Perilous Flames [clifford a.u]

chapter nine - our past lives

        CHAPTER NINE - OUR PAST LIVES

        

        It had only been about ten minutes and I've already watched Michael devour about six tacos, including mine.

        Michael and I had stopped by the nearest food place, which just so happened to be a taco joint, once we had arrived in a busy town in Missouri. We hadn't eaten anything for a couple hours, so when we spotted the taco place just by the upcoming corner, Michael didn't hesitate to speed down the road and make a sharp turn into the parking lot.

        We had ordered about a measly ten tacos and Michael managed to eat every one of his and some of mine as well. "Wow," I said, leaning forward and folding my arms on top of one another, "you must either be incredibly hungry or just really love tacos."

        Michael froze mid-way of eating his last taco, and stared at me for a few seconds before putting it down. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and gave me a small smile. "Well, I was really hungry but tacos aren't actually my favorite food." He took a sip of the large soda cup he bought. "Pizza is."

        "Oh really?"

        He nodded and pushed the tray of the now empty taco wrappers aside. ''When I was younger, I use to live in a foster home with ten other kids and my foster parents, they never liked to cook," he began and immediately I felt my throat close at the word foster home. I wanted to stop him, let him know that he didn't have to tell me this, but I couldn't help but keep quiet as he continued his personal story. "Not that they minded cooking, but it's just when they did, there always some kid who never got to eat anything because with eleven kids, food is sure to finish fast. So, they would buy us pizza most of the time. I use to hate it at first, because that's all we would eat. But then, I eventually loved it and till this day, it remains my all time favorite food." He smiled at the memory and looked down at the table beneath him.

        "You didn't have to tell me that," I whispered, my voice suddenly dropping low.

        He looked at me, puzzled. "What do you mean-"

        "I meant," I interrupted him, "You don't have to tell me about your past. If it's too personal for you and not exactly something you are too fond talking about, then you don't have to."

        I expected him to at least agree with what I said, but instead a small smile broke onto his face. "It's not that I'm not 'too fond' talking about it. It's just you did share something extremely personal with me, that I thought it would be only fair to say something like that about myself." He leaned forward as well, putting his arms forward so that his knuckles barely brushed mine. "Plus, it's only you and me on this journey to who know's where, so might as well we do tell some personal things to each other."

        I stared down at the proximity of both of our hands. "You look like you don't mind though-- talking about your foster home."

        He shrugged. "I've been raised in about two foster homes all my life. I never knew parents, but it was okay. I had an amazing foster family and they did care about us a lot. And I was happy at the least. I had Calum as my best friend, we were thinking of starting a band, and I was already think of universities to attend to out of the country. I loved living with my foster family... but then they came."

        A shiver ran down my spine. I knew exactly who 'they' were. "I was outside of the house one night, on the porch steps," he continued, the the smile subsiding from his face, "playing around with my guitar, trying to figure out this melody for this song Calum and I were working on, when Henry and Nick appeared."