The Skylar Experiment : Dead Ending (second draft)

Chapter Forty-One - 3AM Heart To Heart

*Longer chapter ahead. About 3,1k words. Pillow talk, again, but it's kinda important. Sorry for the dump! If you feel like I should split it or nix out some unecessary dialogue, let me know.*

RILEY

I HARDLY REGISTERED HOBBLING onto my feet and trundling to Luc's home. My body moved in slow-motion, heavy and worn. After the worst was over, a numbing welled within me.

I knew the drill when the both of us walked through the door. Luc led me to a different room this time, saying that first one was just for overnight guests. He opened the door to a spotless room furnished with a quaint wooden library, a closet and wooden shelves suspended on the wall. A potted plant sat on the nightstand. Everything was made of a uniform color palette, I noted, with the same kind of wood as the floor and white or beige shades. 

The bed was the main attraction, catching my eye instantly through its carved spindles. It was huge and fluffy, looking like a mound of clouds with its white pillows and thick comforter. Night spilled through a large, frameless window behind the bed, and it was as broad as the latter, separated by a thin ledge. 

"It opens like doors," Luc intoned, leaning casually against the doorjamb while I staggered in. "Lets in a lot of air at once, and it's a pretty view." 

I turned in my spot to take it all in, stopping when I faced him. 

"Thank you," I said, and mustered a smile. 

"Do you need something else? I have tea lying somewhere if you like that."

"No... no, it's all right." My upset belly would hurl it out. "I think I just need pyjamas and hope you have a spare tooth brush."

He crinkled his nose. "Well, I can give you Lauren's old jammies like before..."

We stared at each other and winced. Wearing her garments felt disturbing, and I wished to avoid it if possible. I doubted Luc was keen on raiding her room. I wouldn't force him to do that. 

"Or I can just let you pick old stuff I haven't worn in years," he added quickly. "It should fit."

I ended up snagging a huge black shirt from his closet. It was oversized on him; therefore, it was a tent on me, safe for ambling without shorts. In the bathroom, I rinsed my face with cold water to get rid of the dryness on my cheeks, but my skin stayed puffy from all the crying.

I paced back and forth in the room I'd locked myself in, one-on-one with the silence, massaging my forehead. The ache had dulled since the melodrama, but the remnants were persistent. I plopped on the island-sized bed and curled under the comforter in hopes to sleep it off. 

I was blank yet swarming with guilty thoughts simultaneously. I thought of Dad, of how he must worry over my whereabouts. Did he believe I was fine?

Had he really cared about me at all?

Why would he have lied to me my whole life if he didn't treat me as a joke? 

I listened to the ambient noises: the susurration of the wind, the faint crackling of the wooden cabin, the branches scratching the glass window. Luc must have gone to sleep as I sensed no movement in the hall or downstairs. 

I'd take it he had a rough day, too.

I stirred in the bed with a prick behind my lids. The decision to avoid my Dad stood strong, but it left a painful void. I missed the days we spent together doing activities or just lounging in the living room. I missed waking up and seeing him read his journal with a coffee mug in one hand. I missed it when he purposely annoyed me and ruffled my hair, making it worse.