Page 23 of Trading Paint
“Sway?” he called from the bushes, hiding in the dark corner of the street.
“Why are you in the bushes? Get out here asshole,” I yelled, sad that I had been reduced to this, but glad to see him.
I kept myself under the dim luminosity of the streetlights above. I had this crazy notion that nothing would attack me if I was lit up.
A few minutes later, we were settled in my bed this time, thankfully he brought his afghan with him, which, I now had draped over me once again.
“We are damn near seventeen years old and terrified of a movie,” I mused ashamed of myself.
He let out a nervous chuckle leaning back against my headboard.
“I wouldn’t say I’m terrified—spooked yes. That was surprisingly...believable. Who thought of that shit anyway? My god,” he shook his head in disbelief. “I have some serious concerns about that director now. I mean, can he sleep at night after filming that?”
“Great, now I’m scared again.”
We sat there laughing for a few minutes at how childish this was while he wrapped his arms around me pulling me flush against his body. It was comforting.
“I feel better.” I added a few minutes snuggling in.
“Metoo, not too spooked anymore.”
“How’s your head feeling?” I reached out to run my fingers over the bruises forming on his forearms where he’d obviously hit objects inside the car.
“I’m fine, sore...but fine.”
You don’t realize the dangers of racing when you’re watching but they’re there. A slip of just an inch in a sprint car and you’re flying through the air. I’ve seen Jameson wreck and I admit that it gives me a heart attack each time but I also know that he is doing what he loves. I was in no position to tell him to stop. I could only hope that he is safe.
We eventually fell asleep on my bed wrapped around each other because I refused to leave any space between us just as I did during the movie.
He didn’t complain.
When we woke up the next morning, still wrapped around each other, Charlie was not so pleased that Jameson was in my bed.
“Sway?” he called out as he opened my door. “Oh sorry...” his deep voice trailed off but then he took a double take. “Jameson?”
Jameson, not completely awake shot up in my bed.
“Huh...what...?” he glanced around and then looked at me and back to Charlie and then moaned out in pain when he realized how sore he was as he tried to untangle himself from me.
Charlie chuckled but didn’t look happy. “What are you doing here Jameson?”
“Uh...I was spooked?” he looked at me arching an eyebrow.
“Yes...spooked.” I glanced to Charlie. “We watched The Exorcist last night after we got home. It was a disaster. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep with the lights off again.”
Charlie laughed again. “I almost shit myself when I watched that movie.” He shuddered and began to leave before looking back over his shoulder. “Jameson, your mom called for you. I told her you weren’t here but apparently, I’m wrong.”
By the look on his face, I had a feeling I’d hear about this later.
When the door clicked shut, Jameson groaned again and leaned back on my bed before grabbing a pillow and placing it over his hips.
I giggled.
“Problems?”
“Shut up.” He snapped and hobbled to my bathroom.
I made my way downstairs to see Charlie sitting at the kitchen table rubbing his head, his face buried in his hands. “You okay?”
