Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 9 - Ace

"Let me out here." My eyes fixate on the wooded area around the road, tall thick pine trees creating shadows. They and the disappearing sun work together, creating an early darkness.

"Um. In the middle of nowhere?" New Kid stares at me strangely. I nod, leaving no room for disagreement. He slows the truck down, and I swing myself out before it stops. My feet sink slightly into the ground, the mossy carpet softening my landing. Before I can close the door, Ethan speaks confused, "Do you live near here?" His brows are furrowed, as he observes the forest around us.

"No, but I'll walk from here." The crossroad is not too far away, and, although I am starting to not hate Ethan, I do not want him knowing where I live. Even Lucilia is oblivious to my house's location. My home life is one of the major aspects of my private life, and it is going to remain that way.

"You sure? I don't mind driving you, especially if it keeps me away from my mom a little longer," he mumbles the last part, a scared frown taking residence. I shake my head and motion for him to leave. He hesitates but does as I said, speeding away.

I begin walking, a bitter blast of wind seeping under my clothes. It lifts my jacket, and I tuck it closer to me. The large pines help to block the wind some, but the approaching night worsens the air's temperature.

Turning right at the crossroads, I slowly trek to my house. It is a few miles from where I am now, so I start to run, desiring to get there before complete darkness falls. My breath comes out of my mouth in tiny spurts of fog, quickly vanishing with the wind. I focus on their appearances and the cool air that seeps deeply into my lungs with every breath.

Feet slamming rhythmically, I soar across the gravel road. My long strides detract the distance left until my house. All of my attention is riveted to the shaky ground, loose pebbles threatening my footing. I am accustomed to this terrain, though, so each step is sure and unwavering.

I slow my pace when the off-white two-story farmhouse enters my line of sight. Its wraparound porch with broken railings gets larger as I approach. The railing paint is peeling, revealing the aged wood beneath, and the precarious stairs protest under my weight. The windows, coated in grime and decades-old filth, adds to the rundown feeling given by the building. The door, ruby in color, is the only remaining part of the exterior of the house that looks unaffected by age.

I grip the handle, my knuckles turning white from the force. My stomach churns with distaste of this place and its memories. Pushing open the door, I slide through the entrance, musty air greeting me. I leave the door open and release the golden knob.

Standing at the entrance, I study the living room. The floral print couch with a sinkhole beneath the center cushion is to my right. Little holes decorate the yellow fabric, and a beer stain on the armrest is startlingly clear in the twilight-covered room. The small television set,—antennas included—is on, providing a pathetic light source for an equally pathetic room.

Home sweet home. My wry thoughts cause a twisted smile to form.

I flick the light switch, and muted yellow light illuminates the room and its flaws. I remove my jacket, bypass the couch, and climb the wooden staircase along the left side of the room. It leads to the second floor and to my sanctuary. Arriving at the top, I hear the unmistakable pitter-patter of tiny feet running, and I brace myself.

"Bubba!" Little arms wrap around my calves, and a blonde head of hair lays against my knees. The head bobs up and down excitedly as the little girl it's connected to jumps. "You're 'ome." I smile at her inability to say the 'h' in home yet and scoop the tiny body into my arms.

Peppering kisses over her face, I hold her close. "Of course I'm home, Queenie." She squeals in delight, her chubby freckled cheeks dimpling because of her smile. Our green eyes connect before she wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a slobbery kiss on the cheek.