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Owen
Iget up after Kelly makes her display about ‘candy’ and find my clothes. I no sooner get them on when she asks, “Aren’t you going to stay for a little while?”
Trent stands up and looks at Kelly. “Hate to fuck and run, but I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow,” he bends down to gather his clothing, slipping into them with ease. Tossing the jumpsuit to Kelly, “Here, you might want this before you leave. Don’t wanna have you catching a chill.”
On her face is a fixed stupor and she's holding her hands up to her sides, shrugging her shoulders. “What gives?”
I stare at her wanting to shout, but I can’t so I take off for my homestead. I can’t fucking believe this, shaking my head as I stomp heavily toward the door of my place. The ground beneath me cringes under the weight of me and my boots, noisily crunching in protest.
The pines at night time rise taller than the other trees, making them seem like gentle giants as they sway in the light breeze. Pine is a scent that does afford me some calming effects, but I’m not certain what it does for anyone else.
The sap is sticky, like this damned mess I find myself in.
Indeed, a sticky situation.
Climbing the stairs to my door, my boots loudly make their presence known as the boards creek under my feet. I unlock the door and toss my keys across the room, missing the counter that I was aiming for.
Oh well.
I start to pace once my boots are off, scratching my head about the previous hour and a half. How Kelly manipulated the whole scenario about me and Trent kissing each other. Why in the hell did I go first?
I guess the bigger question is why?
Why did I like the taste of Trent so much?
Why do I keep thinking about him and not Kelly, or all three of us together?
Why? Why? Why?
I pick up a candle next to me on a table and I throw it as hard as I can down the hall to my bedroom. Definitely hearing the smash of something glass on the wooden floor, I walk the distance to the room and turn the lights on.
Only it didn’t come on.
I grab a flashlight and check the room, seeing the damage I and my anger has done. I step on a few sharp shards of glass and then I see the messed-up candle and the smashed lamp that my grandmother gave me.
Dropping the flashlight to the floor, I flop onto my bed and rub my head furiously, trying against all odds to simmer down. Just fucking great! I always loved that lamp and I’d play with the crystal teardrops hanging from it. My mother packed and sent it to me when she passed away a few years ago.
Never should have thrown that candle.
“Damn it all to hell!” I scream, not caring if anyone hears me. In disgust of myself, I kneel down and start picking up the shards from the floor. Parts of the broken lamp lay on top of the wool rug, so I place them all on there, dumping the entire mess into the trash.
Except the candle. I put it on my night table to remind me about the ills of anger.
Shopping list. One lamp.
Shaking my head, I get to the bathroom to clean the glass and blood off of my feet.
