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"Baby Come Home" -The Neighbourhood
July 12th, 2006 12:19pm
The bustling little restaurant was packed, as it usually is this time around lunch. A laugh left your lips as Amy mentioned an embarrassing memory from her childhood.
You take a sip of your drink as chattering emits from the booth you sat in, Sarah speaking up next.
"I think I pissed myself once in like, kindergarten. Possibly the most single-handedly embarrassing thing I've gone through that wasn't taking speech in high school." She shuddered at the thought, receiving a loud laugh from Amy.
"I once fucked up a trumpet solo when I was in marching band at state championships" Alex laughed, taking a sip of his own drink.
"Yikes." You laugh, taking a bite of the appetizers that Sarah had ordered previously. Amy wanted to eat out with Alex, but she wanted more people to come along so she dragged you and Sarah to the restaurant.
"I actually have a scar, like right here from a firework blowing up in my hand on New Years one year." You hovered your hand over the table, everyone getting a good look at the small burn scar from years ago. "Brian was there and he never lets it go."
"As he should."
March 16th, 2011 6:32am
Your head ached as you sat up from your bed, a yawn leaving your lips. Your room felt rather cold, chill bumps littering your arms. You reached for a hoodie that sat on your desk chair, throwing it over your head.
Your hand grasped your temple, letting out a small groan of pain.
"I need a Tylenol.." You muttered to yourself as you threw your feet over the side of the bed, feet walking across the wooden floors to your bedroom door.
You creaked it open, the house dark as you navigated your way to the bathroom sink. You opened the cabinet with medicine in it, popping a few Tylenol tablets before putting the bottle back.
You headed back to bed, though something caught your eye before you could get comfortable.
A sticky note.
You reached for the bright yellow post-it note, your fingers lingering on it as you scanned the words.
'Get better soon'
An expression of confusion washed over you as you reread the message a billion times, a drawn-on frown accompanied with the writing.
It almost felt like it was mocking you.
You could recognize the handwriting easily.
It's been on every other sticky note that has entered this house. You don't even own sticky notes, let alone yellow ones.
You took the note and placed it in the top drawer of your nightstand, frankly too tired to deal with any of this.
Your eyes made their way to your window—slightly cracked open. You whipped your head around, the silhouette of a man standing there almost let out a loud yell from you.
A frown.
Your breath was heavy as you pushed yourself back, farther away from the man, your mouth slightly agape.
He placed a finger over his lips before you could shout a word.
"Who—who the fuck are you..?" Your words trembled as you spoke, fear consuming you as your eyes never left him.
Though, he didn't speak. Only stared.
He didn't hurt you, but you couldn't tell what his intentions were. He took a step towards you, pulling out something from his pocket.
You flinched before realizing it was another previously written sticky note. He stretched his arm out towards you—handing it to you.
Your eyes flickered between him and the note for a few seconds before hesitantly taking it from his gloved hand, your hands brushing ever so slightly as you took it.
You scanned the note, internalizing the words that inhabited it.
'I'm not going to hurt you.'
You stayed quiet. He seemed to realized this, taking out another sticky from his pocket, writing another note. This time he simply placed the note on the bed in front of you.
'Go look on the kitchen counter'
He moved towards your window as you read the note, stepping out of the windowsill onto the grass—closing it gently before leaving into the darkness.
You hesitantly placed the note down before getting off the bed to head to the kitchen. Your feet guided you throughout the slightly lighter house, your eyes searching for the counter.
A cup of coffee sat on the counter in what you considered your favorite mug. You hesitantly gripped onto the glass, taking a slow sip.
