Impulse Control (ON HOLD)

Chapter 7

I wake up the next morning to the delicious scent of donuts. Rising clumsily and noiselessly from my bed, I peer over at Cleo's. It's empty, so she must be up already. I smile at the thought of that.

Hurriedly changing into a pair of cutoffs and a low-cut tank top, I slip on my slippers and move the door to my bunkhouse, walking right into the kitchen. Cleo is waiting there, reading a book and eating a doughnut.

Quickly, before she notices me standing there, I take a moment to discreetly look at her. Like me, she's wearing cutoffs, but hers are a pretty, creamy white color. Mine are fireball-red, with the peach colored tank top to go with. Cleo is wearing a crop top that exposes her bare skin, and I gulp, trying to tear my eyes away from it.

The images from last night rush back into my mind, mixing with the current picture of Cleo in her belly shirt. My cheeks heat up and my skin prickles ominously. I let my gaze wander to her hair, which is done up in an extremely messy bun. An odd fluttery feeling ignites in my chest, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and thread my fingers through the soft, lustrous strands.

Cleo finally looks up from her book and notices me. I stand quietly as her eyes roll up and down my body, hesitating a moment longer than they should have on my breast area. When she finally peels her gaze from my assets and returns it to my eyes, she says, "Come sit down. There's plenty of donuts."

I sit down across from her, letting my tank top dip downward just a little bit and enjoying the widening of her eyes when she notices. Carefully placing her hands on the tabletop, she looks away as she hands me a doughnut. A glazed twist. My favorite.

I smile at Cleo, a genuine smile that reaches my eyes. She returns it with one of her own, and I marvel at the way her face lights up and seems to sparkle. As if guessing my thoughts, Cleo says, "I like your smile." I grin, my chest bursting with an unnatural pride and confidence. "Thanks. I like yours, too."

As soon as I'm finished eating my doughnut, I look back up at Cleo to ask my next question. "Where are Mom and David? Are they still sleeping?" She shakes her head, a strand of loose hair falling free from her bun. I reach out to fix it, and she watches me with keen interest.

"So where are they?" I ask, returning my hands to my lap. "She told me she was taking him shopping for water shoes." I nod, trying to look indifferent. Inward, I'm cringing. David doesn't mean to act up in public, but when he does, it's always the same: pitying looks, accusing glares. Or, worst, repulsion.

Cleo reaches out and takes my wrist, hauling me off of the dinette. "She said they'd be gone a while, so we've got this place all to ourselves for at least a few hours." My breath catches in my throat as I recall three words of her sentence: All to ourselves. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine, and I turn away from Cleo in order to avoid doing anything that I would regret later.

She follows me to the bunkhouse, flops onto her bed, and says, "So what do you want to do?" I say, "Swim, obviously!" She laughs, a loud, boisterous laugh that reminds me of my younger self. "Hate to break it to you, honey, but there's no way we're going swimming in that."

I look at where she's pointing, and I see that outside the camper, rain is pelting the ground in thick torrents. Lightning slashes through the skies, followed quickly by a loud crash of thunder that shakes our camper. The wind is obviously in very high gusts. I watch nervously as it buffets the trees on the far side of the lake. It brings new light to the term, "dancing in the wind". These trees are, quite literally, dancing in the wind.

I glance over at Cleo again. She's surfing Facebook on her phone, appearing completely calm and unworried. I take a deep breath, returning to staring out the window. My stomach churning, I watch as a piece of wood is lifted aloft by a gust of wind. Ditching the whole "I'm cool with this" act, I spring upon Cleo, unable to keep the panic out of my tone.

"Won't your parents be worried about you being away from them in this? Shouldn't you go home?" She looks up from her phone to stare at me. "No. My parents went home yesterday." I nod, then realize what she said. "Wait. They just packed up and left you here?" She looks at me, a hint of irritation in her troubled blue eyes. "Yeah. They just came up here to help me set up. Then they took the car and ran off, leaving me with the camper and the truck."

"Oh," I say, trying not to take the anger in her voice to heart. Obviously hearing the hurt in my voice, Cleo reaches out, brushing my arm with her hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you." "It's okay," I answer. I want to ask her why she seemed so angry with them, but I don't dare. She hasn't asked nosy questions about my brother's autism, so I won't ask her nosy questions about her relationship with her family.

Shooting me a small, grateful smile, Cleo rises from the bed, shoving her cellphone aside. "We should probably go secure all of the loose items and such," she says. "Do you have a raincoat and boots?" I shake my head. I suppose I should've thought to bring them, but we are at a lake. I hadn't exactly expected to need them.

She sighs and says, "It's okay, then. We'll manage." I nod along, although I'm not so sure myself. All we've got on are cutoffs and tops and flimsy flip-flops. Cleo reaches for my hand and I let her take it. She drags me towards the door and I open it when we get there. Then we both step out into the driving rain.