The window creaked as the small seventeen year-old pushed it up and crawled through, the digital clock on the desk beside the window reading 3:35 am. Fumbling with his hands on the windowsill, he lost his balance and fell forward, landing flat on his face. A soft grunt escaped his lips as he dragged himself the rest of the way through the window, roughly pulling in a black duffel bag behind him. As he gave another tug the duffel bag got caught on something outside the window. Mumbled cursed words floated into the still night air as he gave one last tug.
A small bump into another object could cause quite the catastrophe if the collision is large enough, but the duffel bag only nudged the corner of the desk. In fact, it couldn't even be considered a nudge. More like slight tap. So it couldn't be the duffel bag that caused its own mayhem.
And hell, it definitely wasn't that the owner of the duffel had put too much strength into the last pull, because he was too tired from the night's previous activities to even change into proper clothing.
As he heard the crash of the digital clock on the hardwood floor, the only thing that ran through his mind was the question of how the bag had gotten stuck. Why, out of all the other times that he had been doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing, did it have to be the one time that he couldn't, under any circumstances, be caught? Had it been some other day, where he hasn't been rushed and had been sporting normal attire, everything would have been fine. But, no. It had to be the one day that he chose to take an extra shift. The one say that he couldn't get dressed in time. The one day that he couldn't catch a cab.
It didn't process in his mind that the door had been opened and that two very disgruntled looking adults had walked in. He was too busy sitting up and looking at his trusty old duffel bag, which had a large rip starting midway and going to the very bottom. He didn't notice when the questions started; he was rising to his knees and glancing out the window. The footsteps didn't register in his mind as the two adults walked up behind him, furious now. His eyes were glued to the piece of black fabric that dangled from the long branch of the demented tree that sat out front the house.
Of course, it had to be the damn tree.
YOU ARE READING
Fabulous
RomanceC. Wilde has always felt good about himself. Whether he was just waking up with bags under his eyes, or completely dolled up for a night out with friends, one thing was for certain: He was awesome. But other people didn't seem to think so. All they...
