Lost Love

Chapter 9

"How I feel about life?" I asked. He nodded, confirming his question. I laughed dryly. "I think life is shit. I mean, it's all planned out for us. We are born, then we only have a certain time to live, before we're gone again" I start. "We don't know how many years we have, so we don't know what we can and can't do. And if you're stuck with over-protective parents, your choices are limited until you're your own person. Which isn't until you leave school and move out. And school's another thing. We're bought up to attend elementary school, then we move to middle school, then to high school. After twelve or thirteen years of schooling, we stress over getting into yet another school, just to learn new things for another four odd years, just to be able to get a job in a career we want to be in, which half the time doesn't happen, and we're stuck with a job we don't want to do. There's no time for adventure. Having a year off isn't enough, in my opinion. People don't go on enough adventures. Between schooling and careers and jobs, then kids and a family, there's no room for any fun. No room for rebelling. There's no time to truly find ourselves" I rant. He sat looking at me intently, studying me. His expression was slightly amused, and adoration. Like at the funeral. "I think life is a bunch of bull. It takes the best ones far too early, and the bad ones far too late" we sat in silence a little longer. "Why is that? Why do they take the best ones first? Why do the crooks and the bad guys get to live longer?" I asked, looking into his eyes. My eyes became blurry with tears. "Why?" I croaked. He sighed.
"I don't know. Life's a bitch. It doesn't only take someone away with death, but it takes someone away from you who's still alive" he paused and looked straight into my eyes. "And in my opinion, that hurts a shit load more" and silence overcame us again. "It hurts more because you know they've moved on with their life, and that you're no longer apart of it. You wake up every morning wishing for nothing but to see them sleeping next to you, or in the kitchen making breakfast, but instead you wake to an empty bed. An empty house. You wake to no one there for you" he looked away and stared at the wall behind the bar.
"What does this say?" I ask, tracing my fingers over the sentence on his side. He shivered as my fingers trailed down his body and I reeled back.
"To the moon and back" he said, whispering. We sat in silence for a while longer before I decided it was time to leave.
"It's 2:30 in the morning. I should go" I said, standing.
"You can stay if you want. Actually, scratch that" he paused and turned his head to me. "You are staying. I'm not having you walk the New York streets alone at 3am" he stood too and walked to the bedroom, where a king bed sat against the wall. He pulled the covers back and got in. I stood in the doorway watching. "Well get in. I'm not going to bite" he joked. I bit my lip nervously and unlaced my boots, turned the light off so we were in pitch black darkness, and undid my jeans before kicking them off. I left my sweater on and got into the bed, Fletcher on the other side away from me.
As I began to drift into a peaceful sleep, I felt him roll over in the bed, and his arm went around my waist and pulled me into him, my back pressed up against his chest. I sighed, inhaling his scent, and fell asleep.