Page 35 of Hell House
Yeah, my plan to not get involved with any guys and just focus on school was off to a great start.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Salem
Tiny furious droplets pummel against my thin glass window with a consistent loud pinging, waking me from my dreamless sleep. I was grateful for the reprieve from the nightmare that had been plaguing me since I got here.
I have no classes this morning I realize as I stretch my cold limbs out trying to get circulation to my extremities. I’d slept hard, pinning my arms under my head resulting in a knot at the base of my neck. I tentatively rub the spot, trying to work out the kink.
I still haven’t bought my own blanket, since my mom hasn’t answered any of my phone calls, so Pierce’s stolen red one had to suffice for the meantime. I almost felt bad about depriving him of his blanket but then I remembered his quips at me, and the feeling was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived. He could shiver all night long for all I cared.
I’d spent the night alone. I woke this morning feeling refreshed with a hint of curiosity nagging at me. I’d been living at Hell House for the past two days and had yet to explore anything further than the kitchen and my own bedroom.
I could feel that internal nudging for me to poke around a bit more. One thing I never ignored was my gut feeling. I shrug off the blanket, bracing my limbs for the onslaught of cold air. I hurriedly throw on a donated well-worn Kildale Academy black hoodie complete with the wildcat mascot, as the chill pimples up my bare arms before I’m fully covered. I find a pair of black fleece leggings that Skye leant me and step into them, pulling their warm fabric over my skin. The hoodie hangs loosely around me as I throw my hair up into a ponytail, securing it with a white scrunchie.
There’s a tiny mirror hung up in the corner of my tower that gives me just enough space to see one full eye and eyebrow, sometimes part of my nose if I’m at the right angle. I check to see if I removed all the sleep from my eyes, and from what I can see I got it. I slip on some Converse shoes and tread carefully down the spiral staircase, clutching hard to the rail for balance. Each step bows, creaking with my weight as I creep cautiously. These stairs are long overdue for replacement, I think as my mind conjures up scenarios of me falling through one of these dilapidated steps.
I finally make it down, my hand aching from how hard I was clutching the wooden railing. I shake it out running my thumb across the joints. It’s warmer down here as I walk down the hallway, the vents blowing warm air through my pony as I pass under. I really could use one of those in my room.
I walk to the stairs and continue down the hall, noting the few paintings that line the walls. It feels like a mix between a museum and a haunted house, taking in the opulent gold frames that house each painting. The eyes of the painted figures practically follow me like I’m in a Scooby Doo rerun.
The house is quiet, I note checking the time on my phone. Mid-morning. The guys were probably off to class. I knew Skye probably was off in the art studio working on her latest piece. She’d been obsessing over her art professor’s disapproval. Honestly, I didn’t know what issues her professor saw when she looked at Skye’s work. I was no art expert, but everything Skye had shown me was absolutely amazing.
I trail my fingers along the wall as I walk, following the dust-filled crevice on top of the trim that spans the length of the hallway, intricately carved with floral decals sitting half-way between the floor and ceiling. The dust gathers on my fingertip, sloughing off the smooth wood and drifts slowly to the ground.
My Converse drag lazily along the wood floor as I take in the gothic opulence surrounding me. It makes me feel out of place. Like I should be wearing a ball gown instead of a worn-down hoodie and leggings.
By the time I’m nearing the stairs to the basement after throughly poking around the different levels, I’m feeling ravenous. I wonder if Graham has any food stowed away in the refrigerator, or if the vultures that are my new housemates devoured it all already. I don’t really blame them. Graham can cook as well as a five-star chef.
I debate making my way to the kitchen when a low mournful strumming breaks the silence. I strain my ears, listening to the echo of the song reverberating up the stairs. I can’t seem to place the melody, though it sounds familiar. I decide to pop in a piece of gum to stave off my hunger for the time being and investigate where the song is coming from.
I place my hand on the cool metal rail that lines the wall headed to the basement. It’s dark, but the light from upstairs gives enough of a shine that I can see well enough. The angle of the light makes all the shadows seem elongated, making the stairs to the basement feel ominous. My heart rate picks up. I try to squash this irrational fear. It’s just a basement. I’m an adult, I should be over this ridiculous anxiety over just venturing into a basement.
The music becomes louder the closer to the bottom I get. It’s sadness and anger all wrapped together, and I finally place the notes being strung together asHouse of the Rising Sun,by the Animals.
I step cautiously, the music luring me like a siren’s song. My curiosity drives me forward leading me to a propped open door. Inside are two disheveled full-sized beds, a punching bag and a man plucking at a fire engine red Fender Strat, playing like he was born with this instrument in his hands.
Why in the hell are all the men who live here unbearably hot?
This man is so caught up in his song, that he doesn’t register me standing here like some groupie creep. But he has a leather jacket on with no shirt and I can see every single defined ab. He even has a sexy as fuck scar running across his eyebrow. Kill me now.
As I try to back up, my heel brushes against a stray can of pop and I freeze. The rockstar God in front of me pauses mid rif, the loss of his fingers against the strings creates a fuzzy sharp sound in the amp that grates against my eardrums.
“What are you doing in here?” His voice sends a shiver of hot lava down my spine. It’s all gravely like someone threw a handful of rocks into his voice box- and it just made him ten times hotter. I mean imagine if he came out and sounded like fucking Elmo. Disaster. But thankfully his voice matches his looks.
“I.. uh. I heard the music.” He sets down the guitar, switching off the amp and leans forward on his knees.
“And you would be…?”
“Salem… my um... Dorm room burned down so I’m staying here, up in the tower.” I chide myself for getting all flustered by another hot dude. I missed my vibrator, at least that kept my crazy libido in check… most of the time.
He assesses me for a moment, his eyes dragging down my body in a lazy perusal that has my stomach clenching in a bundle of nerves. “You know how to play?” He asks.
“Oh, no. I wish.”
He tips his chin up at me. “No time like the present.”
My heart stutters. “Are you serious?”
