January Dreams by Carrigan Richards (best fiction books of all time txt) 📕

leaves and as soon as Vincent hears him back out of the driveway, he grabs me and pulls me into a hug. “That was embarrassing.” He kisses my cheek and walks to the fridge.

“I didn’t know your dad was going to be here.”

“He wanted to meet you.”

“He seems nice.”

“He is. Very understanding. Scrambled?” he asks, holding up eggs.

“Yeah. How long is your suspension?” I lean against the counter and watch him stir the gooey mass of eggs.

“A week.”

“So, you get to sleep in for an entire week? Nice.”

“Doesn’t exactly help my permanent record.”

Well, you should’ve thought about that before you fought, I want to say, but I don’t. He finishes scrambling the eggs and divides them on two plates that already have sausage and biscuits.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

He beams, showing a dimple. “Anytime.”

We sit down at the table and eat while chatting about random things. School, how he’s been dealing with his mom in the hospital, which isn’t too well. He fears for his mom but knows she can overcome it. I hold his hand without saying a word. I know nothing I say can help.

“Is it not good?” he asks, pointing to my half-eaten plate of food.

“I’m not hungry.” And it hurts to swallow. The pain in my throat worsens. My head props against my hand while I lean on the table.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m tired. Not exactly a morning person.”

With a sly smile, he lowers his head to my level. “There’s a bed upstairs you can sleep in.”

I sit up. “I’m okay.” I am not going up there. I know what will happen.

“I’m kidding.” He gently touches my cheek, then moves his hand to my neck and forehead. “You’re burning up.”

I moan.

“Well, I was going to take you to the art museum, but I don’t think you need to be going out.”

“Art museum?”

“Sure. My mom has a photograph there.”

“Wow. What is it?”

He scoots back his chair and leaves the room. A few seconds later, he returns with a thick black frame. The picture inside is a black and white photo of Vincent. His body is shadowed as he walks into a tunnel, but his face is turned toward the camera. His eyes look sorrowful, but he looks sexy.

“I really don’t show people that,” he says, clearing the table.

“Why? It’s beautiful.” I can’t stop looking at it. I’m a fan of black and white photography, and the way she captured him makes me ache.

His shadow covers the picture frame, blocking the overhead light. “Hmm, you think I’m beautiful?”

“Just the picture.” I tease.

“Oh, I see.” He takes the picture frame from my hands and places it on the table. He proceeds to tickle me. I fall back in the chair, but he catches me. Chills run over my body. I feel tired and sluggish. I rest my head against his stomach.

“Come on.” He pulls me to my feet and takes me to a chocolate suede couch. He lowers me down onto it and grabs a handmade afghan, covering me with it. “You should probably go home, really. But I don’t want you to.”

“I don’t want my parents knowing I skipped.”

“They won’t. I worked it out. Besides, your parents are too strict anyway. Do you want me to get you anything?”

I shake my head.

Vincent puts on a movie and crosses back to the couch. He sits in the corner of the L-shaped couch and pulls me to him. “Have you been writing more in the story?”

“Not a lot.”

“Can I show you something?”

“Sure.”

He reaches over and grabs a notebook, opening it. There are pages and pages of text.

“Wow.”

“I’ve been writing, too. Your story is so inspiring, especially right now, and I just find it fun to write. Especially since I’ve nothing better to do in the hospital. I know it’s all fantasy, but it’s something to dream about. Two people who are stuck in a world they can’t escape, but they do what’s necessary to be together. I named the immortal world Arvada.”

I start reading, and I’m amazed with the intricate details of this world that he’s written. Part of me is a bit jealous at the beautiful descriptions. I wish I could have come up with this. He places a pillow in his lap while I rest my head on it. His hand rakes through my hair softly, repetitively and I close my eyes.

I find myself inside a dark and cold room. The bed is lumpy and very uncomfortable. I hear the door unlock and a glowing candle enters the room with a hooded figure.

“You’re safe, now,” the voice whispers.

“W-who are you?” My teeth chatter.

The figure removes the hood revealing his face. I gasp and bring my hands to my mouth. Haggard and drawn, he looks much older than I remember. “Vincent?”

He rushes to me, placing the candleholder on the table next to my bed. “You’re here. You’re here, Megan.” He takes my hands and kisses them. “I’ve missed you terribly.” He hugs me tightly and holds my head between his warm hands. His dark blue eyes are red from tears and he presses his forehead to mine. “I thought I lost you forever.”

“Vincent,” I say as tears well in my eyes. After four months, he has returned from his mission. “You’re back.” I hug him and plant kisses all over his face. My heart swells from the sight of him. I’ve missed him.

He draws back with a stunned look on his face and I see the hurt in his eyes.

“What is it? Why am I in the cellar? When did you return? Why did you think you lost me?”

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” I ask, but something feels wrong. I remember him telling me he had to leave.