotional sister during that time.

I find myself torn between wanting to give him space because he is upset while also feeling driven to understand what has happened.

The door closes behind me as I enter the kitchen space. My inability to remain still reveals that something isn't right inside me. I walk around the island making frequent stops to check my phone for no apparent reason while I keep pacing.

Screw it.

I don't hate him. Even though I shouldn't be concerned about him, I must stop him from leaving now while he appears so distressed.

I move quickly but silently to the front of the house before leaving. There appear to be no people on the streets in my line of sight. The main road to the right shines a light while the left remains pitch black even though there are occasional lampposts.

Even though it sounds foolish I decided to go left. There's an intuition telling me he's located over there.

The feeling inside me warns me I would become the first character to perish in any horror scenario.

I take each step cautiously because hearing something would make me run back to the house in fear. I push forward and my legs begin to quiver as I spot a figure ahead.

I know it's him.

The distinctive way he walks with his hands placed in his pockets confirms that it must be him. He continues walking until he recognizes my presence.

Each step pushes my legs to their limit until they nearly collapse when I reach him. When my gaze meets his glossy eyes, my eyes begin to water.

I reach out and hug his torso so hard that I fear releasing my grip will reveal I'm hugging someone I don't know all while my legs fail me and I'm about to collapse.

Deathly worry occupies my thoughts about him. His embrace provides me with some comfort. I gasp for breath while feeling about to cry. The sight of his tears' impact compels me to join him in crying.

"It's not necessary for you to speak," I say while leaning back to look at him. My main concern is checking if you're okay at this moment.

He looks at me with an empty stare. His mouth opens and closes rapidly revealing his uncertainty over what to say. "I'm okay." He manages to force those words out of himself.

At his weak but comforting words I press my face back into his chest. Our return walk remains silent and feels incredibly tense.

He leads me towards the house even though I am supposed to be escorting him. I continue to maintain my arm in a resting position while making slight hand movements to make sure he hasn't left my side.

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