of the house I come to another stop.
There the fenced in area under the stairs is gone and a lovely little niche with a playhouse sitting on an old carpet and a little table with two chairs occupied with dolls, replaces the old dark hiding space. I step closer, stand still and try to contemplate the reality of what this spot represents.
There isn't anything closely visual to how it looked all this years ago. It's all light and open now, free of all the odd feelings and I turn around with a big smile on my face, which gets slammed away in an instant at the sight of Tucker, his eyes glued to the stairs. And my gaze follow his. Eleven steps. Eleven steps tattooed deep into my soul. I don't know what’s going through his head, but right now he is scarring me. I can see the same far away look he gets sometimes and I don't like it. I don't like it at all. And a deep dangerous undercurrent of some awareness seeps up in me that I can't shake of, no matter how hard I try.
Taking Tucker's hand into mine, I pull as hard as I can and he just staggers behind me to his truck. There I wrap my arms around his middle, press my cheek into his chest and just let my tears fall. This didn't go as I thought it would. I can finely feel his arms wrapping around me and we just hold on to each other.
“Do you want to go home?” he finally breaks the silence, his voice unsteady and I shake my head vehemently. No, I don't think we can end this day with us both brooding. We need some distraction and the fair will be the right place for us to forget about the sad moment.
Bleeding
Chloe
Determined to not let our conscious state of mind or the darkening sky override the day, I place a big fake smile onto my face.
At the fair we stroll about the neatly set tables and booths, eat hotdogs and ice cream, all the while closely pressed into each others side. The need for comfort undoubtedly showing. To others we might look a little tense, but otherwise just like a regular couple visiting the fair.
One of the booths is showing an array of jewellery and Tucker is wedging me to the display. He leans lightly over me to get a better look when he reaches out and hands something to the salesman. While he is talking to the man I'm distracted by the booth next to the one we are standing at. I take a few steps and admire the handcrafted wooden toys, which closely looking at a few give me an idea for a project in school I can do with my mute kids.
At one point I feel Tuckers hand pressing around my waist and I smile up at him. Tucker's eyes are gentler now, almost like nothing happened earlier, but something still hangs in them, haunted and heavy.
The air seems to be filled with things that need to be said, questions that bag to be asked, at least on my part, but I don't know what to say, where to begin. Where to start with someone who you have known for what seems like forever who in fact you don't know at all?
Or do I? Isn't he the same person, just a little older, a little more experienced, and a little more mature? Maybe we just need a real good talk and all will be fine.
My eyes watch the sky where heavy clouds are guttering and Tucker follows my gaze, seeing the concern in my face.
“Are you ready to head home?” he ask me and I nod my head, take his hand and pick up my pace. I take the lead, prompted by an uneasiness I can't describe.
Suddenly there’s a party of three persons in our path and I try to move around them, but I bump into them and with a jolt I notice this guy from the diner, Mike… something, Rob Carlson and another guy. Damn, can this day get any more
There the fenced in area under the stairs is gone and a lovely little niche with a playhouse sitting on an old carpet and a little table with two chairs occupied with dolls, replaces the old dark hiding space. I step closer, stand still and try to contemplate the reality of what this spot represents.
There isn't anything closely visual to how it looked all this years ago. It's all light and open now, free of all the odd feelings and I turn around with a big smile on my face, which gets slammed away in an instant at the sight of Tucker, his eyes glued to the stairs. And my gaze follow his. Eleven steps. Eleven steps tattooed deep into my soul. I don't know what’s going through his head, but right now he is scarring me. I can see the same far away look he gets sometimes and I don't like it. I don't like it at all. And a deep dangerous undercurrent of some awareness seeps up in me that I can't shake of, no matter how hard I try.
Taking Tucker's hand into mine, I pull as hard as I can and he just staggers behind me to his truck. There I wrap my arms around his middle, press my cheek into his chest and just let my tears fall. This didn't go as I thought it would. I can finely feel his arms wrapping around me and we just hold on to each other.
“Do you want to go home?” he finally breaks the silence, his voice unsteady and I shake my head vehemently. No, I don't think we can end this day with us both brooding. We need some distraction and the fair will be the right place for us to forget about the sad moment.
Bleeding
Chloe
Determined to not let our conscious state of mind or the darkening sky override the day, I place a big fake smile onto my face.
At the fair we stroll about the neatly set tables and booths, eat hotdogs and ice cream, all the while closely pressed into each others side. The need for comfort undoubtedly showing. To others we might look a little tense, but otherwise just like a regular couple visiting the fair.
One of the booths is showing an array of jewellery and Tucker is wedging me to the display. He leans lightly over me to get a better look when he reaches out and hands something to the salesman. While he is talking to the man I'm distracted by the booth next to the one we are standing at. I take a few steps and admire the handcrafted wooden toys, which closely looking at a few give me an idea for a project in school I can do with my mute kids.
At one point I feel Tuckers hand pressing around my waist and I smile up at him. Tucker's eyes are gentler now, almost like nothing happened earlier, but something still hangs in them, haunted and heavy.
The air seems to be filled with things that need to be said, questions that bag to be asked, at least on my part, but I don't know what to say, where to begin. Where to start with someone who you have known for what seems like forever who in fact you don't know at all?
Or do I? Isn't he the same person, just a little older, a little more experienced, and a little more mature? Maybe we just need a real good talk and all will be fine.
My eyes watch the sky where heavy clouds are guttering and Tucker follows my gaze, seeing the concern in my face.
“Are you ready to head home?” he ask me and I nod my head, take his hand and pick up my pace. I take the lead, prompted by an uneasiness I can't describe.
Suddenly there’s a party of three persons in our path and I try to move around them, but I bump into them and with a jolt I notice this guy from the diner, Mike… something, Rob Carlson and another guy. Damn, can this day get any more
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