Internally Bound

I didn’t think it was possible for his smile to get any wider...but I was proved wrong before.

“I can’t wait until I leave!” Al said. He went back to packing things in boxes.

I looked down and said quietly, “I’ll miss you so much.” Moisture formed in the corner of my eyes.

He stopped abruptly and it was silent. “I’ll miss you too. I know you probably don’t want me to leave. I mean, after not seeing me for so long, but this is what I want. What I need out of my boring life.”

Exactly what I already knew.

He turned to me and took my face in one of his hands. “Are you going to be alright? You know, I’m not leaving for another week…We still have some time to catch up and hang out.”

I decided I couldn’t be a downer. That would be the opposite of helping. So I tried my hardest to put on a smile and say, “I’ll be fine. And I would very much like to spend some you and me time.”

He smiled and my heart stopped for the briefest second. Jeez, would I ever get used to the way his lips curved up into the most adorable—but also most handsome—smile?

I hoped not.

“So do you need any help packing and whatnot?” I asked him casually.

“Oh, yeah actually. If you could help that would be great.”

For the next couple of hours I helped him get things organized, packed, and piled. It wasn’t that hard surprisingly. But there were some parts of the time when I would see something strange, stop, and ask him about it. He had a lot of old stuff around the house that he actually still used. He still had some—what were they called?—DVD’s. Apparently they played movies on them. How weird. They looked very old.

He also had this huge machine in the corner full of dust. A computer was its name. He told me that before laptops took over there were these things that people used. I couldn’t imagine anyone using it.

“It’s pretty late now; I should be getting some sleep,” he said.

“Oh. Okay, well I’ll just go then.” I got up from the box I was organizing on top a stack of others and started to head towards the door.

“No! I mean, you don’t have to leave. You can stay over here.”

“Like a…sleep over?” I grinned crookedly.
“Why not?” he asked innocently. I laughed at him.

“Sure.

We did a pretty darn good job with packing that you could actually see floor in the living room. He thanked me for helping him as he grabbed some blankets and pillows and set them on the carpet in the center of the living room. I sat down and removed my shoes.

“I feel like I’m eleven-years-old again,” I told him. That was pretty much the last time I had a sleep over with anyone.

I jumped up and down on my bed with my best friend Emilee. Her blond curls were bouncing everywhere, hitting me in the face. I always envied her for her beauty. Her hair had so much volume while mine was stick straight and black. Nothing special there. And her eyes were so pretty. A warm brown that made you feel at home. Mine were just gray.

“I could do this…all night,” I said between jumps.

“You…got that right!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled and sat down next to me. I removed my thin knit sweater—it was starting to get really warm in his house—and my black leather gloves that only showed the tops of my fingers.

I laid down and sighed, closing my eyes.

"You really that tired?" Allen asked.

I shrugged.

There was a couple minutes of silence until I heard the last thing I wanted to come out of his mouth. "What happened to your hands?"

Exactly why I always wore gloves; even in summer. And the last thing I wanted was for Allen to be worrying about me because I get a few bumps and bruises here and there.

I cursed quietly under my breath than opened my eyes. I stared at the hands held between Allen's. They were marred with faded pink scars that zig-zagged and spiraled from the wrists to the finger tips.

My breathing was becoming shallow, short little pants. Sweat dripped down the side of my face. My fist clenched. I wasn't giving into my opponent yet. A growl rumbled in the back of my throat. I would not let them win.

But I was getting weak, and my limbs were starting to get soar. And my opponent just rolled three sixes.

I knew I wouldn't last. But I at least had to try. My opponent jumped into the air, and through the flames I could see that his expression mirrored my own. Rage. Though my rage was mixed with exhaustion and pain, while his was only combined with power and greed.

He created a ball of black energy between his arms that were stretched out. My body shook as I prepared myself for what was to come next. I held my head up high, got in my defensive position, and held my hands in front of me as they took in the impact from the black energy.

I yelled in pain but still stood there, trying hard not to get knocked down.

In the end, I still lost. But not without a souvenir.

Outside the building I looked down at my bloody torn up hands. Angry pain-filled tears fell from my face and stung as they hit the exotic cuts. I clenched my fists together.

"Ouch, looks like it hurts." I looked up to see my opponent—now remembering his name to be Alexander Philip. His voice was smug and rude and not at all sympathetic to me in any way at all. But then again, how could I expect so much from him?

"You bastard," I said through clenched teeth. I wanted to beat him up so badly, but I knew doing that would only destroy and hurt my hands even more.

Too bad I didn't care.

I yelled and came at him, my hands clawed as I went for his face. I was going to give him some scars of his own.

"I...was trying to cook eggs for breakfast," I lied. "And...the pan fell..."

"On your hands?" Allen asked.

"Yeah...And then I made the mistake of trying to pick it off the floor again." I hated lying to Allen. It almost burned as much as the scars had that one fateful day years ago. And I could also tell he wasn't exactly buying it. I mean, who would? My story didn't match my scars at all.

I just didn't want to tell him that I destroyed my hands in a game of Bloody Die. He told me it was dangerous and I should stop...but then he moved away, and things changed.

"What about you? I noticed earlier..." I took one of my hands out of his and trailer it alongside his face, pushing the hair up. There was a thin pink line running up his temple. I only noticed it when he pushed his hair out of his face when trying to read something that fell out of one of the boxes and onto the floor. I traced my index finger lightly over it. "When did this happen?"

He caught my hand but just held it closer to his face. "The past cuts us all...and over time, the wound heels, but the memory still leaves its mark." He smirked at me. "Let's just leave it at that."

So then he had his secrets too. I sighed and closed my eyes again. I really was tired. There were so many things I wanted—needed to ask him about. Those questions would just have to wait until morning I guess.