Can You Hear the Stars Calling?

Getting Around

"Okay," I said reluctantly. "Now don't go skipping out on me, Sam. I will get those answers out of you." I smiled and fake punched playfully.

"Oh no! I'm so scared!" she cried, walking across the room and out the door.

I laid back in the bed. Demons, gods, angels. What's next? Witches, vampires, werewolves, oh my?

***

Sam returned right away to help me up. "It's time to start getting you moving," She saw my anxious face and assured, "Don't worry. I'll be here the entire time. Do you really think I'd let anything happen to you?" she smirked.

The smile I gave her was pathetic. "I'm just nervous because the last few times I tried to move really hurt..." I trailed off. Even if it hurt before, it was worth a try now. Stretching my arms, I reached out for Sam's hands.

"It's been a few days. You should be alright to move if you don't push it too far. Besides, I'm sure it's not fun sitting around all day." She grabbed my hands securely.

"You got that right," I swung my legs over the bed gently. The bed was too high for me to be able to reach the floor, so I had to jump a little to get to the plush grey carpet.

If Sam wasn't there to hold me up, I would have crumpled to the ground. I mumbled, "Guess it's been longer than I thought." My red plaid pajama pants laid loosely on my waist and bunched at my feet on the floor. Leaning against the bed for a minute I tied them tightly. Sam rolled up my pant legs and I was ready to go.

Taking one step at a time, we slowly made our way to the hall. My torso hardly hurt. It was more of a pulling on my skin than the blazing roar it was a couple days ago.

What good sleep can do for someone. I smiled to myself.

The carpet continued to the left and right, but to the left, it was cut off at the end by beige tiles. To the right were three more doors, one on each side of the hall and the last at the very end. 

A voice echoed down the hallway from the left, sounding irritated. "The kitchen is down that way," Sam said motioning left with her head. "You can always hold onto the walls for support, but do you want to try on your own?" She let go of my hands slightly. 

"Yes," I answered, now eager to try. I was excited to meet her friend, who was still muttering in the kitchen. Doing my best to sound tough, I said to Sam, "Don't want your friend thinking I'm some baby, now can we?"

Her smile radiated positive energy. It was just what I needed in that moment.

Leaning against that hallway slightly, I made my way to the edge of the carpeting where the tiles started. From there, I was practically in the kitchen.

It wasn't a grand kitchen by any means, but it was extremely cozy. That seemed to be the theme of the house. Wrapping around the two wood walls to my right were white granite counter tops giving the room a pop of light. The cabinets above and below were a darker spruce than the walls. Along the counter tops were various cooking tools and a roll of paper towel.

Above the kitchen sink was an open window, sending in a cool breeze. It sent away the lingering breakfast smells. At the other end of the cabinets was a retro pink fridge and matching it was a little pink microwave connected to the wall next to me. Under the microwave was a white gas stove.

In the middle of the kitchen stood a small island counter of the same white granite covered in a mess of wrappers and juices. Standing over the counter, wiping furiously, was Sam's friend. 

He was a little more than a head taller than me. His skin was a few shades darker than Sam's and instead of bouncing curls, his hair was pulled into a low ponytail of thick dark dreadlocks. He had high cheekbones and the stubbly sides of his sharp jawline rounded off at his chin and he looked to be somewhere in his 20's. 

He wore a thin black leather jacket over a light grey hoody. His tattered, skinny dark blue jeans were cut off by a pair of worn out brown hiking boots.

I stepped into the kitchen. Catching his attention, he looked up and lost all signs of anger. I could see his eyes clearly now. They were a chocolate brown, but swirled in was some of the same copper as Sam's. 

Curious. Very curious. 

Suddenly, he smiled warmly. It was one of those smiles that are impossible not to return.

He walked over to me, picking up a towel hanging from the oven door and wiping his hands. Outstretching a now dry hand to me, he introduced himself. "Milo Fletcher." His voice projected self confidence.

Standing up straighter, I shook his hand. "Lynette Auclair. I love your kitchen"

"Thanks, kid. I do like to add a little bit of flair every now and then." he grinned standing up straight and patting the microwave.

"He likes to add flair to more than just his kitchen," Sam said behind me. The eye roll was thickly implied in her tone of voice. "Wait until you see the rest of the house."

Milo glared at Sam. "Oh, and thank you so much for the mess in my kitchen. Now if you wouldn't mind cleaning up said mess." He enunciated the p in the word up with a pop of his lips.

"I'll clean up the mess, if you show Lynette around." She poked his chest with a playful grin.

"Sure," he smiled, losing all the anger he had a minute ago. "As long as it's spotless when we come back. And I mean spotless, Sam!"

"Cross my heart." she promised putting one hand in the air and the other making an X over her heart.

He rolled his eyes. "Sure. Come on, Lynette," He cocked his head to the side in an inviting gesture. "There's not a lot of space to cover, but there sure is a lot to show," Grinning, he led me through a small walkway and out of the kitchen.