(I won't develop this into a story. It's just a one-shot.)
“When do you leave?”
I looked over at him. He was staring up at the sky, tracing imaginary shapes with his finger.
“Next week.” I whispered.
A hollow laugh ripped from him. His arm dropped, “Next week. Dammit.”
“Shane…”
“I know, Kyle. I know. It’s not you,” he looked over at me, a rueful smile twisting his lips. “It’s just your parents.”
I found myself smiling back at him, except it was more of a bitter grimace. “I’m 16, Shane. You know I wish I could stay here with you.”
“So stay.”
“You’re barely an adult,” I said.
The smile on Shane’s lips turned humoring, amused. “Only three more weeks until I turn 18.”
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Shane,” I said. My attempt at lightening the mood didn’t work. I could still feel the resentment pricking my eyes.
Shane thought different. He poked me in my stomach. Right where it tickled. A squeak escaped my mouth. Followed by a chuckle as my lips curled. Then I yelped as Shane poked me again.
“Stop it!” I hit him.
“Or what?” Shane poked me a third time.
“I’m gonna murder you.” I lifted myself off, slapping him playfully. He responded, holding my hands away from him and lifting himself over me, grinning. I cried out as the hammock swung dangerously.
“Shane!” I said. “The hammock.”
“It’s fine. But you are not.” Shane drew me in his arms, kissing my forehead. “You’re sad.”
The silence filled the night. I avoided his gaze, knowing I would cry if I met his eyes.
“I can’t believe I met you here.” I said, staring up at the stars.
“In a good or bad way?”
I turned my face in his chest, “Bad. Definitely bad.”
“I’ll spend every second with you until you have to go.” Shane promised. I could feel his breath hitch as he said go.
I said nothing more. And neither did he.
silly. 