Chapter 9 #2
A faded Die Hard movie poster is stuck to the wall, the tattered left-hand corner flapping in the wind.
I smell popcorn.
I hear the excited chatter of patrons waiting in line.
“What movie do you want to see?” says a husky voice behind me.
He doesn’t startle me.
Perhaps I knew he was always there.
With my back still turned, I reply, “I think we missed the last session.”
“I think you may be right.”
I can’t help but laugh.
Gathering my nerves, I turn around and face Kit Rivers.
He wears a white button-up shirt with half the buttons undone, black jeans, and boots. His hair is neatly styled. The silver chain around his neck is simple, but coupled with the rings he wears, and the silver chains around his wrist, he reminds me of Lestat.
Could be because he is nothing but deadly to my health.
He is unabashed as he examines me from head to toe.
I’m in a lavender summer dress and sandals.
My hair is tied back into a low ponytail, and my makeup is light.
My lips are glossed, which is the only effort I put into my appearance.
But as Kit’s beautiful eyes are heavy with desire, I suddenly feel as though I am dressed in attire made solely for him.
When he finally meets my eyes, I lick my lips nervously. “So what happens now?”
His lopsided smirk punches me in the solar plexus. However, when he reaches for my hand and links his fingers through mine, it feels as if a thousand volts of electricity passes through me.
He leads the way toward the double doors.
He lets go of my hand, and I watch with interest as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving two silver tools. He places them into the lock and begins to wiggle them.
“Breaking and entering wasn’t on my bingo card tonight, but que sera, sera.”
Kit chuckles but keeps his eyes focused on picking the lock.
After a few jiggles, something pops, and he arrogantly meets my eyes.
I’m impressed. But I would rather eat my own tongue than admit that to him.
“After you,” he says, pushing the heavy door open.
“And who says chivalry is dead?” I sarcastically say, stepping into the dark, musty foyer.
I can’t see much, but as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can make out where the concession stand once was. I walk toward it, unbothered by the scurrying and scratching, which confirms we’re not alone.
Empty beer bottles litter the counter, and a tin of baked beans serves as an ashtray. Even though the place is run-down, it appears to remain a popular hangout.
The empty popcorn machine sits beside the drinks fountain.
“What does a girl have to do to get a Coke around here?” I mock as Kit stands beside me.
The large windows allow some light in, illuminating this once vibrant place in hues of midnight and the full moon.
“Looks like we have to serve ourselves,” he replies, jumping over the counter, which just adds to his sex appeal.
He reaches for a discarded Coke cup and presses the button on the broken fountain. But he doesn’t allow that to deter him. He waits a few moments before removing the cup from under the fountain and placing a plastic lid on it. He inserts a straw and places it onto the counter.
“Popcorn?”
“Is that even a question?”
He laughs and goes about scooping imaginary popcorn into the red-and-white-striped box.
Once he’s done filling it up, he offers it to me before jumping back over the counter with ease. He places the Coke cup in one hand, and the other, he slips into mine. We casually walk through the foyer, hand in hand.
I’m not afraid of the dark.
I’m also not bothered that he asked to meet in an abandoned theater. If anything, I like that he thought of something so obscure.
The carpet is worn and sticky. The boards where movie posters once sat are now shattered. The ones that remain are scrawled with random quotes, initials in love hearts, and, of course, denote who was once here.
But it only adds to the appeal.
It’s Gothic and spooky.
It’s a place frozen in time.
I like it.
In here, it’s easy to pretend it’s just Kit and me.
The world outside doesn’t exist, and I’m okay with that fact.
The door to theater number five is missing. Kit enters first, pausing in the doorway to examine the room. He doesn’t let go of my hand. It touches me that he stands in front of me, guarding me as he ensures no monsters lurk in the shadows.
In the same breath, however, it saddens me because I am the monster.
“Do you want to go back?” Kit asks, reading my sudden tension as fear.
“And miss the previews?” I drag him into the theater, ignoring my conscience.
With no windows, it’s very dark inside. Kit uses the flashlight on his phone to guide us up the carpeted stairs. The rows are missing most of the chairs. The ones that remain are tattered.
When we get to the back row, I laugh. “Of course you’d sit back here.”
He leads me to two chairs in the middle.
Surprisingly, they don’t look too gross.
I guess that’s because most choose to sit here, regardless of the fact that the cinema is no longer operational.
The back row gives a prime view of the theater.
It also allows some privacy for those who wish to be one with the darkness once the lights are dimmed, not that that’s a factor any longer.
But it seems old habits die hard.
Kit and I sit.
The silence is peaceful.
I wait for him to speak.
“You’re not afraid.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Most would be.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m not most,” I reply, eyes focused on the blank screen. Some very talented artist has spray-painted The Simpsons characters on it.
“I already know that,” he says, surprising me.
“How?”
“Well, you’re here first. And second, you had no issues entering an abandoned building with a stranger.”
He’s right.