the long way home [ h.s. ]

Eight | 8

eight | 8

☓

As promised, the stomach pain leaves me sometime before nightfall.

Yet my sleep is not peaceful.

I toss and turn frequently; although I'm not too cold, or too hot, and I feel fatigue pulling at my limbs with the ongoing pursuit of lulling me to slumber, it just won't happen.

So the dark lasts a long time, as I struggle to find a comfortable way to lay down, and by the time the sun peeks through the trees, I do not feel rested.

Even so, I sit up straight on my mattress and breathe in the cool morning air. It must be Wednesday-- which is my least favorite day of the week, since it's right in the middle.

If it were a color, it would be grey.

And if it were a sound, it would be a very old record that no one likes to listen to.

Wednesday.

Sighing, I slowly walk into my bathroom and stare at the shower head for a good five minutes, wondering if it's worth it to turn it on.

I decide yes.

Showers for me aren't very thought provoking. All that I can seem to focus on is

scrub

rinse

dry

and nothing more.

But today, I feel like I should be thinking. About what, I'm not certain; but a part of me needs to be thinking about a part of something, somewhere.

I cannot figure out what that part could be.

My mind feels uninhabited.

And I end up shutting off the water and drying, then slipping on some clean clothes before running downstairs to drink orange juice and make some toast.

Thomas won't be waking up for another ten minutes or so, and I usually never get to see him in the mornings for this reason. Sometimes I like to poke my head through the little open crevice of his door, just to check up on him, to make sure that he's still here.

That sounds weird, but it's true.

He's a soft sleeper; curling up into a tight little ball and bunching up his sheets around him. The only part of his body that is visible is the top of his head; blond tufts gently lain across the pillowcase, ruffling with every breath.

He looks like an angel; peaceful and content with slumber.

Once I finish admiring him, I always pour a second glass of orange juice, and leave it on the table by his small blue backpack.

Then, I leave.

Today things go a bit differently; I feel myself walking sluggishly to the front door, like I shouldn't go just yet. It makes me freeze up in the breezeway, one hand debating on whether or not to reach for the silver knob.

It's 7:24.

I have six minutes.

The bus picks me up at an open-mouthed trail which, if followed dedicatedly, leads to our front porch.

Our house is small, and an off white, with a sky colored trim and deck. It has about five main rooms-- mine, Mom and Dad's, Thomas's, and a living room which is attached to the kitchen. What's left are three closets, and two bathrooms.

Most people out in the country live like we do; a bit cramped, but stable.

Pacing around slowly, I glance at different things, like the red owl clock above the counter, how it ticks steadily. The dark wooden floorboards, the floral wallpaper, the yellow kettle propped up on the stove, with cold coffee inside that I don't like drinking.

Then I spot a little notepad that my mother uses to write recipes on, and I snatch it from its place by the refrigerator. Lying beside it is a ballpoint pen.

Thomas, I write, using the dining table as support.

Have a great day at school. I want you to hang out with your friends, laugh, create-- whatever makes you happy. And don't let anything, or anyone, change it.

I love you, buddy.

-Mary

☓

Green eyes does not ride the bus today, because he does not come to school.

The exit seat remains unoccupied without him-- others don't seem to mind the vacancy, but then again, I suppose they don't have reason to.

His absence frustrates me; I don't know why, but it frustrates me all the same.

Maybe it's because of Wednesday, I tell myself. Maybe he is gone because it's Wednesday and it's cold, and nobody likes a cold Wednesday.

I eventually realize that I am wrong.

He does not come to school on Thursday, either.

Or Friday.

And I begin to make up excuses in my head, though I know I can't believe them.

☓☓☓

a/n

This chapter was quite short, but I just wanted to fill in some little things. :)

I hope you all enjoyed! Don't forget to vote and comment.

--AND WE GOTTA NEW COVER NOW IM SO EXCITED--

Lots of love!!

x.

Dedicated to @tacomichael because she's one of the sweetest readers I've ever had :) you are incredibly kind and I appreciate you so much! x