When I awoke, I was alone.
The right side of the bed was cold and the blankets were pushed up. I sat up and my mind whirled in confusion. I glanced out my window and noticed that the steady stream of snow had stopped. The roads were no longer covered with layers of snow, instead sleet had been pushed to the edges and I watched a car drive by.
I glanced at my phone and noticed the time was only eight a.m. He must've left in the early a.m. then. I jumped out of bed with only a tank top and shorts on. It might've snowed outside last night, but inside of the house, it had been quite warm.
I cautiously opened my door and was met with silence. I crept out of my room as anxiety pooled in my stomach. I closed my door and began the long descent down the stairs, my right hand clutched to the railing.
Unlike all the movies or romance novels, when I stepped into the kitchen, there was no one there. There wasn't some guy there that was in the process of making breakfast. He was really gone.
The only trace of him was the velvet box on the table that I had yet to open. There was no scribbled note or even a goodbye. He had just left. I picked up the box and twirled it in my hands before I went back upstairs.
I re-entered my room and placed the box in one of my many dresser drawers. That would have to wait for later. I stumbled over to my bed, discarded items in my way. When I reached my bed, I fell onto it and my eyes closed.
I was half-asleep when I heard the door creak open. I ignored it with the hopes that I would remain in a blissful sleep. Instead, I heard someone clear his or her throat and o reluctantly opened my eyes.
I turned around on the bed and wiped the sleep from my eyes. There stood my mother, her hands firmly on her hips.
"Why did I find a boy in your bed?"
