𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 - 𝐁.𝐄

six - why

•
julia.
•

july 20th.

curiosity piqued my interest ever since claire and i had that conversation over pizza. the idea of someone famous—someone like olivia rodrigo being up here felt too far-fetched, but the mystery was too tempting to ignore. we agreed to snoop through my bedroom window when they were supposed to check in, just to see who it really was. unfortunately, my mom didn't give me access to the ring camera, so we'd have to rely on good old-fashioned spying, merely for claire's interest.

they're scheduled to check in tomorrow morning at 9:45, with the option to arrive no earlier than two hours before. as the anticipation builds, i can't help but feel a little thrill at the thought of uncovering the truth.

this morning, i wake up with a lazy, half-asleep awareness of claire's arm draped limply over my torso, the warmth of her presence anchoring me to the bed. the glare of the early morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light on my eyelids and pulling me gently from sleep.

i glance over to my left and see claire still sleeping soundly, her head nestled toward me in the vast expanse of my king-sized bed. her breath is soft and steady, a gentle rhythm that fills the quiet room. carefully, i lift her arm, which is draped over me like a warm, comforting weight. i move slowly, inching to the side as i replace my body with a pillow, knowing she always needs something to hold onto while she sleeps.

i reach over to my nightstand, fingers brushing against the cool surface as i grab my phone, unplugging it from the charger. the screen lights up, and i check the time. 7:30. way too fucking early for me, but i can't say i didn't expect it. i only got to sleep around 2 in the morning, so i guess five hours isn't too bad.

i slip out of bed, the cool air brushing against my skin as i waltz my way to the bathroom, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. with a quiet click, i shut the door behind me, careful not to wake claire. i lean forward, pressing my hands against the cool surface of the counter, feeling the smooth marble beneath my fingertips.

i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my reflection staring back at me with a tired gaze, my eyes heavy with sleep. i let out a soft sigh, knowing i have to start the day somehow, even if my body is begging for a few more hours of rest.

reaching for my toothbrush, i squeeze a line of toothpaste onto the bristles, the minty scent tickling my nose. the familiar vibration hums against my teeth as i begin brushing, the routine action grounding me as i start to shake off the last remnants of sleep.

after stepping into the shower, the warm water cascading over me, i feel the grogginess that clings to my body shake off. the steam fills the small space, and by the time i finish my skincare and hair care routine, i'm feeling wide awake, though the entire process takes a little over a good hour. as i leave the bathroom, i glance over at claire, still sound asleep, her form barely shifting beneath the covers.

i carefully tiptoe out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click, ensuring not a single sound disturbs her. i make my way downstairs, the house quiet and still, save for the occasional soft creak of the floorboards underneath my feet.

in the kitchen, i set about preparing my famous strawberry oatmeal—famous only in the sense that claire and i think it's pretty good, and i make it often enough that it's become our little tradition.

i start by chopping up fresh strawberries, the sweet scent filling the air as i slice through the bright red fruit. as i work, i hear the soft, almost tentative, footsteps descending the stairs. the pitter-patter of feet grows louder as they approach the kitchen.