9

american graffiti - waterparks

"maybe the world was made in six days, but i could ruin mine by monday"

I was kissing Nate Macauley, and somehow that was the least strange thing that had happened to me that night.

His lips were chapped; clearly, he didn't take care of them, but I didn't mind. His hands securely held my waist, his head tilted to the side at the perfect angle. After I recovered from my moment of shock, my hands had flown up to tangle in his hair, the boy letting out a breathy moan as I tugged on his blonde locks.

Nate Macauley was intoxicating.

"Nate..." I breathed out as he pulled away. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I really like you, Charis. And with everything that's happened tonight, I was scared that I would never get the chance."

"Then fuck the Indy 500 and kiss me again." I almost growled, stopping myself from clambering into his lap.

It was stupid to try and ignore what I was trying to not feel for Nate. He made me feel something that I didn't think I could feel again after Jeremy. After Simon had warped the story through AboutThat so many times that it made me feel dirty, used and unlovable. Nate saw something in me that I wasn't even too sure that I saw myself, but I wanted him to show me that side of myself; to love me.

To convince me that everything my mind convinced me about was a lie.

And I really fucking liked him too.

He pushed me backwards, my back hitting the cushions on the couch as Nate slotted his body between my legs, his weight comforting on top of me, his lips trailing down my neck as Marcus Ericsson took the race lead on the television screen in front of us.

"Nate." I breathed, back arching into him as he found the most sensitive part of my neck, taking it between his lips.

"You have no idea how many times I've thought about doing this." He mumbled, his lips dancing back up to my jawline. "I never thought it could work, you know? Sweet little Charis Forrester would never date a guy like me."

"I guess you were wrong." I said, guiding his face back up to mine so I could look him in the eyes. "You're the first person to make me feel anything since Jeremy."

Nate's gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face. "I really didn't want to rush this, Charis. Believe me."

"I know. I don't either. But if this is our last night on earth, I don't want to waste it, Macauley."

I leaned in to kiss him again when we heard the shouts and the crash. Mrs. Staedtler's car alarm blared through the neighbourhood, starling me and Nate so much so that we fell off the couch. I lunged for the TV remote, turning off the race as Nate shut off the lights and we both ducked down behind the couch.

Nate held me close, my face hidden in his chest. "How did they find us?"

"I don't know. They must have followed us. Fuck!" Nate cursed. "we have to get out of here, Charis. If we want any chance of surviving, you need to stay strong for me. Can you do that?'

"I think so." My voice came out shaky as I nodded my head, putting all of my trust in Nate as a gunshot rang out.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" A voice carried over the air outside. "We have you surrounded, kiddos! There's nowhere to run."

"We go up, not out."

I shook my head. "That never works in horror movies."

"I have an idea." Nate insisted, getting to his feet and pulling me up with him. "But I need you to trust me."

My senses were overload, anxiety kicked into overdrive as Nate and I ran, our shoes pounding against the carpeting on the stairs leading back up the second floor of the house. We had just gotten to the top landing when we heard the door crash inwards, and it took everything in me not to scream or cry.

"This way!" Nate hissed, guiding me towards the master bedroom.

We slipped into the Staedtler's room, trying our best to be quiet as he forced the window open. I had other plans, darting straight for the walk in closet, trying to find an adequate hiding place among Pastor Staedtler's Hawaiian shirts and graphic tees with shitty Jesus puns.

"Charis, what are you doing?"

"Finding somewhere to hide. Is it not obvious?" I said in a tone I hoped conveyed the slightest bit of confidence as I tried not to listen to the goons downstairs.

I could picture themin the kitchen, tracking mud across the marble floors, yanking open thepristine white pantry doors and shoving aside Mama Staedtler's treasured masonjars filled with flour, sugar, marzipan and all of her other, better keptbaking secrets.

"We can't hide, Charis." For the first time, I thought I could hear fear in Nate Macauley's voice. But somehow, I understood his newfound terror: now he had something to lose.

Now he had me to lose.

"So, what do we do?"

"We only have one option." He looked towards the window.

Through the open window, I could see the slopes of the shingles on the townhouse roof, hear the blaring of the car alarm and the confused shouts of people who had emerged from the surrounding houses to see what was happening. I had no doubt that we'd be hearing police sirens any time now.

But we'd be dead before the cops got here. We couldn't wait around.

"You have got to be shitting me." I groaned as I realised what all of this meant. How close the neighbouring house was to the one we were at.

Nate grabbed my shoulders, looking into my eyes in what should have been reassuring. Something so casual as if we were talking about sexual boundaries before making it to the bed, or if we were discussing what to make for dinner.

Not something that was a matter of life and death.

"Charis." He said softly. "Even if you fall off the roof, there's a chance at survival. If these guys find us, you're dead for sure."

"Then you'd better not let me fall."