Alpha's Eyes [My One and Only]

[Chapter 7] The Men Between Us

****Leta’s POV

Oh goodness me, I love sleep. Just love it. The comfortable bed. The laying down. The eyes closed. I love it all. And do you want to know what’s weird? 

I always fall asleep the same way: Tummy down. Left leg bent. Right leg straight. Right elbow under my head (which faces the left. Left arm tucked in front of me. Never fails. I have to be in this position to fall asleep. 

The weird part is that I never wake up the same. Sometimes I wake up with a bodily jerk like I had fallen a few feet from the air. When I was little, I’d wake up with a wet bed . . . or wet floor if I had somehow moved to the floor during the night. Sometimes I wake up because I fell to the floor. That was not fun. 

And some days, I wake up like I did today: peacefully. My favorite. My eyes don’t open, but my lips curl into a smile, and I’m suddenly aware of my conscious state. Yet I feel nothing but peace. Just peace.

I don’t know why I tried to make that feeling better (the only place for it to go was down) but nonetheless, I opened my eyes. The first odd thing I noticed was the fact that I was on a bed. Grams only had one bed, and that was in her bedroom. It was, after all, her bed. I sleep on the couch. Which begs the question, what is going on?! 

I shot off the low, surprisingly large bed frame and spun around the tiny room. With my jaw opened, I looked around and slowly began to recognize the room as Gram’s. I think. The closet with a broken door was still across from the double paned window, but the rest of the furniture had been rearranged. A few pieces had been added or removed. The walls remained a light peach, but where had her numerous pictures gone? Why had her rose-colored sheets turned into a purple and black galaxy print? Why were my clothes in her closet? And why-oh-why was I in her bed?

I called out to my Grandmother and my scratchy throat protested. After a few haggard coughs, I pondered my poor bodily state. I rubbed my throat as I calmed down from the hack attack. I gagged at my flesh’s feel. My skin was literally slimy. My hair was using the grimy sweat and oil to stick to my face and neck. My clothes were soiled with grime and odor. I nearly threw up.

I felt like a grouch as I stalked toward the closet. I’m glad I couldn’t see my expression, but I felt like my lips were in a frown so deep that the corners of my lips were drooping off my chin. I assumed Grams wasn’t home. I was going to shower, change, and then figure everything out. I hoped to, anyway. I felt like a troll as my stiff body trudged toward the bathroom, dragging my clothes behind me like a club. The parrots and their cage were missing, and while that should have concerned me, I barely noticed. I was too grumpy to care for the unusual. 

My mood had lightened somewhat beneath the stinging spray of the shower. My long blonde hair felt soft rather than stringy, light rather than greasy. It might have been the fatigue, but my skin looked almost shimmery and glowing. Then again, it might have been the new body scrub I found in the shower with my name on it. My Grams was pretty sweet to buy stuff like that for me. I was definitely going to have to thank her. The sugary scent was most welcoming on this dreary start of a day.

My mind was all over the place as I dressed in my most comfortable purple capri sweats, fuzzy socks, and extra, extra large and fluffy gray sweatshirt. I may not have grown up with much of a home life thanks to my “parents” but these clothes I practically lived in, and they gave me comfort and reassurance when nothing else did. I sighed happily and hugged myself. I liked me, even if no one else did.

“Grams?” I shouted as I left the steamy bathroom. My voice didn’t crack this time, but I still didn’t hear a response from her. In fact, I didn’t hear anything in the house except a click and a beep. Hm, that’s usually the sound the oven makes when it’s turned on. I headed to the kitchen, and before I got close I could smell the cinnamon. To my delight, there was an opened container of cinnamon rolls on the counter and when I peeked inside the oven . . . CINNAMON ROLLS!! Oh, today was going to be a good day. Grams usually never allowed any of this “garbage” in her home. I partially wondered why she changed her mind, and then I realized I didn’t care . . . Well, I didn’t care so long as I got to eat some of the baked goods.