Categories > Original > Romance > Older Than Me, Younger Than You

Chasing Tongues

by sesshyfanchick 3 Reviews

lick, lick!! :)

Category: Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Romance - Characters:  - Published: 2007/03/21 - Updated: 2007/03/22 - 2620 words

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Yesss....5th chappeh ~claps~
i had a really nice time typin' this one, so enjoy!! and please leave a review for meh ;D i'll be posting art for this story as well cuz i like drawing and i've already drew out what Real and Rey ~laughs at their names~ "might" look like. i'll announce later when i have 'em ready ;D

Chasing Tongues

Ten minutes had passed since he had left me there. I was on the floor, back pressed against the screen door. I didn't care if my clothes got all dirty from the dust, I was too spell-bounded to do anything. I traced my fingers along the wooden floorboards, a thin layer of dust latching on like sticky velvet.

"What kind of name is Real anyway?" I mumbled to myself, trying to find anything to criticize. I was trapped in here, trapped in the house of rot and decay. I looked at the ground, then at my feet. I really didn't want to look anywhere besides the ground and my feet. I was too scared to look up; to look up at the flight of dreary stairs, to stare down the hall all musty and mothy with dark cobwebs. It was as if I were in a horror movie and I were the lonely victim.

I didn't want to stay here all night long; Mom would worry. I never liked to worry her, it made me feel guilty because I always reminded myself that she had done everything in her power to keep me happy over the years. The least I could do was to keep her worry free. Yet, that was going to be a bit difficult now that Real was here. I found myself revolted at the sound of his name, even if I had said it within my mind. Who did he think he was, locking me up in here? My mind was spinning, lost and confused. What was wrong with him?!

My fingers clutched the dense fabric of my jeans. There was no use in staying here, I knew that. What was the point of just sitting here when I could be trying to get myself out of this god forsaken house? I slapped both my palms on the dust caked floor, heaving myself upright. I dusted myself off and brushed a few strands of my brown hair to the side. I shut my eyes then opened them as I looked up. If I was supposed to get anywhere then there was no time to be scared.

I looked about me, the dank darkness filling my vision. It took me a few moments for my eyes to adjust. It was horrible; it looked more disastrous inside than it did on the outside. The walls were peeling, revealing strips of molded and splintered wood. The remaining furniture was moth eaten and dusty, the floorboards weak and unstable. It was so dusty, too dusty. I found myself hacking up on a few loose particles of dust that had mingled in with the air.

My eyes trailed to the stair-case. I quickly averted my eyes elsewhere. There was no way I was nearing near there. Not even for a million bucks. In some of the movies I had seen there was always that one person who looked up a stair case or stared down a dark hallway...usually they always saw something horrifying like a living cadaber or a shrieking ghost of a girl. I thought of the Grudge. I shivered madly and shook my head. I really shouldn't be scaring myself like that. The situation I was in didn't need to get worse.

"A door," I whispered to myself. There had to be an extra door in here somewhere. Like a back door leading from the kitchen to the backyard. Usually a house always had an extra door, I know mine did. My eyes scanned the house for a kitchen, tyring to pick up on any scattered cooking utensils. My eyes alighted with hope when I found what I was looking for.

I headed over towards the kitchen, but halted when I was midway through the living room. I stared at my feet. I was standing on a stain. A huge, red faded stain. My mind clicked into place and I realized I was standing over the blood: the blood that poured from Mr. and Mrs. Anderson's head's. Right next to those brown stains was a small imprint that looked like it could hold a child. I wanted to cry. It was the little boy's imprint, the imprint of his tiny body. I wanted to cry for him, although crying now would make no difference. He was already dead, long gone, his flesh already deteriorating and rotting in a cemetery somewhere.

How could one do something like that? How could you kill your own child? I wouldn't be able to do it, not now or ever. How could you stand to see your flesh and blood writhe and scream from under you as you held a pillow over their head? I shuddered at the thought. I guess people had their reasons. I suppose Mr. Anderson loved his wife so much that he wanted them to be a family always. Death was his answer.

