Brenda wanted a normal school year. Instead her mom died.
Salma needed space from her sister and terrible ex. Or else she'd lose her mind.
Delilah didn't think she'd have any more problems after moving far from her hometown. That was until she becam...
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❝Sometimes the most scenic roads in life are the detours you didn't mean to take.❞
—Angela N. Blout
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💔 BRENDA 💔
I paced back into my room twice—second guessing myself—before gaining enough courage to exit for real; full of intent to go to my intended destination. Anxiety raced down to the base of my spine. Suddenly, my skin was covered in goosebumps as I stepped over the threshold and into the hallway. I could see light coming out of Ziyan's room across the hall, pouring a splash of a peachy tone out from under his door and on to the hardwood floor.
What are you doing? My thoughts seethed. What has gotten into you?
It was a valid question to ask. What had gotten to me? I was terrified of confronting my roommate only hours ago, and here I was, willingly making my way to him. It was as though I was being magnetically pulled in, transfixed on the golden doorknob and nothing else. I didn't have to leave the comfort of my room. I could've stayed there all night and waited for the morning to come.
I kept walking, though, putting one foot in front of the other until my nose was practically touching the wooden door. Hot air fanned across the panels of the door, hitting my face as I continued to exhale. Raising my closed fists high, I knocked.
"Yes?" he called out. "Come in."
I cracked the door open, painfully slow with consternation making a home in the pit of my belly. After seeing him there, lazily lounging on his bed and topless, I wanted to desperately flee back into my room, find safety in the comfort of my blankets and pillows.
It's too late. You should've thought of that before knocking.
"Hey," he greeted me, sliding a bookmark into the novel on his lap. "I didn't know you were home already. I guess you saw my note."
"I did."
"I'm sorry, I would've sent it through text, but I still don't have the majority of the roommates phone numbers." He said. "You probably think I'm a weirdo for leaving a note in your ro—"
"No, no. I don't think that." I interrupted him. "There's a journal in the kitchen—next to the fridge. It has all of our numbers written inside. I placed it in there the other day. It should still be there."
He swung his legs off of the bed, pointing at the chair next to him that was tucked under his desk. "Don't just stand there. You can sit."
Should I? I didn't plan out how long I wanted to stay in here, talking to him. I hadn't gotten to my own apology, so for that reason, I took him up for his offer and slumped into the chair—rotating it and facing him. I still had my backpack on. I let it drop to my feet, tucking it to the side of the desk.
