Home?

"Good" Morning

 7:00 AM. On the dot.
 It's too early, which at first doesn't make sense. I've never been known to wake up early, unless of course I haven't slept at all, in which case I'll just wander around or listen to music until Amy and Mark get up. I don't even want to move- until it hits me that my flight is today, and my early rise was due to anxiety. Great.
 A soft bolero plays in hums in my ears and I manage a small smile to it. It reminds me of Cuba, even though I've only been once. This song in particular was made by a Puerto Rican about Puerto Rico, but there are similarities. It's a beautiful song. Preciosa, preciosa.
 Something as simple as that is enough to get me to stiffly sit up against the headboard. When I check my phone, two messages from Seán are at the forefront of a barrage of Twitter, Tumblr, and YouTube notifications. They read as follows:
 Hey, Samantha, good morning! I know you probably won't see this until at least a little later, but I wanted you to have some positivity first thing by saying I hope you have a wonderful flight and your room is here, nice and neat, waiting for you. Evelien and I can't wait to finally meet you in person! Heart emoji. 6:33 AM.
 But instead of feeling the positivity I'm sure he tried very hard to convey for me, I wonder how much of what he said was faked. Why is that the first place my mind goes? I read the second message before I can go deeper into that hole. 
 And don't worry, we made sure you'd feel right at home. Take care of yourself on the way! 6:35 AM.
 What is home at this point? It was supposed to be here, with Mark, but now he's sending me all the way across the world, without a reason. A completely different country. This whole thing just doesn't compute in my head, and maybe that's the biggest problem that no one wants to call out- things that make sense to literally everyone else don't make sense to me. 
 Quickly looking back at my phone, I change the song to This is Home by Cavetown, since the last one just ended, and force my body out of bed. I briefly take in my cleaned room. It's weird to think I won't be in here for... I don't even know how long? Even though I've lived here for eight months already, I still feel like I just got here, like I need to make this room more lived in. It's an odd feeling. 
 Making my way to the door, I pull it open and jump so high I swear I almost hit the ceiling- Mark is standing, like, not even a foot in front of me. An earbud becomes dislodged from my ear. From the look on his face, I guess I scared him too. We both start stammering a flustered apology at the same time.
 "I didn't-" I start.
 "I'm sorry-" He jumps in.
 He and I pause awkwardly and we exchange a kind of chuckle, although mine falls flat.
 "I didn't realize you were already awake," he says after a moment.
 It's odd, I know.
 "I mean, I had my earbuds in of course, so I didn't know you were either." I reply.
 We stand there for a minute, blinking at each other. He asks if I've finished packing and I tell him I have been since yesterday. He nods awkwardly.
 "There's breakfast downstairs- eggs and bacon."
 I shake my head. "I'm not hungry." It sounds more curt than I mean, and something quickly flashes across Mark's face which makes me feel horrible- it makes me feel as if I've punched him. I know it's not fair. He knows how much I struggle with anything food related, like when to eat and how much I eat, and here I am making him feel like it's his fault.
 This is turning out to be a wonderful morning, and it's just begun.