Our favorite place was the farmhouse just outside of town. The family was ran out of there a long time to ago and it was left to fall into destitution. The doors were trying to peel themselves away from the house and follow the broken window to freedom. It was damp, like it just rained inside. The wood would creak under our feet so much that every time I stepped on it, I felt like it would break underneath me.758Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzmz50rDTbZ
Being in the house made me feel closer to him then after a night together. It was his, like I was his. I use to joke with him; saying that he loved the house more than he loved me. He would laugh and pull me down on top of him with a grip on my hips that made a shiver run down my back. "Don't make me choose babe." he would tell me smirking at the blush on my cheeks, admiring his work. "Because I would pick you. Every time."758Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzZum1BYRxd
If we didn't go together, he would be on the couch glaring at the ceiling with the old record player wheezing in the background. Even after a year, he was still territorial about the house. Every time I cracked open the door, he would bolt up from his daydreaming with a snarl that would slowly fade into confusion then remembrance then a grin that made my heart feel like it was growing too much and it was about to split into two.
The couch was anything but comfortable. It felt like laying on railroad tracks. Springs peeked through the cracks between the pillows which were torn open by wild animals. It was too small for us. His legs swung over the sagging arm . But, when I sat there next to him with his arm around my shoulders, squeezing my shoulder to make sure I wasn't a fragment of his imagination, it felt like heaven.
The kitchen looked like a victim. Sometimes things got too much and the kitchen is where he took everything out. The counter was split in nearly two, the chair was missing a leg, the table was just firewood, the stove was somehow pulled out, the cabinets had holes the size of fist through them. I would always be outside, covering my ears whenever I heard the first bone-like crack or the words like fire that did nothing but sting because I was too chilled from fear that he was going to redirect that rage to me again.758Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEq9lXaLXar
I hated going into the bedroom. It only reminded me where it ended and the beast finally snapped off his leash.
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