15 | The Date

A yellow ombre of colour dances across the room from the small collection of candles scattered across the table. Accompanying the flickering glow is the soft hum of Scarlett's voice. I walk deeper into the old diner and watch as Scarlett sways in front of the stove.

She's labouring over a frying pan filled with two pieces of steak. There's an assortment of spices and sauces gathered along the kitchen bench.

The oven alarm pings which makes Scarlett jumps. She puts the metal tongs down in favour of grabbing the oven mittens resting on the oven rail. Scarlett grabs a tray covered with baked potato chips on it. She places it on a wooden block, then swirls around to face me.

"Hi, Pierce," she says.

"How'd you know I was here?" I smile.

"Because you're not so great at creeping around."

I ignore Scarlett's comment, then move to lean against the bench. Scarlett redirects her attention to the frying pan. Her short black dress falls mid-thigh and clings to her body like a snake.

"Do you want some help with something?" I ask.

"Actually, yes. There's a bottle of wine in the fridge. Can you put it on the table with the glasses?"

"Sure." I nod.

I grab the bottle of red from the fridge, then collect the glasses from the counter and place them on the closest table. There's already cutlery and napkins set which makes it easy to guess where we're sitting in the abandoned room.

Cracking the bottle open, I pour the wine into the glasses, then set the bottle down. I look towards the kitchen to see her dishing up.

"What next?" I call out.

"Take a seat because dinner is ready."

I grab a seat and wait for Scarlett to come. When she enters the room, she places the plates on the table and then shuffles into her side of the booth. The plush seating makes her gasp with relief.

"This looks amazing," I compliment.

"Thank you." She smiles. "It's one of the only dishes I know how to cook. Ricky taught me when I first moved here."

"Ricky," I mutter. "You seem to be very close to Ricky."

"Yes." She nods. "He's my only source of family now."

"You've still got me, though." I smile.

"Perhaps."

I take my fork and stab into the juicy piece of steak. The marinade pools into the middle of the plate. I dip the cube of meat into the puddle before taking a bite. The mixture of flavour explodes in my mouth and I grin.

"Good steak." I nod in approval.

"Thanks," she replies.

"So, how was your day?" I inquire.

"Busy." Scarlett shrugs. "Though productive. I spent most of the day running around town setting this up."

"This is amazing, Scarlett, thank you."

"Don't get too excited," she adds. "The best part is yet to come!"

My mind wanders to the possibilities of what's to come next. With Scarlett and this neighbourhood, that could be anything. I'm curious yet excited about the prospects.

Scarlett and I finish dinner and a bottle of red wine. Her cheeks are flushed a vibrant red which compliments her hair.

"Are you ready for desert? I've got chocolate mousse and cake in the fridge."

"If I eat anymore, I might explode." I laugh.

"Everyone has room for chocolate mousse," says Scarlett.

"Not my stomach." I shake my head. "What happens next?"

"Right." Scarlett jumps up.

She grabs my plate and stacks it on hers before collecting the cutlery and wine glasses. Scarlett scrambles into the kitchen and places the dishes into the sink. I expect her to start washing up, but she abandons her posts and trugs towards me.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes." I smile.

Scarlett takes my hand and drags me towards the lobby. We ascend the stairs and walk into our spare room. The door is already unlocked but the room is pitch black. Scarlett and I stand in the room for a brief moment.

Her warm hand still clings to mine which makes my stomach knot. Is this the part where she finally kills me?

"Since we missed out on our pillow fort, I thought we could have it now." The light switches on and I'm blinded by the bright yellow glow. It takes a moment before my eyes adjust and I see the room for its entirety.

The single beds are pushed on either side of the room, leaving a considerably large gap between the beds. There's a numerous amount of sheets strung across the bed with blankets and cushions lining the floor.

"This is pretty fucking amazing." I gasp. "How long did it take to make?"

"A couple of hours." She shrugs.

"Can we go inside it?" I ask.

"Yes." Scarlett smiles.

Scarlett steps towards the mountain of blankets and drops to her knees. She crawls under the sheet and lays on one side of the blanket fort. I follow and take up the other side of the space.

I grab one of the cushions and place it behind my back to ease the hard wall behind me. Once I'm comfortable, Scarlett shuffles closer. Her pea green eyes meet mine before hesitantly resting her face against my chest. It doesn't look comfortable, but she sighs with content.

"Your night tops mine by a landslide," I say.