I left the brown spots and the imprint and headed over towards the kitchen. I stepped foot inside the white tiled room. The tiled walls were dirty, the yellow color turning into a musty orange. Some of the tiles were cracked, splintered and broken. There was an open fridgerator, cobwebs hanging from the handle. I bet all the food was as rotten as it could be, it smelled foul enough. I wrinkled my nose and continued on. There wasn't any door. I tried to calm myself as a new wave of panic filtered through my body. It was okay, if there wasn't a door here then there must be another one...somewhere.

I didn't really feel like scouting throughout the whole house in search of a door that might or might not be there but if that's what I had to do then I guess there was no reason to argue with myself.

I stepped out from the kitchen and headed back towards the living room. I halted when I heard a faint clinking sound.

I adjusted my hearing, trying to hear for it again. I turned around sharply when something white fluttered along the corner of my eye. I pressed the palm of my hand over my heart in relief. The curtains, it was just the curtains. I squinted my eyes though because...something wasn't quite right with those curtains. They were tattered, dusty old curtains billowing in the breeze. I supposed that the window was broken. Yet, what made my skin really tingle...was that there was something under them. An outline of a human body. I stiffened, my pulse raising and my nerves growing out of control.

There was someone underneath the curtains.

I was scared, scared beyond reason, and the worse part of it was...that I couldn't do anything. It was as if my shoes were pasted to the ground, my limbs feeling like jelly and unable to move by themselves.

One big gust of air and I gasped.

There he was, Real. His eyes shone magnificently within the dark of the house, his jagged hair billowing with the breeze. He smiled, the white of his teeth blinding me. He looked murderous with his heated stare, as if he were the predator and I the prey.

'What is he doing here?!' I screamed within my mind. Hadn't he locked me in? How did he even get in for that matter, so far I hadn't found any other entrance other than the jammed screen door.

We stood like that for several minutes, both giving each other our best glares. We were challenging each other, trying to see who would make the first move.

"Why're you here?" I asked from across the living room. He did nothing, his gaze merely averting around the walls of the house. He smirked under his bangs.

"Let's play a game," Real said slowly, slyly. I watched as his fingers twiddled with the dirty fabric of the curtains. Was he crazy or something? How could he be thinking of games at a time like this? What game would he wanna' play anyway...the atmosphere was hardly fit.

"I'll be the cat..." he continued. His eyes suddenly fixated upon me, hardening their pointed glare. "...and you be the mouse." His smirk widened and my mouth dropped. That phrase, that overly used phrase...I knew what it meant. The people in scary movies always said it to mess with their victim's mind's. My heart rate quickened. All of a sudden I felt as if I could bolt right out of there...and my legs were more than willing to comply.

And that's what I did. I bolted out of the living room, down the hallway and past the kitchen. I nearly tripped when I heard that he had also ran out of the living room. He was right behind me, hot on my trail. My shoes pounded on the wooden floor resounding in a squeaky croaking sound. I heard him do the same.

I was panting, running as fast as my nine-year-old body could take me. Then I saw them: the stairs! If I could just make it up there, then maybe I could find a door like the bathroom and lock myself in there. I looked behind me.

"Ah!" I screamed. He was so close, too close. I snapped my head back to the front and tried to focus on the staircase. He looked so...venomous. His black eyes were dotted and pointed, his smirk even wider than before. He was enjoying this!

I leapt the stair steps two at a time, trying to desperately to scramble up. I heard him right behind me, his powerful leaps matching my own. I slipped once or twice, but I didn't end up paying the consequences.

I practically skipped with joy as I made it to the final step, yet I didn't stay there for long. I dashed down the dark hallway. Most of the doors were closed, but there were a few that were open and willing to take a new visitor. Yet...I wasn't fast enough.

Two hands wrapped around my waist, yanking me backwards.

