Being Neighborly

Chapter 30

"Leila, wake up," a soft voice makes its way through the remnants of my dream. I desperately claw and grab at the warm sun on my face and between my toes. I'm close to clinging on to the surprisingly lovely environment my subconscious has brought me to...

Until my whole body gets jostled awake by someone shaking my arm and pulling the blankets off of me. I roll over onto my back and squint up at Tristan. Tristan? What is he doing in my room?

Oh! Not my room. His room. Or I guess his guest room. Flashes of last night whirl through my mind as I quickly remember what went down. The Underground. The attack. Tristan fighting the guy off. Telling him about my drug use. Him telling me about his father...

"You need to leave, my mom is going to wake up soon and you can't be here," Tristan whispers, yanking me off the bed and to my feet. "Sorry this is so abrupt, but I don't want to die today."

"You're mom wouldn't do anything except give you a lecture about letting a girl sleep over without her permission," I sleepily reply with a yawn. "At least that's what I am assuming it's like to have your mom as a mom." I wrap the blanket he threw off me around my shoulders, sitting on the bed with every intention to go back to sleep.

"You assume right, but I was talking about Luke," he smirks as he watches my face drop with the blanket after I push it off of me. He quietly laughs and I scurry around the bedroom, gathering my things in my arms. I stop and look out the window. Turning back to Tristan with wide eyes, I silently beg him not to make me jump down from the second floor. "You can go through the front door, mom is still sleeping."

With a sigh of relief, I walk past him and start heading for the stairs. I drop one of my shoes and reach for it at the same time Tristan does. We're both crouching on the floor, one hand each on either side of my shoe, faces so close that if one of us moved one inch our lips would be pressed together.

"Thanks for last night," I say quietly, staring into those gorgeous green eyes.

"I should be thanking you," he says back, just as softly but with measured amounts of focus. I must look confused because he then clarifies, "For listening to me."

**************

It seems like days have passed since I snuck out of Tristan's house into my own, but in reality it's only been about three hours. Once I charged my phone, the missed calls and text messages came flooding in. All from Nicole and Nate. One from Tristan.

I had spent about an hour reassuring my two best friends that I was ok, Tristan had taken care of me, and I was already thinking about testifying against the guy who attacked me if it went to trial. Apparently, he turned himself in last night. It definitely wasn't on his own fruition considering he was escorted out by two huge security guards who, I have been informed by Nicole, called the cops and dropped the guy a block away from the club.

The next hour was spent under a hot shower. I needed to wash the previous night off of me. And I needed something to distract me from the one unread message from Tristan. I had just seen him, what could he possibly have to say that he didn't already in the last 12 hours.

Finally, on hour three of hiding in my room to avoid the world, I checked my phone.

"Please tell me Luke did not question why you were wearing my shirt when you walked in."

I smile to myself. For such a tough guy, Tristan sure is scared of Uncle Luke. I wonder if it's a respect thing or something else...

I text Tristan back, telling him that Uncle Luke ran out for a rare Sunday client meeting and Aunt Clara was too busy watering her indoor herb garden to take notice of my attire. I expected a text back, but didn't receive one. Only the read receipt confirming that Tristan did in fact get my message and it wasn't lost somewhere in the internet void.

The rest of my day was spent taste testing for Aunt Clara, periodically glancing at my phone to see if Tristan texted back, and mentally preparing myself to show up to school tomorrow. Half the student body was at The Underground last night and witnessed what happened. I really am not looking forward to having everyone crowd around me and ask if I'm ok or if I need anything or if I knew the guy or whatever it is people are supposed to ask when something like that happens.

I sure as hell wouldn't know since no one cared the last time...

Between spoonfuls of tomato sauce and staring at a blank screen, the day went by quickly. Around five in the afternoon, I hear Uncle Luke's car pull into the driveway. I get up from the breakfast bar and go to the front door to welcome him in. I peer through the front window first, a precautionary habit I picked up from my own dad, and see Uncle Luke stepping out of his car. That's strange, he's wearing a gray suit. He normally goes to work in khakis or jeans and a button down. Maybe he'll throw on a jacket if there's an important meeting. But never in a suit.

The passenger door opens and a tall figure in a black suit emerges. There's no way...

The familiar mop of ink black hair turns around, makes his way around the front of the car, shakes Uncle Luke's hand formally, then turns to go back to his house. What the fuck.