Seeking Haven // s.m.

Twelve

Wren

I'm guilty when I admit to myself that the entire time Dace and I were studying, I couldn't stop thinking of Shawn.

What could he possibly want? Why would he need to see me so urgently? Did something happen? I'm tired of things happening.

Dace pulled into my driveway to drop me off a few hours after our study session first began, and I made an effort to quickly say goodbye and shoot towards the door.

I didn't want to answer any further questions about all the stuff I refuse to tell him about. I don't want to say anything until I find out what Shawn wants. But I had to promise myself that I would not let it go any further than that.

I unlock all four dead bolts and step through the doorway, announcing that I was home loud enough for my parents to hear from whatever room they were in.

"Wren?" I hear my mom yell from her bedroom. I stop at the end of the stairs and furrow my eyebrows, my hand on the wooden railing.

"Yes?" I call in response.

"Come here!"

When I lean through the doorway of her room, she was sitting on the edge of her bed digging through her special manilla folder, which contained all of her important laminated papers that she makes on her computer and then prints off.

"What's up?" I ask curiously.

"Hey," she smiles generously, as best as she could-- it was rare that I see my mother smiling these days. "Did you get the birthday present I left for you?"

"Yup, wore them to work today," I point down at my new black sneakers, which were required for the workplace. Since Mom and Dad were planning an office party on my birthday, they left the wrapped gift on the counter with a note.

"I'm glad you like them," Mom nods her head, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, stained with a brown sugar lip shade.

Sometimes, when I study Mom for long enough, I could see how Haven resembled her. Haven got Mom's eyes, the large, dark circles that lit up every now and then when they were in a good mood. I haven't seen Mom's brighten in three years.

Me, on the other hand, I looked a lot more like my Dad. I had his greenish-grey eyes, small pupils, blank features.

"Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?" I ask her, fiddling with my fingers by my sides.

"No." She shakes her head, motioning for me to sit down on the bed.

"What's going on?"

She takes a deep breath, shifting her body to face mine as she parts her lips to speak carefully, "you have been going out a lot lately, Wren. It's hard to keep track of where you are all the time. I know I've been letting it slide here for a while, but you know how worried I get.."

I laugh lightly, hoping to God she wasn't about to set any more strict boundaries. "You're not going to bring back the 'ole rules, are you?"

She pauses. "Well, no. Those were appropriate years ago, but, you know. You're an adult now, Wren, and I trust that you'll.. "

Her eyebrows furrow, gaze far-off. She seemed as if she was choking on her own words, like when you're about to cry-- but her eyes weren't welling up at all, and her movements stayed still. She made me think of a broken doll.