Ella Sullivan is an 18-year-old high school senior with a sharp wit and a penchant for sarcasm. Her life revolves around her close-knit group of friends and the love for her dog. But her world is thrown into disarray when she encounters Ms. Catherin...
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———༺✵༻——— POV Ella ———༺✵༻———
I wake up to the faintest hint of daylight creeping through the curtains, just a sliver of pale gold that seeps into the room, but it's nowhere near enough to chase away the darkness still draped over everything. The cabin, small and tucked away in the woods, feels quiet, like the world is still asleep. It's the kind of morning that begs for more sleep, the perfect excuse to bury yourself deeper into the covers and pretend time doesn't exist. But then there's the insistent, jarring beep of the alarm on the nightstand—a sharp reminder that it's Thursday. A school day.
Groaning softly, I shift beneath the blankets, feeling the warmth of her body next to mine. My feet find hers under the comforter, and even half-asleep, I can't help but smile at the familiar softness of her skin, the way our bodies naturally gravitate toward each other in sleep. She's still out, her breaths slow and steady, like the gentle rhythm of waves lapping at the shore. Her almost golden hair spills across her pillow, a contrast against the pale linens, and I catch myself watching her, feeling that quiet sense of contentment that only comes in these small, stolen moments.
I roll over onto my side, carefully, so as not to wake her, and snake my arm around her waist, pulling her a little closer. The warmth of her is irresistible, and I press my face into the curve of her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her skin, that subtle mix of soap and lavender that always lingers. She stirs at the touch, brow creasing just slightly in that adorable way she always does when she's half-awake, caught between dreams and the pull of consciousness.
"Morning," I whisper softly, my lips brushing her shoulder, barely a breath between us.
"Mmm... morning," she mumbles, voice thick with sleep, her words trailing off like she's slipping back under. Her hand moves, just a little, resting over mine where it's wrapped around her waist, the gesture so instinctive, so natural, it makes my chest ache.
For a long moment, I just lie there, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing, the quiet stillness of the cabin surrounding us. The world outside feels far away—distant, almost like it doesn't exist at all. It's just us here, in this little bubble of warmth and peace, surrounded by trees that have stood watch for centuries. I'm half-tempted to suggest staying like this all day. Maybe we could. Maybe no one would notice.
But then reality seeps back in, just like that sliver of dawn, and I sigh, reluctantly peeling myself away from the comfort of her warmth. I didn't even have anything packed for this trip—but of course, Catherine had thought of everything. She always does. The thought of her making sure I had a toothbrush, clothes, all the essentials I would've forgotten, makes me smile. She's meticulous, careful, always looking out for me in ways I barely think about.
The bed is too cozy, though. The weight of the blankets, the silence, her soft breathing—it all makes it hard to pull myself fully into the day. Maybe if I ask, if I say it just right, we could skip school. Just this once. No one would know, right?
