The Mask Man In The Woods

8.

CHAPTER | EIGHT

I leaned forward and rubbed my chin. My brows were furrowed in concentration. I timidly lifted my hand and then shook my hand, lowering my hand down to my lap.

As I tried to figure out how to trap Tristian in chess, the said devil was pacing around the living room, pausing often to pull out a book and slide it back in.

"You should have practiced before bringing it out." Tristian commented, pulling out Drakon's old science textbook and flipping through the pages.

"I did practice." I said in an almost hushed voice.

Tristian only hummed in respond and leaned on the couch with the book still in his hands. I sighed and decided to move one of my few pawns towards his knight. I slapped my hands on my thighs and Tristian looked over his shoulder for a mere second.

"Move my rook over your bishop." He commended.

I lifted his piece and groaned, thumping my head down on the table. Tristian cleared his throat as if trying to hide his amusement.

"It's not funny." I muttered, my voice muffled.

It had been two weeks since we started hanging out. At first, it was awkward. He didn't seem comfortable sitting anywhere and kept his hands to himself as if afraid to touch anything without permission. We hardly had anything to say and mostly played chess at first.

By the second week, he walked freely around the living room and commented more. Though he didn't ask about my personal life, I often found myself biting my tongue. I knew I shouldn't ask. With just one look, one could have a billion of questions.

But none would be answered. He closed himself off, I noted.

"I was not laughing." He said, closing the book.

I lifted my head up and rested my chin on the table. I nibbled on my bottom lip as Tristian started pacing again.

"Do you want to play another game?" I asked before thinking it through. My mouth snapped shut and my cheeks felt warm.

Tristian didn't seem to sense my regret as he paused in front of a picture of Drakon. "What game?"

I cleared my throat and started putting the pieces away. "It's more of a 'getting to know each other' game. You see, we each ask a set of twenty or so questions about what you want to know about the other player."

Tristian slowly nodded as he went down the line of photographs. "We can ask anything?"

"Well, that depends on how you feel about the question." I said, noticing his posture tense slightly.

"I'm fine with it then. Do you want to start?" He asked, not once turning to look at me.

"Um, sure." I said, caught off guard. I was positively sure he would have rejected my suggestion or made an excuse to leave. "What's your favorite fruit?"

"Apples." He quickly answered. "What is yours?"

"I like cherries. What's your favorite..." I trailed, afraid to ask a very personal question when my eyes landed on the books. "Who's your favorite author?"

"Poe. What is yours?" He moved towards the fireplace, admiring the painting.

"Dr. Seuss."

Tristian looked over his shoulder. "Dr. Seuss?"

I nodded, standing up and putting the chess game away. "I've always liked the rhymes and pictures when my step-papa read it to me."

Tristian slowly nodded, taking a step to the side when I came to stand next to him. "What happened to your father?"