The street ran east to west, and the deciduous maples set in even intervals burned with an intense inner fire. On one such maple, a small orange leaf quivered with the languid breeze, flirting hesitantly with the updraft. A sudden dusty breath sent the leaf fluttering in small curlicues to the scarred sidewalk below. Before it had a chance to settle onto the rough concrete, a pair of swift feet sheathed in worn tennis shoes kicked it up again with several of its brethren, sending it feet into the air only to be thwarted once more by gravity.
Dry red dust clung to the threadbare hem of faded jeans, turning the blue to a sickly pinkish-gray. A thin gray sweater fell to mid-thigh. The too-long sleeves covered hands up to the third knuckle, where they disintegrated into bedraggled threads wrapping lazily around long, unpainted nails.
Straight, strawberry-blond hair cascaded smoothly over slim shoulders, insulating her pale neck from the occasional cold wind and shielding it from the sun's harmful rays. A white cord stood out against the dark gray of her sweater, snaking its way behind her neck and separating to connect to both ears. Classic rock was pumped like a lifeline into her mind, her soft blue eyes slightly glazed in thought.
Her feet, on auto-pilot, took her across three more deserted blocks and up a short flight of dilapidated green stairs. She took out the headphones and knocked three times on a familiar white door. Waiting only moments, she was wordlessly ushered into the foyer by a tall boy, roughly seventeen years old, his dark brown locks shielding hazel eyes she knew too well.
Belaying the humble outer appearance, the interior of the building was richly decorated with dark antique furniture, expensive pieces from the mid-nineteenth century. The boy led her up a long flight of thickly carpeted steps to the second floor. One long hallway ran down the center, and their footsteps were muffled by the same white carpeting that lined the stairs.
Late-afternoon sunlight flooded the window at the end of the hall, warming the carpet beneath their bare feet. Her heart beat a steady thump-thump in her chest, oddly calm, even knowing what she was about to do.
The boy opened the last door on the left. It creaked slightly on its brass hinges, bumping against the dark blue wall. The boy's long jeans brushed against the wood floor, the sound magnified in the silence that stretched between them.
The girl entered the room for the first time in eight months, closing the door. Her fingertips scratched against the wood, drawing his gaze to her. His calculating gaze slid along her arm, the smooth line of her neck, her pale, pale jaw and her pink cheeks, flushed from the autumn chill. Her freckles stood out in sharp contrast, and he knew that her complexion was not only due to the weather.
"You missed me," he murmured, his voice smooth and collected though his heart was beating faster than that of a cow standing before an oncoming train.
"I hate you," she whispered, glancing down and to the left. Her long bangs fell forward, concealing her eyes. They both knew she was lying.
He moved forward silently, stopping mere inches from her. His breath ghosted across her face as she slowly lifted her head to gaze steadily at him. He reached up, the rough pad of his thumb caressing her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered closed as his hand wandered to her neck, following the curve of her collarbone until his fingers found the silver pendant that rested in the hollow of her throat.
He leaned forward to whisper softly in her ear. "Liar."
Her breath hitched and her eyes shot open. She took a hasty step backward, hitting the door with a soft thump. He followed as if it was choreographed, bringing his hands up to rest on either side of her head. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the wood of the door, a sly smile tugging at his lips. Lips she longed to kiss again, longed to feel on her hot, flushed skin.
She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her fists to keep from pulling him against her. She needn't have bothered, for he covered her lips gently with his own, kissing her tenderly. His hands came down to encircle her neck, tilting her head up for a better angle. Unconsciously, she moved with him, their lips connecting in chaste kisses that were far from those of their last encounter.
He pulled away, holding her bottom lip between his own, then releasing it along with a shaky breath. His hands slid down her covered arms, along her hips to find the hem of her sweater. Pulling the garment over her head with no resistance, he knew she had missed him. His hands found her hips, the hem of her white tank top, curious fingers sliding beneath to caress the soft flesh of her waist.
She unclenched her fists, grasping the belt loops on his jeans and pulling him to her. Their lips met again, carefully, tentatively. She moaned softly at the contact of his hands on her skin, and tugged at his shirt. He broke away, shedding the thin cotton garment. She ran her hands along his bare chest and toned abs. His eyelids flickered and she smiled. She reached up and dragged her long nails across the back of his neck, a spot she knew to be extremely sensitive. His eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as a shudder went through his body. He growled and pressed the length of his body against her, effectively pinning her to the door.
"You shouldn't tempt me, Cassie," he murmured huskily, his hands on her waist, fingers pressing hard enough to leave a mark.
"You shouldn't have called me here, Shane," she replied venomously, nails biting unmercifully into his shoulders, causing him to wince.
He growled in frustration and pushed away, pacing to the window. He raised one arm above his head, resting it on the frame. He sighed, rubbing his free hand across his face. He gazed across the short space between his house and the next, seeing nothing.
She sighed, feeling defeated, and crossed the room, sitting on the bed with her feet hanging over the edge. She left him alone, knowing it was useless to talk to him until he marshaled his thoughts and was ready to discuss what was nagging at him.
"Do you really hate me?" he said finally, turning to look at her with cold eyes. She met his gaze with wide, surprised eyes.
"What?" she breathed. He simply gazed at her, his jaw tight with suppressed anger. "No. No! I love you, Shane."
"Oh?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Then why did you suddenly disappear? You wouldn't answer my calls, texts, e-mails…Nothing! What the hell?"
She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Shane…I do love you."
Shane looked at her for a long moment, and she knew he didn't believe her. There was a sharp intake of breath. "Then why don't you act like it?"
She was surprised to see tears welling in his hazel eyes. "Shane, don't--"
Before she could finish her sentence, he held up a hand to stop her, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. "Never mind."
He stormed from the room, leaving the door ajar. She winced as the bathroom door slammed loudly. She slumped against the wall, her insides churning with guilt and unease. Her gaze flickered from the window, dust clinging to the sill, to the door and back.
As flecks of dust floated in the last rays of the setting sun, Shane stepped out of the bathroom, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. He wondered if tears were a sign of weakness. She would certainly think so. In the dim light, it took him a moment to realize that his room was vacant. A cool breeze wafted in through the open window, coaxing his bare skin into gooseflesh.
Gone again, he thought, disappointment and anger flooding his body. He moved to the window, leaning out and scanning the area, though he knew she was far from there.
"Always running, little one," he murmured, hoping--however improbably--that she would hear him.
Fin.
This may, or may not, turn out to be a longer story. It depends on my readers (you guys :D). So if you like it and want more, please review!