Regions Of Passion novel Chapter 6

The words sounded ridiculous at the time. She'd been a freshman then, but still a girl of the earth. A girl who trusted in few things but the hard, solid ground her feet were planted on. She hadn't believed the boy when he'd said it, though she had caught him several times prior to that moment staring at her from afar.

Ingrid finished getting dressed. That was how the whole thing had started--with those long, wanting stares. They were the stares of a boy in pain for something sublime that was just out of reach. And him a senior! She hadn't had the heart to turn him away. They started having lunch together in the cafeteria. As always when it came to the friends she had, he did most of the talking, but what had been different that time around was her own sense of amused bafflement at that sudden, strange twist in the otherwise banal goings-on of her life. She'd felt like a girl swept off by a tide.

Trixie Keefer had also been curious. So is he your boyfriend or what? she'd kept asking, clearly delighted by the prospect. I mean holy shit, Ingrid, he's a senior!

Ingrid had no idea how to answer the question. The boy had been watching her for a long time before he'd approached her locker with professions of love-that much she'd been able to figure out on her own. What she hadn't understood at the time (and frankly still didn't) was why she had accepted his extremely awkward--downright clumsy even--method of introducing himself.

I love you.

That had basically been it. Yet for some reason, it had been enough. Ingrid hadn't laughed, the way a lot of other girls would have laughed. She hadn't been afraid either, or put off. She'd instead looked at the strange boy, taking in the forlorn expression on his face up close for the first time. His dusty-colored hair had been disheveled, his clothes the same.

What? she'd asked.

And yes, he had repeated himself: I love you.

There'd been hiccups from that point, of course. The inelegance of his approach all but guaranteed a slow start to their relationship. The boy had been as persistent as he'd been courageous, however, and over a handful of casual dates, Ingrid decided that her answer to Trixie's rather enthusiastic question would be yes. Yes he is.

The sound of Randy's van came through the window. Ingrid's excitement turned cold and broke away like brittle ice. She'd been hoping to slip out of the house without further confrontation. That was likely impossible now.

The living room door that let on the driveway opened, slammed shut. Heavy footsteps pounded, making the whole house tremor. Ingrid grabbed her gym bag and went into the hallway. If she was lucky, she could slip out while Randy was in the kitchen. Her feet were silent. Slight girl that she was, not a single board underneath the hardwood creaked as she passed. She reached the top of the stairs and peered down. The space below was empty. Seconds later the dry, husky sound of Randy's voice drifted from the kitchen.

It was now or never. Stealthy as a fox, Ingrid started down. She would reach the bottom and dash right past the television--Nancy and Randy would hear the door slam, but by then it would be too late for them restrain her. One third of the way down now. Halfway down.

Randy stepped in front of the newel post. He stopped...and looked straight at Ingrid.

"What are you doing?" he barked.

Ingrid began to creep backwards. It wasn't like she had a choice. The man standing at the bottom of the stairs was immense: six feet plus, two hundred and seventy pounds. His round, heavy body blocked the entire passage.

"Mom says you've been disrespectful."

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