Sleeping With the Professor (NOT CONTINUING)

Twenty-One

It was now Friday. The only thing unusual about today, is the fact that I'm alone in Tony's house.

We fell asleep on the couch last night, filling each other in on the past month. Tony's was more exciting but his concern and interest in my well being made my heart yearn for his attention.

This morning I woke up covered with a blanket and a note laying on the table next to the couch. I was startled at first, confused and unnerved by my surroundings. For the last thirty days 8 had woke up to the same walls, the same ceiling, the same scene. Today I woke up to a bright room, full of life and hope. The temperature was just right, I wasn't reaching for another blanket or seeking cooler areas of the house...like the freezer.

The note on the table was delicately scribbled in Tony's handwriting, something I was used to seeing at the end of my essays and assignments. It read:

Lilly,
Sorry I couldn't be there when you woke up. Had to go to class unfortunately. Longing for your presence in the classroom again.

I'm anxiously waiting to read more of your work. I can't help but thrive on your words. I soaked up every last one in your book and it left me wanting more.

So happy to see that you're safe with my own eyes. Hope to see you when I get home and I'm sorry I couldn't say these things in person, I'm just too overcome with emotion about your return.

With Love, Tony

Tears brimmed my eyes for some unknown reason, an emotion that had been foreign to me for the longest time. Residual pain burned in my arm as I remembered the bad times. But somehow Tony made life bearable and left me wanting more for myself and my future.

What I initially thought was a drunken mistake, may just end up being the best decision I've made yet.

—-

I spent my day soaking up the sunlight and fresh air in Tony's backyard. A glass of water and a pen with paper sat on a small table next to me. As ideas and emotions flowed through me, I wrote.

After being inspired and touched by Tony's letter, I decided to start writing again. His words were exactly the motivation and push I was looking for to further my career. My parents didn't understand my love of words.

They grew up on a farm and plan to live on one until death. It was hard for them to send me away to a big city to pursue my dream of writing. I overheard my parents arguing over the fact often, filling me with guilt. After publishing my first book, they barely congratulated me. One small cake from the bakery in our hometown supermarket along with a single card signed by "both" of my parents. The card read, "Congratulations," and was signed "Mom and Dad" in my moms print.

Tony has been one of the only people to support my love for this. And for that, besides any other feelings I may or may not have, I will forever be grateful to him.

I didn't know what I was writing about. But I had pages upon pages of notes and dialogue, characters and plot ideas, before I heard the sound of Tony's truck pulling in. I got up from the chair and walked inside, just as Tony had shut the front door.

He didn't see me at first. Tony slid his shoes off next to the door, hung his jacket on the coat rack, and locked the front door. When he turned around he glanced over me, seeing me, but not really seeing me. Only seconds later did his head snap back in my direction upon realization. His tense stature relaxed and he audibly sighed out loud and walked over to me.

"I'm so glad you stayed." His lips pressed a kiss to my forehead before he embraced me in a quick, but tight hug.

"I'm glad too. I needed a new scene for a little bit." I sighed and starting humming to a song that was stuck in my head.