Inferno

two | the disaster

  WHEN I WAS NINE, our whole family had taken a trip to Africa in the summers.

My parents were especially ecstatic about the jungle safari, and petted a lion like it were their own house cat, who'd curl up on their shoulder. They tried encouraging me to come close as well, but my feet didn't budge, and little Leia stood observing its freakishly long whiskers from a distance. That fear clung onto me and such that I've inadvertently formed a wall around me. Distant from the world, I can't say if it was more the fear of coming face to face with something horrid, or stumbling across a thing so beautiful, it would make me question everything.

I notice the freckles on Chase's angular face, spread out like a constellation of stars, giving him a sense of innocence you'd never find from afar. Although, it only takes a slight turbulence to pull me back to reality, my hands writhing back to myself and my throat unusually dry.

"You burnt my toe," he hops around, making more of a deal than a mild scraping of skin actually is.

"Why did y–how did you walk in on me? The door was supposed to be locked." I look behind him, realising the lock never went all the way to the top. I almost declare it was my bad until our conversation from a few minute ago comes back to me. He thought it was a signal.

"I thought it was a signal." He casually states. "It was, right?"

A frustrated groan, suppressed long enough, echoes in the small space as I long for another cigarette. "I was clearly messing with you. I mean, what made you think I wanted to hook up after you declared me your girlfriend. While I was asleep. Because you wanted a drink." He tries for a response, but comes empty. "Wow, you must think quite highly of yourself to think I'd actually been suggesting that," I scoff.

"Huh. So you're telling me I did not catch you looking at me back at the airport?" Crossing his arms, he leans against the counter, only to slip after another turbulence.

Clown. "I was disgusted by you getting hammered at ten in the morning, that's what it was."

"Oh, but you were staring before that even happened. I know it because I tend to easily get conscious of people's eyes on me. It's a childhood thing, something I am working on with my therapist."

So he knows. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," I attempt to act nonchalant while looking at my feet and trying to caress my beach waves which are tied in a loose bun. Way to go.

"Then I suppose this doesn't make you feel anything." Walking towards me until my back's against the cold counter top, he looks me in the eyes the whole while— no mischief, no flirtatiousness, just looks at me. It's breaking my resolution, but if I look away I'd just prove him right, and that's not happening. It doesn't until there's another shake and I grab onto his shoulders to steady myself. I can feel his biceps, I'm compelled to look, it's not looking good for me.

"Nothing right?" The teasing tone doesn't go by me, and neither does the Captain Morgan on his breath. I pull away immediately, the suddenness of it lingering like a question on his mildly surprised face.

Before he gets the opportunity to ask me, the door rattles once again, gauging his attention. "Something's wrong with this thing," he swings the lock, trying to make it stay and it does keep intact after a few tries, until it comes falling onto the floor. At least now we don't have to worry about it opening on it's own. Or at all.

"Oh my god, we're stuck," Chase tries pushing, pulling, banging the door restlessly while I shout 'moot' in my head. He gets there on his own pretty soon though, huffing and panicking all at the same time when it doesn't budge. "Someone there? We're stuck inside, please help. The door's stuck, please help us," his shaken voice takes me aback, and I figure this is really bothering him if he's not cracking a poor joke about the situation.