Never thought I would like it here

Panic (Chap 2)

I woke up once again, but this time it wasn't on a cold bench or in a dreary hallway. The disorientation hit me as I surveyed my unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly, I realised that I was in the man's apartment from last night, more precisely nestled within his bedroom. It struck me with a pang of guilt to think that he had given up his own bed for me. I carefully extricated myself from his cosy sanctuary, feeling the relief coursing through my bones after a night spent on a real mattress, rather than beneath a bridge or a bench. Glancing down, I noticed that I was still wearing his coat that he offered me. I gently removed it and placed it at the foot of his bed, a silent gesture of gratitude. Stepping towards the front of the room, I pushed open the bedroom door, only to discover that there were only two rooms in his small apartment. The one I had just left, and the remaining living quarters—a spacious yet singular room that served multiple purposes.

"Oh, you're awake!" the young man exclaimed, catching me off guard. "I made

breakfast and coffee." Startled, I quickly composed myself. He headed towards a small kitchen table with two plates of eggs, returning to the kitchen counter to retrieve two cups of coffee. Placing them on the table alongside the eggs, he settled into his chair, waiting for me to join him. I stood near the doorway of his bedroom, hesitant to move. "You know, I don't bite," he quipped with a friendly smile. "I would feel more at ease if you joined me." Slowly, I ventured away from the door frame, my footsteps tentative, until I reached the empty chair and carefully took my seat.

The smell of the coffee and eggs travelled through the air, tempting my senses. Nervousness had momentarily dulled my appetite when I woke up, but as I surveyed the breakfast infront of me, I couldn't help but feel my stomach grumble. It had been so long since I had enjoyed a home-cooked meal that I had nearly forgotten how amazing they could be. I grabbed the fork placed beside my plate and dove in, marvelling at the exquisite taste of the eggs. The first bite nearly melted me into my chair. Enjoying the moment, I took a sip of coffee, finding it sufficient though it couldn't compare to the coffee in Australia. It lacked milk and sugar, but I refrained from complaining. Coffee was coffee.

We sat in companionable silence, preoccupied in our meals. Suddenly, a thought struck me, and I glanced up at the young man who was eating his own plate of eggs. "I never actually asked your name," I confessed. He looked up, meeting my gaze, and replied, "It's Brooks."

"That sounds more like a last name," I remarked, a hint of amusement in my voice. Brooks chuckled and nodded. "Well, what's your name?" he inquired. "I never got the chance to ask after you practically passed out." Heat rushed to my cheeks as I recalled the events of the previous night. "It's Rene," I revealed, lowering my gaze to the eggs on my plate, suddenly

finding them incredibly fascinating. Anything to avoid making eye contact with Brooks.

He laughed, his joviality putting me at ease. "It's okay. I was the one who offered you a place to sleep." I finished my eggs, taking a sip of my coffee. My eyes roamed around the apartment once more, taking in its compactness and somewhat unkempt appearance. In one corner stood a shower, separated from the rest of the room by a thin curtain, while a small room at the far end indicated the signs of a toilet. The walls were adorned with a depressing shade of grey, and the floor cold, unyielding concrete. The only vibrant elements were a small rug and a potted plant gracing the centre of the coffee table. Sensing Brooks's gaze upon me, I turned to face him, waiting for him to say something. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Raising an eyebrow inquisitively, I silently urged him to share what was on his mind. Finally, he gathered his thoughts and blurted out, "Why were you sleeping on a bench? Were you running away from something?" I couldn't help but smile at the irony of his question.

"Actually, yes," I responded, his surprise evident in his eyes. "There was this creep who tried to steal from me." Pausing for a moment, I added, "He was bigger and stronger, but his size worked against him. I managed to land a well-aimed knee to a sensitive area and sprinted away as fast as I could." Taking a sip of my coffee, I observed Brooks as he sat there, utterly stunned by the confession I had just shared.

"Okay, well, after that emotional exchange, do you think it's a good idea to let your parents know you're here?" he asks, still recovering from our earlier conversation. "Just to make sure they know you're safe." A wave of sadness washes over me, and I shake my head slowly in response.

"No," I reply softly, my voice barely audible. "I don't need to call anyone. I'm on my own." Instantly, Brooks is overcome with guilt and tries to apologise, but I stop him before he can utter a word. "Don't feel sorry. I'm actually okay being by myself. It's better than living with my father. He's the reason I ended up in America." Brooks falls silent, processing this new information. "To be blunt, I'm homeless. My father practically kicked me out after my mother died, which was only a few months ago." I stare down at my coffee cup, avoiding eye contact with Brooks. I don't want to see that pity in his eyes—the same pity everyone gives when you confess that you've been kicked out and your mother is dead. It's a look as if they're gazing at a wounded puppy. I despise that look.

"My condolences for your loss," Brooks says after a brief pause. Without hesitation, I rise from my seat, placing the coffee cup on the table and hastily wiping away the tears that have emerged like an unexpected ambush on my cheeks. I'm not sure what I'm doing, but it feels like the walls are closing in on me. My vision blurs, and black spots dance before my eyes. I sprint towards the exit, Brooks calling after me, but his voice fades into the distance. My chest tightens, suffocating me. I keep running until I reach the door leading to the street, where the frosty air slams into my body like a freight train. More tears well up in my eyes, and this time, I don't try to hold them back. My shaky hand fails to rise and wipe them away. The ground and trees are dusted with white frost, and the cacophony of car horns and sirens becomes deafening, threatening to bury me.

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I flinch at the unexpected touch. I find myself facing Brooks, although I can't recall turning around. His voice finally registers in my foggy mind, urging me to breathe. My thoughts lag behind, but he repeats his instruction, and this time, it sinks in. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Good. Now I need you to do it again," he instructs, and I compliantly take another breath, expanding my lungs to their full capacity.

Gradually, my breathing returns to normal, and a sense of calm washes over me. "Now, do you want to go back inside and explain what just happened? It's freezing out here," he suggests, holding his arms close to his chest, his words escaping as visible puffs in the chilly air. I release a shaky sigh, watching my breath dissipate. Nodding in agreement, we turn and make our way back inside.

AN: Here is chapter 2 of "Never though I would like it here" (Should have picked a shorter name) I hope you like it. And if you'd like give me some feedback on whether I should make any changes. :)