Little Miss Nosy

Chapter Eighteen: Goodbye & Hello Again

- Edited -

Logan haunted me in every dream I had last night. His scent, his touch, his mere presence set off an alarm every time a piece of him materialized. So when I start to come to and the first thing I feel is a heavy weight on top of me, I thrash my limbs around, pushing it and the suffocating pit of dread away before I shoot up and realize where I am.

A bedroom.

But not my bedroom. "What the-" I gasp, panicking once again before I catch sight of a lanyard on the bedside table. It reads, 'Ashton Brooks.' Only then can I breathe, and look down to find the weight kicked off was a fluffy comforter. I run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to jog my memory of ending up here this morning, but the last thing that comes to mind is Ashton's side profile as he drove me somewhere safe.

I catch a note next to the lanyard upon second glance: 'out for pancakes. brb'

I'm in his room.

Holy moly I'm in his room!

Unsurprisingly, it's very minimalistic. Nothing on the walls but dark blue paint; his signature color. White curtains are tied back to filter in sunlight coating the plush white carpet. I let out a low whistle as I take in the corner, adorned with a flatscreen mounted to the wall across from a sofa. Video games are stacked neatly in the built-in cabinets with an Xbox sitting behind glass underneath the television.

If Ashton's sneaker collection wasn't a sign of his parent's wealth, this setup certainly is.

A dog's bark brings me out of my trance. I jump, using the comforter as a shield as I watch the door for any sign a dog will try to break it down. "Good afternoon to you too, Cookie." Sabrina.

A pair of footsteps echo down the hall. I sprint to the window and find Sabrina walking down the pathway. She's wearing the same tube top and jean combo from yesterday, except her hair is tied back in a high ponytail. She's at her car before she stops and looks up. She catches me staring and offers a small sympathetic smile before getting in and taking off down the road.

I sigh and step away from the blinds. I know that sympathy look all too well.

I resume my self-guided tour around Ashton's bedroom to shake off the bad thoughts. Everything is pristine. Nothing seems thrown haphazardly on his desk besides a few college brochures. I purse my lips. Looking through brochures won't hurt anything. I take the stack and almost choke on air as I read the bold printed names.

"Harvard...Stanford...Yale?" Each brochure has an application deadline taped to it, with both Harvard and Yale marked as complete. An organized system of pens, pencils, sticky notes and paper clips line the wall. A pile of stacked textbooks on the corner, some of which I recognize from the classes we share. I'm tempted to pull open the little drawer and see what he's got in there—letters from unrequited secret admirers, perhaps?—but opt against it as that may be too nosy.

I move to the bookcase that houses a plethora of hardbacks; the genre not varying much as they're mostly thriller, mystery or classical. A small fake plant and decorative bookends are scattered on each shelf. One door grants me access to a walk-in closet where I'm greeted by a line of sneakers. There's a half empty clothes bin next to another door. A quick look inside reveals a gray tile bathroom—the picture perfect model for an IKEA set. I close the door and double back to the window. "Who are you, Ashton?"

Speaking of, his car parks in the driveway not two minutes later. He hops out with a few grocery bags in tow. The front door opens, Cookie barks, footsteps echo in the hall, and then...knock knock. "Paige? You awake?"

"Yes."

"Can I come in?"

"...Yes?" It is his room, after all.