Eighteen year-old Zach Curtis has lost everything: his girlfriend, his job and his scholarship. Nothing in the world matters anymore, until he receives a rude awakening from a stranger.
Petite and awkward, Terra Quinn is living the life with her bes...
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– Terra –
I carry a box full of decorative materials and stumble my way home. The last favor that Kelly asked from me was to create a banner for the party this weekend, giving the excuse that they aren't 'artsy enough' to get the job done.
I'm barely artsy as well, but I know someone who is.
Panting, I set the box down as I reach for my keys in the side pockets of my bag. It's a quarter pass nine. Abby should be home a long time ago. I hear a click when I unlock the door, gently pushing it open with my feet while I lift the brown crate off the ground again with my two hands.
The apartment is dark with just a hint of light shining through the window. Everything is just like how I left it this morning. Did Abby not return at all?
I shut the front door and flick a random switch on. A lamp lights up, bright enough for me to see my surroundings. I put the box away at the corner, making sure that it wouldn't be an obstacle I'll trip on again later on, then I hear something.
My limbs are frozen on the spot as I try to make out the small sound that seems to be coming from Abby's room. I stay still for a little longer, unsure if I'm hearing it right. It sounds like Abby, and it sounds like her crying.
I make my way quietly towards the direction of the sound, cupping my ears against her bedroom door. I can hear her clearer now, her muffled sniffs and quiet whimpers.
She really is crying.
I swallow, unsure of what to do next. Despite her being a rather emotional person, I've only ever seen her cry twice. The first would be when she broke up with her first boyfriend three years ago, the second was when we left home for college, saying goodbye to our parents. In both cases, I knew exactly what to say and what to do because I was prepared, but this time, my mind draws a blank.
Should I knock on her door, ask her what's wrong, or should I leave her be and ask her later when she has calmed down?
I try to think in Abby's shoes. If she saw me crying, she would've barged in the first thing without thinking at all. Her priority would be to make sure I'm okay, even if she is intruding. Why can't I be the same kind of friend to her?
I place my hands on the cold door knob, taking a deep breath as I knock twice on the door with my small knuckles. Her sobs come to an abrupt halt upon hearing me.
Hesitantly, I push the door open with a slight creak, seeing my own slender shadow forming by the lights behind me when I peer in. She sits on the floor beside her bed, hugging her knees tightly against her chest. Her body quivers with each sob as she frantically tries to wipe the tears off her face.
I open the door wider this time, wide enough for me to slip in. My footsteps are almost soundless against the ground by the socks that I forgot to remove and I inch closer towards her. We're two feet apart now. I should start speaking.
