Recovery

Chapter 7

Once again, I wake up in a cold sweat, although it doesn't seem to be as bad as the other nights. I roll over in my bed, and glance at my clock. It reads 7:30?! I fell asleep at 3 yesterday! Man, I must've been really tired, and that must be a record of time I slept before waking up from one of my nightmares!

I feel my stomach rumble, and I roll out of my bed, my feet hitting the carpet. I look down at myself and realize that I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes! My plaid shirt is all wrinkled and I sigh as I shrug it off of my shoulders and throw it into my 'dirty laundry' corner. Yes, I do have a special corner dedicated to dirty laundry.

I inspect my pants and tank top and decide that I can wear them for another day, it's Saturday, so I don't need to see anyone. I hope. I reach over to my chair and grab one of my oversized hoodies. It turns out to be green, not my best colour. Oh well, I won't need to go anywhere today. I hope.

I open my bedroom door and start down the stairs, my stomach grumbling loudly. Only then did I realize that I haven't eaten anything for nearly twenty-four hours! Man, no wonder I was starving! I speed up my pace, and go straight to the kitchen. I stop dead in my tracks.

There was a man in my kitchen. Officer Dowling, I recognized him from when he heard me sing yesterday.

"Your daughter has an amazing voice, Ms. Reynolds." His deep voice reverberates off of the walls, and apparently he didn't notice me walk in behind him.

My mother glances at me, "yes, it's really too bad she's too shy to perform, her and her brother make a really nice duet."

Mom narrows her eyes at me, and I guess officer Dowling realizes there's something behind him, and he turns around. I shift awkwardly from foot to foot. I would've walked back up to my room, but I am famished. I don't think I'd be able to stand another minute without food.

"Umm," I start awkwardly, "I'm really hungry," I hint, walking closer.

"Oh yes of course!" Officer Dowling looks out of place as he moves his bulky frame to let me pass.

I squeeze past him, in our small kitchen, and as I pass by mom, I ask her why he's here.

She shoots me a glare, and says, "I called officer Dowling here because you are going to tell your side of the story, if you wait any longer, the details might get hazy."

I gasp, not used to mom being this harsh. I close my eyes, and continue towards the food. I open a cupboard and spot the pop-tarts. Healthy, I know. I turn towards mom.

"If I have to tell, I want Brent there too." I give her a look that I hope tells her that I'm serious.

Mom looks hesitant, "well..."

But officer Dowling cuts her off, "that can be arranged. As soon as you have breakfast, we can drive to the station."

I put two strawberry pop-tarts in the toaster, and ran upstairs to Brent's room. I pound on the door, and I hear him groan.

I twist the doorknob and step inside. Brent is sprawled across his bed, one of his legs hanging off the side of the bed. I get a brilliant idea. I creep across the room, and grab the leg hanging off the bed. I yank it, and his eyes whip open as he falls off the bed,

"Aaaarg!" He let's out an awkward yell, And he thumps to the floor.

"Is everyone okay?" Mom calls from downstairs.

"Yup," I giggle, while Brent glares daggers at me.

"What was that for?" He growls at me, picking himself up from the floor.

"If I need to tell the police, then you're coming with me." I tell him, putting my hand on my hip. I waltz out of his room, and turn the corner to my room, exchanging my ugly green sweater for a better blue one. I brush my hair and just leave it down, it's a bit curly from the messy bun I had in yesterday. Next, I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, when the thought hits me.

"My pop-tarts!" I cry as I dash down the stairs. I walk into the kitchen, and I see Brent leaning against the counter, eating pop-tarts. My pop tarts! I run up to him and start beating his chest with my fists.

"Wha-"

"How dare you eat my pop-tarts?" I feel my voice rise. I'm a little over-protective of my food.

Brent just laughs, "slow down there, Lex, I put new ones in the toaster, these we're getting cold!" Right then the toaster pops. Oops.

"Sorry," I mutter, feeling my face turn red. I walk over to the toaster and pick up the hot pop-tarts. "Ow, ow, ow!" I exclaim, dropping the sugary goodness onto the counter.

I shake my hands out, and try again. This time they're not as hot. I nibble on the corner of the icing covered treat and walk to the front door. I open the front closet, filled with my ever-growing collection of converse. Except my white ones. Those were at the forensic department right now, and I don't think I'll be able to wear them again, blood stains and all.

I spot the blue ones to match my sweater, and dash back upstairs to grab some socks. I always end up running back up to get socks. I finish my pop-tarts on the way back down the stairs, and I pass the living room, where I see mom and officer Dowling.

"Mom, I'm ready," I say as I poke my head in the door. She and the officer rise from their respective chairs, and follow me to the front porch. I sit down and slip on my socks and shoes, being careful of my still sore toe.

"Is Brent coming?" Mom asks me, her eyes filled with something strange. Guilt? It looks like she's hiding something. Whatever.

I nod my head and turn around, sticking my head in the door again. "Breeeent! We're waitiiing!" I call out as loud as I can. I turn around and see officer Dowling rubbing his ears, and my mom shaking her head and smiling. Not long after, Brent comes out of the door, wearing his flip flops, and a SnapBack, in addition to his university sweater and khaki shorts. We start down the front steps and I climb into the backseat of the car, and to my surprise, Brent follows me, making me scoot over. My mom climbs in the drivers seat and starts the car.

She clears her throat. "Lexi? We're going school shopping afterwards too."

Right. School starts on Monday. My insides twist at that though more than the thought of facing the police.

Brent reaches over and squeezes my hand.