"Why do you always avoid my questions?"
"I'm not, it's just that there's nothing to say. Who would ever want to date someone they can't even talk to? It's not rocket science. My eyes are weird, and people get tired of me eventually. There's your on...
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Mathias | Dallas
A SHORT TAXI RIDE AFTER SCHOOL led Dallas to the neighborhood Beckett specified on a scrap of paper. It was like a housing scheme; An infinite amount of closely-located trailers of varying colors lined the pathway that eventually led to the last house in the street, a single blue and white trailer. Dallas glanced at the sheet of paper in her hand once more before taking another look at the number etched into the mailbox.
House #45
The quaint blue and white trailer was backed by a thick canopy of shrubs and elongated trees that ran off into the distance. The tiny home seemed smaller as Dallas approached. The worn floorboards of the steps creaked and groaned as Dallas made her way to the door, trailing the apex of her nails over the rusted handrail to secure her balance just in case the stairs collapsed beneath her. She stared at the plain white door for a moment before lifting her fist and moving it towards the door. She hesitated.
Was this really where Mathias lived? The home seemed so lonely and isolated.
Albeit still uncertain, she brought her knuckles down on the door and knocked thrice. Stepping back, she waited, trepidation seeping into her nerves the longer she lingered there.
Despite mulling over the situation countless times in her head on the way over, she still had no clue what she'd say to Mathias when they saw each other.
A sigh flowed past her lips.
It would be okay.
A second later, the door rattled twice before finally swinging open, and a short, brown-haired woman emerged, rubbing her eyes. Clad in a black pencil skirt and a white button-down top, Dallas assumed the woman was either heading or returning home from work. Semblant to an older, miniature female version of Mathias, Dallas instantly recognized the woman.
"Mathias, you're finally—" she stopped in her tracks, her chocolate brown eyes widening as she laid eyes on Dallas. Her lips parted in surprise and her brows quirked together as she snapped her fingers. "You're that pretty girl! What was your name again?"
Dallas's cheeks warmed at the unanticipated remark. "It's Dallas," she said. "And you're Mrs. Starr, right?"
"It's just Marcella, I told you," Marcella corrected. Her entire body language relaxed for a moment, then became tensed once again as she tentatively held the doorjamb and asked, "And what brings you here today? Is ... Mathias in trouble?" the woman sighed and tiredly rubbed her cheek. "He's been a bit down since he returned from that trip. I'm worried something happened."
Dallas shifted her weight and looked away, avoiding Marcella's gaze as she bit the inside of her cheek.
"It's no trouble," Dallas mumbled, putting Marcella's worries at rest. "I just want to talk to him. Is he here?"
