Page 59 of I Dare You
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 becauseIam 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-paintedThe Simpsonscharacters 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.
It never crossed my mind that I was in danger and should probably leave.
“And what does that say about me, then?”I ask, genuinely curious.
He ponders my question.“That you’re special,” he finally replies.
I’m not sure what that means.I’ve never been called special before.“Is that a bad or good thing?”
He chuckles, the low, husky sound soothing me.
“It’s a good thing.”