"Argh!!" I yelped, slamming into his chest. I kicked and screamed, my fingers scratching at his arms. His grip around my waist tightened even more. It hurt, it hurt so bad that I couldn't bare it, but for some reason the tears didn't come.

I kicked some more, my hands flailing in the air pulling at anything in reach: his clothes, his hair, his arms, even down...there (:3).

I cried out in pain when one of his shoes kicked me in the shin, no doubt to stop me from my jagged defence. My knees buckled in and I went sprawling to the floor. He came along as well.

He landed on top of me, my face planted on the thick carpet of the hallway. His hands quickly shot towards mine, pinning them behind my back. It seemed that I was always in this position now.

I wanted to cry, to voice my emotions through a torrent of tears. That's exactly what I did.

For the first time in my life, my eyes wept. Hot tears were trailing down my cheeks and onto the hallway carpet. I went limp, my head crashing down onto the floor while my legs ceased their wailing and I stopped trying to escape his grip. I just couldn't deal with it anymore, not as if I could escape anyway. The cat had caught the mouse.

I sniffled, my sobs growing harder and uneven. I shivered as they echoed throughout the deserted house. Is that how I sounded when I cried? It was odd, unfamiliar to me. As I said before, I never cried...save for the times when I was a baby. Babies cried for any given reason and I was too young to comprehend anything anyway. I was not an infant anymore but I sure felt like one.

I was seething inside and ready to explode. He made me humiliate myself in front of him. This is what he had wanted and he had it good now that he had obtained it: a broken nine-year-old, crying and pasted onto a dirtied carpet of a rotten house.

I felt his weight shift from atop me. He leaned in near me, his face pressing against my left ear. I sniffled loudly and began to cry again. What was he going to do me now?

"Shhh," he hushed quietly. His hot breath tickled my ear, sending my body sprawling with unrelenting shivers. He sounded so...innocent, as if he had not just chased a child down and practically kicked her down to the floor. I wanted to believe him though, I wanted to believe his tone of voice when he had hushed me. I snapped my eyes shut and shook my head. No, not now or ever. He had officially broken my trust. There was no way I was ever going to go near him again, that is...if I ever made it out of this house well and okay.

My breath hitched in my throat as I felt his hands grip my waist, releasing my wrists from their tight hold. It was even more amazing that I did nothing to try to escape.

He turned me over gently and straddled my waist with his legs. It reminded me of when I first met him face to face, back in his room. I looked up at him through blotchy eyes, still sodden with fresh tears. They trickled down my cheeks, past my neck to pool at the hollow dent of my collar bone. I didn't care anymore if he saw my cry. Nothing mattered right now, absolutely nothing.

My tears were steadier now, not racking out of my eyes when I had first started to cry. I breathed in deeply, trying to regain my sense of calm...although that was going to be a bit hard to find.

I looked up at him, trying to decipher which mood he was in. It was really hard because his eyes were hollow and his smirk had faded away as if it were merely dust in the wind. No expression was portrayed on his face, not his trademark smile nor his mischievous eyes. In my mind, I wondered at his change of emotions. Just a little while ago he was a sadistic little bastard chasing me throughout a suicidal house and now...now he was entirely different. I couldn't understand why. Why was he like this? What was he thinking?

I stiffened as he leaned lower, soon his face merely inches away from mine. I wrinkled my nose as his bangs tickled my cheeks, sticking onto my wet face. He was still void of emotion, his eyes narrow and hollow.

And then he did the unthinkable: a slip of pink and a habitual feeling of wet with wet, he glided along.

Ladies and gentlemen: he had just licked me.

OMG...it's like...the end of the chappeh yo 0-0. as i said up there ~points up~ i had a really fun time typing this one. we just came back from a funeral and the hospital and my cable got turned off..so no internet for me...whoopee D: PRAISE ME jk jk hope you enjoyed it and please leave a review!! ~if ur reading this then my cable and internet got turned back on :)~
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