Clearing his throat, he turns toward the kitchen and says, “Uh, you can sit on the couch. Do you want water or something?”
“Sure. Water is good.”
I take a seat, suddenly feeling nervous. Not nervous about my safety or anything, but nervous about what to say or do. My thumbs start their journey across my fingertips, and I rearrange my weight around on the couch. Why am I feeling this way?
Jacob brings me a glass of water and then takes a seat in the armchair, looking just as uncomfortable as I feel. The space is already small, but it feels even tinier with his presence.
The sounds of thunder spills through the silence stretching between us, but after a few minutes, I speak up.
“No TV, huh?”
“No.”
“Is that on purpose, or you just haven't gotten around to getting one yet? 'Cause I have two at my place, and you can have one if you want?”
He shifts in his seat. “I don't watch TV.”
“Ah,” I say with a nod. “I noticed that you had a PlayStation on your boat.” His demeanor changes from uncomfortable to annoyed at the memory of me breaking onto his boat, and I raise my hands in front of me. “I am sorry about that whole thing, you know, but I can't change it now.” I shrug. “Anyway, do you still play it?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“What games do you have?”
He does another shift in his seat. “Just the usual teenage shit. Call Of Duty, Battlefield, NBA, and a bunch of other ones. All the older versions, though.”
“Mm,” I hum as if I know what he's talking about. “I always wished I could play video games when I was younger. I'd try to play on those ones they had set up in the electronics department for about two seconds before I was pulled away.”
Jacob leans forward in his chair, seemingly unable to sit still. “You said you came from a prison-type life?”
It's the first real question he has asked about my life, and he actually remembered that I had said that. It causes a weird type of flurry to ignite within me and I want to keep this form of communication open as long as possible.
“Let's just say it wasn't your average upbringing with Stanley and Jaqueline Murdoch as parents.” I throw those names in there to see if there are any signs of recognition from him. But there's nothing. No indication that he's heard of them. “I was given a schedule to follow and was constantly under the spotlight because of my parents.”
My life from before has started to feel more and more like a distant memory with no one ever bringing it up.
He nods. “And you moved here to be out of that spotlight?”
“Yeah.” A small, almost nervous smile hits my lips. “I did.”
“Well, that's good,” he says quietly.
The storm is raging outside. You can hear the rain pounding against the windows, but unlike that first night where I felt at peace watching and listening to it from my back deck, I feel anything butcalm this time. And it all has to do with the man with ocean eyes sitting in the armchair on the other side of the room.
Another lightning strike hits close by just as I go to say something else, and then everything goes black. We're surrounded by nothing but darkness in here.
“The power went out,” I state lamely, pointing out the obvious.
“Yeah.”
I pull out my phone to use as a flashlight but notice that I only have eleven percent battery power left.
“Shit. I'm almost out of power. Do you have a phone? Or a flashlight?”
“My phone is out on the boat. No flashlights.”
“Okay. That's okay . . . We'll just sit here, in the dark, I guess.”
When I had set out to come here tonight, I absolutely did not think that it'd end up like this; us sitting inside his house in the dark while a storm rages outside. And while I know that it's because of the storm, I still feel like the fact that I'm in his home right now means that I've made some progress with him.
