Hollywood Nights//Jake Kiszka

Eight

You wake up with the sun streaming in your face through the window. You're in a tiny little cabin in the middle of the forest, hours out of the city. Jake's arms are around you, his breath soft against your neck. Last night when you drove up here, you had conversations that felt endless, you felt like you knew each other better than ever before. 

  He stirs beside you. You roll over and touch his face. "Hey, babe," you whisper.

  "Hey," he smiles. "Last night was pretty great,"

  "It was," you smile back. "Honestly, I think I said things to you that I never said out loud before."

  For some reason, with Jake, it's so easy to be honest. Maybe because you haven't known him for long. Maybe because he's been so sweet to you. Whatever it is, you don't want it to end.

  "Is it all true, what you said about your
family?" He looks up at you, with worried eyes.

  You nod and turn away. "Yeah," you barely mutter.

  Your family never understood why you needed to make music so badly that you had to leave home as soon as school was done. You would have left sooner if you could. You needed to leave that dead-end town. Your parents would never forgive you for it, you knew that. They never called. You could still remember the look in your father's eyes when you walked out that door.

  "They just never understood what it was like to be so passionate about something that you feel like you can't survive without being able to pursue it. Do you get that?" You turn back around, looking at him.

  "I totally understand that. Just make sure you never lose that passion. This world is a hard place for passionate people," he sits up and shuffles closer to you.

  "Are you ever gonna tell me how you became so mysterious and wise?" You smile and press your lips to his.

  "Let's just say I've seen a lot and I've experienced a lot. I know what I'm talking about, y/n."

  "And that's why you came to California, right? To get away from all that," you take his hand in yours. 

  "Yeah," he nods, lacing his fingers with yours. "And I met you, which makes it so much better," he kisses your forehead. "I feel like I can be myself with you, y/n. I've never felt that before."

  "You still haven't told me so much about who you really are, though!"

  "I don't have to, to feel like I'm myself with you," he squeezes your hand. "And I'll tell you everything soon, I promise."

  "I sure hope you do," you giggle.

  "I just want to enjoy being with you, before you know who I really am."

  "I already know who you really are, and I really like who that is," you don't say love, though you might just be falling. Which is fucking wild, considering you've barely known him a week. There's no way he could feel the same way, right? But the way he's looking at you now, like he trusts you more than anyone in the world, might be saying something. You wonder what's happened, that he trusts a girl he just met this much already. You don't want whatever this relationship to end, you want to be with this man for a long time, you realize, as you press your lips to his again.