Sheets | ✓

FORTY-TWO

"The offer still stands," Nico said, pulling up to the curb in front of my house. "You know you're always welcome to stay at my place." 

Smiling, I turned to Nico, closing my eyes when he reached out to caress my cheek. 

"I know," I replied, sighing heavily. "But it's okay. I'm sure my mum is worried about me. I did kind of run off without telling them where I was going." A kernel of guilt lodged itself in my throat, my smile dropping. 

"Mm," Nico murmured, kissing me on the forehead before letting go of my face, his expression a little downcast. My skin immediately felt a little colder, body already missing the feeling of his touch, but I steeled myself and climbed out of his car. Leaning down, head peeking through the open passenger window, I managed to give Nico a reassuring grin. 

"If anything happens, leave your door unlocked, okay?" I said, Nico's gloomy expression immediately perking up, his mouth twitching as he gave me a long, lingering look. Reaching out towards him, he took my hand, taking it and staring at it for a long moment,  as if he wanted to do something mischievous. He clearly decided against it when he simply kissed the palm of my hand, soon driving back to his home. 

Standing on the side of the road long after his car disappeared around the corner of the street, I carefully tiptoed my way back home. The moment I stepped inside, I felt the brush of cold entwine itself around my ankles. Although it was mid-afternoon, the house was dark, with all the blinds drawn and shadows painted across all the walls. It was rare that the house was so dark, with someone always opening the blinds to let in the natural light in the morning. Swallowing nervously, I silently took off my shoes and walked around the living room, opening the blinds to try and cast away the shadows. After opening the first blind, I was stopped in my tracks when I saw stacks of large cardboard boxes stacked up against the far wall. Some were full and sealed, labelled in heavy permanent marker. Others were still open, with neatly folded men's clothing peeking out from the unsealed edges. 

Dad's clothes.

Walking over to one of the open boxes, I gingerly peeled back the flimsy folded lid, pulling out some of the items inside. Polo shirts, dress trousers, old coats. As my hands rummaged through all of the items, memories began to resurface. A polo shirt with a dark brown stain at the front reminded me of when Jamie was throwing a tantrum at Disneyland, her 10-year-old hands grabbing her sauce-laden hot dog and throwing it square onto dad's shirt. A pair of dress trousers, with a slither of mis-matched white thread on the left leg where mum had patched it up with whatever thread she had on hand during a relative's wedding. And a dark grey coat, the newest item in the box. It had been bought only about a year ago as a Christmas present. He had worn it once, but then went on a business trip to somewhere across the globe where the seasons were different. When he returned, it had warmed up significantly, and the coat stashed away until it would re-emerge next winter. 

And now, it was stashed away again, in a box without a label. 

My eyes stung with fresh tears, which I hastily rubbed away with the sleeve of my shirt. My chest was swirling in a mixture of frustration, anger and helplessness, my hands fumbling as they slammed the box shut. 

"Wesley?" a soft, hesitant voice called from the staircase. Sniffling and casting my hand across my eyes once more to try and remove the damp evidence trekking down my cheeks, I turned. Mum stood there, a basket full of a random assortment of items cradled in her arms. When she saw me, her eyes quickly became glossy, the basket soon on the ground and her arms around me. Biting my lip, I stood there limply in her embrace, not sure about what to do and how to react. 

"Oh, honey," mum breathed out, her voice trembling slightly. "I was so worried about you. I called everyone I could think of. Thank god Benny said that you were with him."