The radio softly played “Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd in the background as we cruised out of the suburbs and onto a road lined with golden trees.The windows were rolled down slightly as the sun echoed the colors of the leaves.

“So where are we headed?” I asked him.

“Will you not believe me if I say we’re just going for a drive?”

I shook my head and smiled, “Nope.”

He grudgingly sighed, “Fiiiiinnneee. I’m taking you to one of my favorite places growing up.” His eyes stayed focused on the road so I couldn’t read them clearly. I wonder where this place could be?

The sound of the Impala’s engine roared through the strangely desolate roads. Then we finally took a turn right and entered a small, neighboring town that bordered Groove Wood; Willows Grove. To be honest, I think the guy who named all these towns just loved trees and groves way too much.

The car came to a slow stop as we parked at an abandoned church. One of those creepy, dilapidated, boarded up ones where the remaining pieces of the stain glass window were jagged and holey. The outside was made out of thick grey stones and was guarded by Jesus on a cross. But of course, since the church lacked repair, Jesus also lacked a nose. To the right of the church was a small cemetery that was extremely mistreated due to the moss growing on the crooked tombstones and the tall grass that accompanied it. To be honest, it just made it even more eerie.

“This is where I basically grew up,” he marveled at the scene as he stepped out of the car, “Ironic, huh? Growing up in a place full of death?”

“It’s very literal, that’s for sure.” I commented, shutting the door.

He then took my hand, which made me jump a little, “Come on. I want to show you something.”

He opened the rusted gate of the cemetery and we traveled towards the back of the church. Behind it laid a courtyard filled with purple lilies and wild flowers. Connected to the back of the church were steps that followed a stone pathway. The path sat next to some ancient, wooden, barely white benches that lead to a mausoleum that was never used. Strangely, it was all beautifully grotesque (As contradicting as it sounds). It was peaceful, and as others would see it as “a place that gave you the chills”, I see it as a different kind of beauty. And I could see why he liked this spot so much.

“It’s so beautiful.” I subconsciously said.

He smiled in reminiscence and pulled me to the entrance above the steps. The entrance wasn’t just a door; it was more like a mini hallway that lead to a door… If that makes sense. We sat under the hooded area; feet to feet. “I used to come here all the time as a kid. It was the only place within walking distance that made me feel at peace,” He stopped twirling the wild flower that he picked earlier and looked up at me, “Is that strange?”

“Well, I think by now you should know that everything you do is strange… well, to normal people, of course. But, then again, I’m not normal.”

He chuckled, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. You are pretty different.”

I leaned my head on my hand, “How so?”

“Well, for starters, you don’t necessarily find the fact that my childhood home was a graveyard repulsive or insane.” I laughed, “And you don’t act like other girls.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You don’t, I don’t know, you have an addictive sense of humour and you’re not afraid to be yourself.”

I smiled at that, “Well, I will take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant to be a compliment.”

“Good.”

We sat there talking about our child hoods, except he didn’t go into full detail with his. Then I decided to finally ask him where he worked.

“So, you didn’t tell me today but, where do you work?”

“I work with my father.”

“Doing…?”

He grew silent.

“Oh come on, you can tell me.”

He sighed, “No, I can’t.”

I looked at him in confusion, “Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Just because you think that doesn’t necessarily mean I w-”

His voice erupted, “Can you just drop it? If I say I can’t tell you, I can’t tell you!”

I was hurt by his sudden rage and fell silent. He sighed.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-“

“It’s fine.” I replied, cutting him off. My words came out more bitter than sweet.

He looked at me in deep concern, “Look, if I could tell you, I would.”

“I get it.” I said, turning my face away from him.

He inched closer to me and turned my head so we were face to face. “I want to tell you. I just can’t, okay?”

I fell for his hypnotic voice and mesmerizing eyes, “Okay.”

Our eyes locked on each others’ and we ceased to say another word. Without warning or realization, I was kissing Dean Styles.

Notes

Hey guys, shorter chapter, I know. But I needed to get something in here before I take a short hiatus.
As some of you know, my dog died last week.
Now, a very good friend of my brothers and me passed away over the weekend. He just turned 17.
Before you say, "I'm sorry about your loss," or things of that nature, I would really appreciate it if you don't. As much as you think those words help, they really just feel like a huge "fuck you" to the person grieving.
And I know that's not your intention, but it still hurts. All I ask is for supportive comments for the chapter.
I want to thank you all for reading my stories, because it means so much to me. You all be careful and safe okay? You're important to me <3
Live life to the fullest because it's short,
-Kayla-