Scarlett pats my stomach, "Your night was pretty awesome too, even though there wasn't a blanket fort."

"What do we do in pillow forts?" I question.

"We could have a pillow fight, tell scary stories or play a game?"

"A game? What kind of game would you play in here?" Since the space is small and this is a shitty motel, I doubt there's a board game hiding under one of the various cushions.

"How about we ask each other questions?" she offers.

"Sure, I can do that." I nod.

Scarlett sits up, then moves to rest her back against the bed frame. Her head hits the sheet, but the flimsy fort doesn't seem to crumble to pieces.

"What is your lucky number?"

"Sixteen," I reply. "What is your favourite colour?"

A wide smile appears on Scarlett's face, "Red."

"Is that because of your hair?" I laugh.

She shoots me a glare – clear warning I've broken the unspoken rules of this simplistic game. I keep my mouth shut and wait for Scarlett to say something.

"It's my question," she interjects. "Favourite past time?"

"I'm not sure." I shrug. "I enjoy a lot of things."

"Hm, okay then." Scarlett smiles.

"Why do you like pillow forts?"

The smile falls from her freckled face. Her gaze drops to the ground as she fiddles with her fingers.

"I just do." She huffs.

"Drawing," I comment.

"Huh?" Scarlett mutters.

"That's one of my favourite past times." I haven't had the time to draw in a while which makes me miss it. After the accident, my therapist suggested I use some form of creativity to let my emotions out. She expected me to hand her a journey filled with scribbled thoughts but instead, I had a collection of canvas paintings.

They weren't any good and in some cases, the canvas was torn from the pressure of my fist bursting through the material. But they helped to clear the thoughts. The canvas took away the clutter looming within my mind.

I didn't know how to paint a flickering light bulb, so I threw colours onto the canvas. Yellow paint scaring the dark shadows threatening to consume me.

"I used to build a pillow fort when I was younger," she admits. "When my father was on a rampage, I'd hide under the blanket. It never looked like this, but it worked at making me feel safe and warm."

"That's . . ." I'm left speechless. She'd opened up to me and I have nothing to say in reply.

"Yeah, I've got issues."

"We all have them." I shrug.

"None of them mine." Just as she'd open up to me, I see that burst of courage slipping away. Her shoulders sag as she slumps further down the bed frame. I reach across the small space and grab her small hand in mine.

"Let me in," I beg.

"Fine." She pulls away from me in favour of wrapping her arms around her body. "Here's the truth."

"Okay." I nod.

She looks away, her eyes making contact with the wooden paneled wall. My heart races through my chest, my hands sweating with anticipation.

"I was a whore," Scarlett admits. "Not by choice."

Scarlett roughly bites her lip, leaving a small dent in her porcelain skin.

"You're not a whore." I shake my head. "That makes you a victim of sexual assault. You were raped."

"I did nothing." Scarlett's body stiffens. "I let them do it."

Grabbing her arm, I pull Scarlett's body and tug her to my chest. I squeeze her tightly, afraid to let go.

"It's not your fault," I whisper.

"I was a payment," she mutters. "I paid his debt."

"Not anymore," I say. "You're safe and you're here with me."

"Thank you." Her body slumps against mine.

"I'll never let anything happen and neither will Ricky," I explain.

Scarlett pushes her body away from mine, leaning against the wall this time. Her tear stained face looks away as if to hide the emotion playing, but I still see the tears escaping down the length of her cheek.

"He's the one who saved me," she admits. "Because I couldn't save myself."

"What happened?" I ask.

"Ricky arrived at the house to collect money. My father never had money, so he directed Ricky to my room. I expect it; waiting for it to be over. He never came for me. Instead, I watched him throw my clothing into a bag. He took me from that house and brought me here," Scarlett explains.

"He's a good man," I note.

"But I am not good. I'm just a burned for everyone I come across."

"No!" the aggression flies through the air. "Don't ever think that again."

"I can't." Scarlett shakes her head. A new stream of tears trickles down her cheek.

"Your life is worth more than what you think and it will always be like that."

"Maybe." She shrugs.

"Then I'll make it my mission to show you that, Scarlett."

Her mushy pea green eyes look into mine. I expect to see a swirl of tears, even sadness pooling within the depths of her gaze, but I'm surprised to see the look of hope.

Perhaps she believes there's more to herself than the past she carries on her shoulder.

Sorry for the long wait! Here's the next chapter! What do you think about the chapter? Where is your favourite place to go when you're upset?