Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

1 8 ~ R u s t y

Present Day ~ May 13, 2011

I wake up to a cloudy sky. Not a real cloudy sky, but one that is painted on the ceiling. Thanks, Bailey, for that. But no thanks for the other things I wake up to.

"I think she's waking up," I hear Bailey whisper. I roll over and press my face into the pillow.

"It's about time," someone else's voice says. Okay, what the hell? Who's watching me sleep? It's creepy.

I pull the covers over my head, suddenly realizing what's going on. People are here... and I was asleep. They could have gone through my stuff. They could have figured out who I am.

"Who's out there?" I ask, trying to stay hidden.

"Yep. She's up."

"It's Bailey, Sawyer, and Colt," a new voice grumbles.

"Why are you here?" I stay under the blanket. This does not help my paranoia problem.

The last time I woke up to someone watching me... he had gotten his revenge.

"I was painting and they showed up after I told them you crashing here."

So I'm waking up to three strangers watching me sleep...

"Go away, this is creepy," I whine, looking at the light against the white sheets I'm hiding under.

"She was nicer when she was asleep. She looked all cute and innocent," I hear one of the guys say.

Yea, innocent. Ha.

Bailey laughs and I groan. The other voice laughs too.

And then I hear something that makes me break the barrier--or blanket-- between me and them. A strum. A pretty little strum of my guitar, and I'm not the one playing it.

I throw back the blanket and look around.

"Keep painting," Bailey says to one of the guys as she strokes a canvas with her brush. I can't tell what she's working on yet.

The blonde one is covered in white paint, and is prying open a window on the other side of the room, a brush held between his teeth. And in the corner, with his feet up on the window sill, is the one with dark hair. The one from the back of the truck.

And he's holding my guitar.

I walk over and snatch it out of his hands. "Hey!" He starts, but I ignore him as I sit back down on the bed.

"Colt, if you don't finish that wall before noon, the sun isn't going to dry it," Bailey whines and dabs some more paint onto her canvas.

Make friends, I tell myself. Play nice and maybe you'll get some information. Act like a normal teenager, for once.

"Why are you painting the wall white?" I look over at the biggest wall, which used to feature a large mural of flowers. But the blonde one-- Colton, I guess-- is painting over it.

The one who took my guitar glares at me as I mindlessly strum. I stop playing.

"Bailey doesn't like flowers anymore." Colton starts painting again. "So we have to paint if we want to hang out here."

Bailey smiles. "Don't know what I'm going to paint over it next, but I'm sure I'll think of something."

"Then why isn't he working?" I nod my head towards the one in the corner.

"I'm Sawyer," he says, smirking. "I don't paint."

"You're lucky I didn't kick you out when you stayed here," Bailey smirks at him.