How the Cold Hearts Beat [HS]

Chapter One

“Good evening, honey.”

“Good evening, Mom,” I said as I stepped, finally relieved from the night’s stress, into our apartment. “Is George sleeping?”

“In the bedroom. Don’t wake him,” my mother warned.

I threw my umbrella—now fixed, fortunately—on the table near the front door. “I wasn’t planning to.”

It has been a week since that day, but I haven’t been able to get over it for some reason. I never saw the guy again, which must mean he wasn’t—and won’t be—working with us, so the events from that night shouldn’t have bothered me as much by now. But they were.

“It’s ten o’clock in the evening. Where have you been out so late?” Mom asked.

I shrugged. “It’s not that late. I was out with Lana and this guy named Zach.” My mothers eyebrows raised at his name. I circled around the counter so I could give my mom a peck on the cheek. She’s preparing her lunch for tomorrow, and the water inside the pot on the stove has started to boil violently. “I’m going to go take a shower, and then I’ll help you.”

“No, it’s fine,” my mother said, half laughing. “I’m almost done. Just clean up and go to bed. You look exhausted.”

I smiled and squeezed my mother’s hand before I left the kitchen.

I walked into my room—I shared it with my mother sometimes, when George’s snoring got too loud and she decided she wanted to slip into bed with me. I never had a problem with it, since she’s my mom, and since I rather have her get her sleep in my bed than not get it all. Except, sometimes, like tonight, I hope George’s snoring doesn’t wake her.

I have things to do.

I never really snuck out, and it was usually because I had no need to. I was seventeen, and my mother usually trusted me throughout the day—sometimes even restraining herself from calling when I was out late, which I often took for granted but then highly appreciated at the same time. And I never was late out much anyways, not being the type of person to want to grind against someone in a club or go to house parties where alcohol was the main attractive or hang with “friends” inside their beat-up, still-recovering-from-that-flood-that-one-time basements doing who knows what kind of drugs. No, I was more of a “glow-in-the-dark bowling party ‘till eight? Count me in!” type of person, and Lana and Amy—who I’ve managed to remain friends with because of our summer jobs as lifeguards—understood that perfectly.

My phone buzzed in the back pocket of my jeans. I took it out and swiped at the screen—it was from Zach.

ZACH: Can’t wait to meet up again. Nice talking to you. Thnx for the number. See you in an hour?

I smiled but ignored the message. Zach was a nice guy. He was still a junior, but technically, we were still the same age even though I already graduated from high school. He was tall, with his childhood red hair weaning out into a darker, browner shade, and he had freckles. Lots of them. They were scattered all across his face, his arms, and even a few on his hands. His eyes were really, really blue. So blue, that when his pupils shrunk, they also almost disappeared. He was an open book the minute Lana reunited us. We had known each other since I was a freshman and he was in the eighth grade, but that was pretty much it; glances in between classes, or classes we had shared in general, were the only connections we had with each other.

I texted Lana:

Will Zach be at the party?

It hurt to type the word “party”—it was ironic that I was going to find myself in one of the places were I felt most uncomfortable, but I felt like seventeen was a good time to start being social. Shortly after—as soon as I had started undressing—Lana replied:

LANA: Yeah but u aren’t into him haha

I replied with an emoji, because there really wasn’t any other way for me to elaborate farther, and she picked up the hint anyways.

I went to take my shower, which I kept quick so as to save some of the hot water for my mother. Then, I started doing something I usually don’t do after a shower. Instead of dressing in my PJs and plummeting into bed like usual, I focused on my hair. Then on my face. I plucked my eyebrows, which I still hadn’t done even after that day, and I curled my lashes to save time for later. I waxed above my upper lip, I put on deodorant, I put lotion on my kneecaps, legs, and elbows. I put some of that roll-on perfume on my neck.

Lana hadn’t texted me back yet, which was both surprising and different. I checked the time: almost eleven.

“Honey,” my mother said, briefly after knocking on the door to my room.

“Yeah,” I called out nervously. I hadn’t meant for it to sound nervous, but my voice was shaking and so it did.

“I know I said it was fine, but will you finish my lunch for me? I have a headache and—” I got up and opened the door for her so that she wouldn’t strain her voice. “—I just took a pill. I’m going to go lay down. I’m so sorry, but—”

“Mom, it’s fine,” I said, smiling. She smiled back.

“Alright,” she replied, looking somewhat relieved. She walked away, disappearing into hers and George’s bedroom.

“Alright,” I muttered under my breath.