Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Gasoline and Regret

Today was his day.

The house had slowly lost its natural stench, and his mother had finally taken into cleaning the house every once in a while— and this, he found, worked to his advantage. He no longer smelled of rot and booze (all those years of living in a stench filled house rubbed off on him), and his mates no longer avoided him like they used to. He had also started to use perfume every so often, just to make sure that all that stench did not cling to him anymore.

He gussied himself up in front of the mirror, running a hand through the spiky jet black hair. His sharp features were clear through the dimness of his room.

He checked every bit of his body– from the broad shoulders that sported a black hoodie and white shirt, to the muscled legs under those blue jeans, and to the nearly-numb feet in those tightly tied black All Stars.

No way was he going to let that lame excuse for a gentleman have her. He wanted to present a teensy bit of competition— hoping that he was competition enough. He wanted to have her, more than he did just two nights ago. It was more than just that hormonal teenage boy lust, it was real— and he hoped to God that she would know that, too.

As he opened the mahogany door with a "click", his lip trembled. His heard pounded loudly against his ribcage, and he took in sharp breaths. His All Stars squeaked as his foot touched the sun-drenched pavement.

The feeling seemed all too alien to him. He walked like it were like any other day— thrusting his hands in the pockets of his black hoodie, and staring down to the ground. He breathed out with every step of his left foot, and leisurely walked— as if he were walking to school, only on a sunny Saturday morning.

With every slow sway of his shoulders, he found himself crawling deeper and deeper into a black hole that sucked him in like there was no tomorrow. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, but his body did not tremble— he was not afraid, nor was he nervous; but he was not confident about anything either. He just merely found himself preparing to be lost forever, as if inching closer to a body he could never step away from.

Then there she was— walking out of that doll-like house with somewhat like a scowl on her lips.

In front of their house was a giant loading van, and around it stood furniture of different kinds. Men in blue jumpsuits carried the furniture into the truck, and a man and a woman— who he had presumed to be her parents— stood on the sidewalk, happily holding each other. They looked like any other married couple— the man in slacks, shiny brown shoes, and a checkered button-up top; and the woman in a beautiful collared red dress and mary janes. They were not too young, he could see, as the man had a bald spot on the top of his head; and the woman had strands of white in that beautiful head of long, purple hair, much like her daughter's.

She stood on her doorstep, putting a lazy hand to her hip, and leaning on one leg. He noticed, only then, when his eyes darted from her to her father, that the two looked nothing alike. He quickly dismissed the thought and shifted his gaze to the beautiful girl standing in front of the door.

She wore a magnificent white day dress that fitted perfectly around her hips and waist. She turned her head towards him, her long, straight hair flying like a blanket against the wind, whipping against her face as she stopped her eyes on the man behind her. She did not even cast him a glance, as he thought she would— he may have looked conspicuous standing right in front of her mailbox. She ordered the man to load the box he was carrying on the truck in front of them with a swift movement of her hand.

He did not stop and ponder what he would say to her, he did not stare at her magnificent beauty, and he was not lost for words as she stood right in front of him. They did not have that perfect connection, nor did either of them suddenly feel the urge to kiss the other. They did not stare intently into each others eyes, and instantly fell in love. She stood there, not even giving as much as a glance toward him; and he stood there, watching as they mounted boxes into the moving van.

He felt a tug at his chest as he struggled to open his mouth to speak words of love and passion.

He didn't.

He simply walked away, with not so much as a word, kicking a rock out of the pavement in the process. He looked sideways toward her, and he found that he was closer to her than ever before. His shoulder was inches from her chest, her hair brushed lightly on his hoodie with the gust of wind, his face was so close to hers that he imagined himself leaning in slightly, and touching her lips.

Everything stopped as her beautiful lilac eyes focused on his for what seemed like forever. He felt her riveting gaze boring into his soul, digging deeper and deeper into his humanity.

In that split second, he felt like he was stripped bare of everything— free for everyone to hollow out all that was left of him.

"Charmaine, let's go…" her mother called out to her.

He found himself jumping a bit at the sound of her mother's voice, as he turned his gaze back towards the ground. He swallowed. Hard. As if swallowing down the fact that she wouldn't be there anymore. That he could never even look back at her window, to find that comforting face that kept him alive for years. He couldn't completely comprehend that she was leaving.

He stopped.

She was leaving.

His heart skipped a bit, and he stopped in his tracks, hearing the last "squeak" of his shoes on the pavement.

He turned around, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, hoping that he wasn't too late. All he had was right now. Right now to say "hello". Right now to make a memory that would last forever.

His head jerked, his body twisted, as he turned to face a moving car, with a pretty little girl inside.

She was gone.

And all he was left with was the stench of smoke, gasoline, and regret.

He ran. He ran for his life. But with each beat of his heart in his ears, and each step of his foot on the sidewalk, she only seemed to drift farther and farther away. The car taunted him with the sound of its roaring engine, as if daring him to come closer.

He never got close enough.

He breathed out, and he collapsed to his aching knees. He held the pavement for support, pulling himself up.

Through gritted teeth, he took sharp breaths.

He needed to find a way to get her back.