Candy and Addison Axis

This stor is constantly evolving, so I'm not quite sure what to make of it. It follows Candy and Addison's tangled romance, and this isn't even the beginning. It's the middle.
I don't think it really needs a summary, other than it's a story about a boy and a girl and how they manage, somehow, to fall in love and come back (mostly) unscathed.

     Candy crunches an uncooked spaghetti noodle between her molars. The house is too quiet, CNN the only noise punctuating the sullen paper walls: her reclusive father broods sulkily in his room, staring drone-like at the television. Her mother boils the spaghetti and minces celery for salad, humming a little. Now she takes to the piano, playing a hymn, pausing in the awkwardness of a wrong note.

     Candy listens to her sister cracking ice: from far away, it sounds like bones snapping. Sometimes, Candy wishes for a bright new life somewhere away from here, away from CNN and brooding moods, away from doors slamming like the crack of a gun. She washes dishes as her father lectures, when-i-tell-you-to-do-this-i-want-it-done-now, but his words melt away into the even swish of the sponge. He doesn’t say anything else as she puts the plastic glasses on the table. In a way, it’s getting back at him.

   After dinner, Candy picks up the phone and whispers a line or two into the cruddy receiver. She doesn’t have to wait long before Addison pulls up in his rumbling beast of a machine. He doesn’t pull in: “I refuse to drive backwards,” he said haughtily, like a prince of some foreign country, too good for this little town, this little life. Candy slips into the passenger seat; smoke lisps into her ear and coils around her heart. She breathes in the cancer as Addison stubs out his cigarette on the dashboard.

   “So, sugar, where to?”
His crooked, condescending smirk should put her off, but Candy stretches out her legs and leans back.
“Just drive, Addison. Just keep going.”
And they drive, rock music blaring from the speakers. It keeps him happy, and she doesn’t complain. Her bare feet meet the wind as it rushes past the car, saying hello and goodbye too quickly. Outside, a sea of green-gold-blue stretches endlessly along the narrow  road.

   “You can’t keep running forever,” Addison finally says, and Candy silently agrees. But the sun is bright, and he reaches across to hold her hand. There’s a strange peace in the car as he turns, heading back to the place she’s escaping from. He parks blatantly in the street to let her out, opening her door like a gentleman. Like someone else. Candy rises up on her tiptoes and kisses him, reveling in his cigarette smoke and sharp cologne.

   She treads lightly up the driveway, toes caressed by fallen flower petals. Addison raises a hand in parting, biting his lip. Candy waves, closing the front door in contemplation. And the world keeps spinning on its axis, hurtling through space into the unknown.




The End

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