the ex-factor

1.2K 71 28
                                        

the cohen house looked softer at night

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

the cohen house looked softer at night.

the big windows along the front glowed warm against the dark, kitchen lights spilling out over the driveway and onto the hedges like the whole place was exhaling after a long day.

upstairs, savannah lay on her bed with her boots kicked off beside the dresser, laces half undone like she'd peeled them away without ceremony. the brace was gone now. the swelling had faded to a memory. earlier that week the doctor had rotated her ankle in careful, clinical circles and told her she was cleared.

"just ease back into it," he'd said.

she wasn't sure if he'd meant the ankle or her life.

her foot flexed experimentally against the mattress, toes curling into the sheets. it still felt strange to move without thinking first. not painful. just unfamiliar, like her body hadn't caught up to the fact that it was allowed to trust itself again.

the house carried sound upward in layers. a cabinet door closing. sandy's voice drifting from the kitchen. the faint scrape of a chair across tile.

she rolled onto her side and stared at the thin line of light cutting under her door.

the meds were different now.

not dramatic. no sudden brightness or epiphany. just a slow leveling. the sharpest edges of things didn't slice quite as cleanly. she still woke up tired, but not wrecked.

the world felt less like something she had to survive minute by minute.

she pushed herself upright and let her feet fall to the floor, testing her weight before she stood. the first few steps across her room were careful out of habit, then smoother once she remembered she didn't have to compensate anymore. she crossed to the mirror and caught her reflection mid-motion.

she didn't look cured.

she looked like herself. maybe a version that had slept.

her phone sat face down on her desk.

she hadn't heard from jasmine in eight days.

not that she was counting.

the call log still showed the unanswered attempts, each one stacked neatly under the last like a quiet accusation. jasmine had said, call me. even if i don't answer. i listen.

savannah had called.

she didn't know if anyone had been listening.

MATILDA, ryan atwoodStories to obsess over. Discover now