Trapped... In a cellar, of all places

Two people locked in a cellar.

“Damn!” she cursed, “Bloody door. OPEN!” She banged her fist against the thick wooden door, resulting in nothing more than a grazed knuckle. She turned around in a tight 180 degree circle and slumped to the floor, leaning against the barrier between themselves and freedom.

Meanwhile, he had taken a less violent and more resigned approach to the fortunate/unfortunate situation (depending on how you looked at it). Instead of squandering his energy by trying to accomplish the most impossible of tasks in attempting to break the door down, he had explored the boundaries of the confined cellar. In his circuit he pretended to be searching for an alternative method of departure from the disgustingly dirty and neglected room. He even examined a particularly loose brick in the grey stone wall just in case the old house had a secret passageway. Not that he wanted to escape.

He had been hoping to spend some time alone with her tonight before the inevitable split which was bound to happen since school finally ended the next day, but he’d never imagined that he would get his wish. He had something that he longed to tell her but had been too afraid of rejection to say before now. Since it was probably the last time he would ever see her again, he felt it safe to reveal his secret yearning for her. For years he had been enraptured merely by her presence. And that smile! He couldn’t deny it anymore and felt that she needed to know before it was too late, just in case. Since he had the opportunity, all he required was the courage.

Both had been nominated to traipse down to the cellar to retrieve the secret store of saved spirits and booze that resided there for the party – the host’s parents had no knowledge of this fact of course – when they had been locked in. They knew that the room was virtually sound proof thanks to the tedious tour forced upon them by the fine owner of this majestic mansion, so it was wasted effort to try shouting themselves hoarse.

When she showed no sign of relinquishing her position any time soon, he wordlessly picked a small bottle of Smirnoff Ice out of the bag. He took a bottle opener out of his pocket and wrestled with the top until it landed with a gentle clatter on the cold, hard stone before gesturing for her to take it. She paused and accepted, her eyes conveying her silent thank you since her mouth was preoccupied with taking a sip of the vodka. He uncapped a bottle of his own, slipped the opener back into his pocket and sat down beside her on the floor. When fairly comfortable, he brought the drink to his lips and took a swig.

                “Better?” he queried. His question was answered with a nod and a surrendered sigh.

                “Doesn’t solve the more imminent problem though does it.” Was the reply.

                “Best I can do I’m afraid.”

She chuckled and took another drink. He watched her as she did so and admired her fluid movements and smooth neck that seemed to elongate when she tilted her head back.  He quickly turned away when she brought the bottle down to rest in her lap and stared at the opposing wall.

                A thoughtful passed her face briefly and spoke aloud her thought, “To pass the time; why don’t we play a game?”

                It was his turn to chuckle and he shook his head, “I’m not one for games.” The determined look she displayed amused him further. When he saw she was not giving up, he explained: “I always lose.” She matched his smile.

                “Tough, you got us into this mess so you will be subjected to my will and I want to play a game.”

                A sigh escaped him. “Alright, go on then.” Her features immediately morphed into an expression of triumph at his faux-dejected tone. She knew he was only teasing her; he didn’t mind really. He would do anything for her and she sorely hoped that he never had to act upon those words, he meant too much to her to hurt him.

                “What kind of game?”

                “Truth.” He turned to look at her and saw her notorious smile that oozed mischief – a factor that extended to her eyes, making them sparkle ferociously. His insides did a back-flip and burned. He quickly faced the wall and took another drink, suddenly becoming very self-conscious.


                “Yeah, we take it in turns to ask questions and we both have to answer all questions honestly, you know, stuff like; ‘What was your most embarrassing moment?’ and ‘What song describes you best?’”

                He deliberated for a moment. “Go on then, it seems safe.”

                She beamed, “Me first.” She slipped into a contemplative state for a while in order to find the perfect question, automatically taking a drink while she contemplated. When she deemed the one in her head suitable, she looked back at him. “Do you fancy someone?”

“No.” He blushed, trying to cover his awkwardness with another swig from his bottle and he swore he saw her face fall when he looked at her discreetly out of the corner of his eye, although, when he got a chance to look properly, her features were composed into an expression of mild curiosity.

                “Really? No one?” she asked politely. She paused and was suspicious, “are you sure about that?” The further reddening of his cheeks gave him away. “I knew it! You always were a crap liar, tell me, who is it?”

                “That wasn’t part of the deal; one question, remember?”

                She sighed and set about answering, “I like this one guy. I’m crazy about him. I can’t stop thinking about him, have done for years and I’ve never said anything just in case he doesn’t feel the same way as I do.” She saddened slightly.

                “Why don’t you ask him?”

                She smirked. “Is that your question?”

                “No but answer anyway.”

                “I will but I need to wait until it’s my turn next.”

                It took him a moment to fully comprehend what she had just said. His eyes widened and his breathing quickened, becoming shallow and ragged. “Is it such a shock?” She whispered. He answered by placing his palm on her cheek and leaning in to press his lips to hers. He could taste the relief, pleasure and vodka on her lips. She responded eagerly and drew closer to him, taking his drink from his hand and placing it on the floor beside her own, never once removing herself from the lip-lock. He pulled her closer and she wound her arms around his neck – his going around her waist, crushing her to his chest. For the next few minutes they were blissfully separated from reality and in a world all of their own, where they could fly, climbing ever higher.

                He pulled back to look at her, panting, and saw in her eyes something that he hadn’t dare believe could ever be possible; they smouldered with passion and set him alight, his skin burning wherever it touched her. He couldn’t believe he finally had her.

                “I know it’s not my turn but I’m gonna ask you anyway,” she smiled at him with the smile that melted him from the inside out, “Do you feel the same way about me as I do you?”

                He frowned, “I thought I had already answered that one.” He grinned and she couldn’t resist but kiss him again even more intensely than the first time.



The End

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