heartstrings

Chapter 23

Evangeline
November 23rd 2017

We entered my room, we still had our shoes on. It's a strange habit we have in my family, one that often baffles guests. My parents believe in the philosophy that a home should be lived in, not just maintained, and that includes tracking in the outside world right to the heart of our living space.

Not in my room.

Here, the rule is different. Shoes off at the door. Not because I'm a clean freak—I'm far from it—but because I despise the feeling of even more dirt and grime accumulating on my floor. I want a small sanctuary where the mess of life doesn't encroach any further than it has to.

The second my shoes are off, I fall onto my mattress, face down, feeling the familiar comfort of my well-worn sheets.

Nic, ever curious and a bit restless, paces around my room, taking in every detail with an almost unnerving intensity. He scans the walls, which are covered in posters of bands I barely listen to anymore, and picks up one of the few books on my shelf. He holds it up, examining the cover.

"'Perks of Being a Wallflower,' huh? Did you read it?" His voice is tinged with genuine curiosity as he flips through the pages.

I shift onto my elbows, propping myself up to see him better. "Yeah, it's one of the few books I've actually finished. Do you like reading?"

He shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling in a gesture of indifference. "I used to, but not so much anymore."

Without further comment, he moves over to the bed and collapses next to me, his presence a comforting weight beside mine. I glance at him, wondering about the stories he has buried in his past.
"What else do you like to do?" I ask, deciding it's better to focus on the present rather than delve into memories that might be painful.

He shrugs again, a noncommittal gesture that only deepens the mystery. "I don't know. I don't do much."

I raise an eyebrow, confused by his answer. "Then how do you spend your free time?"

His green eyes lock onto mine, a piercing gaze that seems to see right through me. He has this uncanny ability to make intense eye contact, and it always leaves me feeling exposed. Yet, there's a natural bond between us, a connection I'm still trying to understand.

He finally speaks, his voice softer, less steady than usual. "Sleep."

A shiver runs down my spine at the simplicity and sadness of his answer. I force a reassuring smile, though my heart aches for him.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and awkward, before I gather the courage to ask the question that's been burning inside me.

"Why did you actually leave school early today? And don't give me that same excuse again."

He hesitates, his fingers fidgeting restlessly, unable to find a place to settle. "My father called me."

I know enough about his strained relationship with his father to understand that this wasn't just a simple call. His father is a topic Nic avoids, a shadow over his life that he rarely discusses.
The confusion must be evident on my face because he continues, his voice devoid of emotion.

"His wife went into labor."

The monotone delivery leaves me uncertain of his true feelings. I sit up straight, needing to see his face clearly.
"I guess that's not a good thing, huh?"

His eyes meet mine again, and I see the pain he's trying to hide. "I don't know how to feel about it yet."

The raw vulnerability in his voice affects me deeply.
I don't know the full story of his family dynamics, but it's clear this news has shaken him. I move closer, maintaining eye contact, closing the distance until I can almost feel his breath on my forehead and hear the rapid beat of his heart.