Captive - FourTris

Forty-Eight

SEPTEMBER 12
1 WEEK, 6 DAYS

After our third date, we go back to Tobias's house. For some absurd reason, I feel nervous. I know his parents might be home. I've never "met the parents" before. Does this mean our relationship is real? That he's officially my boyfriend? Or does this just mean we're hanging out some more?

His house is cute. The lawn is perfectly mowed in diagonal stripes leading up to a red front door. There's a picket fence and everything. It's like the house you'd picture if you thought of the perfect family place, the American Dream.

He smiles at me as I walk up next to him on the curb, and he slips his hand into mine. I love how comfortable we've gotten already. I love how he just holds my hand or slings his arm around my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek. I've never had more than a date or two before. I've never had someone just want to be close to me and I've never been comfortable like this.

We walk up the drive like that, hand in hand, and he pushes open the door.

"Mum?"

The house is quiet. There's no one home.

"Guess she's not here. Want to see my room?"

I nod. I could follow him anywhere.

He leads me through the living room and we turn at the hallway, and then we're walking through a white-paneled door and we're in his room. It has hardwood floors and sliding mirrored doors, and a big bed that seems to take up the entire room, and I'm trying hard to pretend I don't notice it. Why does this feel so weird? Why am I drawn to it right now?

I roll my eyes, careful to be sure Tobias doesn't see my thoughts written all over my face.

"This is great," I say. The room is small and bare, like he's never taken the time to put posters or pictures up.

"Thanks. I know it's not much, but it's mine."

He sits down on the edge of his bed and lies back, staring at the ceiling. I stand there awkwardly until he pats the spot next to him, so I sit on the edge like he did and lie back.

This is surreal. I'm lying on a bed next to him. Fully clothed, my feet still on the ground, but still, sort of crazy.

"Sorry my mum's not here."

"It's okay. No biggie. Where's your... dad?"

God, why did I just ask that? I know his dad is an alcoholic! Why did I just ask that?

"He's been gone a few weeks. They're kind of separated right now."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

His abrupt statement jars me. The room feels heavy. "He's kind of a jerk, and whenever he's gone, life is
just ... so much better. But it won't last. He'll be back once he weasels his way back in. For now, though, it's all good."

"Oh."

"Anyway," he says, laughing. I laugh too. I'm glad he's got a sense of humor. "Want a milkshake?"

I grin. "I think that's the best thing I've heard all day."

And so we spend the rest of the afternoon gorging ourselves on ice cream and waiting for his mum to come home, but she never does. I leave just before curfew, and he is alone when I leave him.