Be My Forever

iii | one embarrassing moment to another.

There is dead silence between Warren and I as he leads me down a large hallway that opens up into a sort of foray with the front door and broad stairs spiraling up.

I am dying on the inside as we go up the stairs.

Of course, of course, it has to be him. Because nothing good can come my way ever.

He is still dead silent as we come to a stop in front of a door. He opens it and I peek inside to see a large bathroom.

"Do you have any clothes?" I nearly jump out of my skin. He's pretty close to me.

I shake my head, "Uh, no, not really. I've only got my pjs."

His eyes slide down my body and I feel itchy in my own skin, heat rising in my cheeks.

"Hold on." And he simply disappears.

For the first time since waking up about an hour earlier, I feel a surge of pure self-pity.

Everything I've ever owned in my life, excluding what I have in my backpack and my violin, has been burned down, my home is gone, I'm covered in ash and soot, my throat hurts from smoke, and now I have to stay in a house with the boy who broke my heart two years ago.

So yeah, I'm feeling pretty miserable.

And I'm horrified to feel my eyes starting to burn just as Warren comes back from the door he disappeared behind. He's carrying folded clothes in his hands.

"Here." He says, giving me the clothes, "I'll show you your room when you get out."

I nod, not trusting my voice enough to speak, and he narrows his eyes at me. Can he see right through me? Can he see my barely held together bravery unraveling?

A traitorous tear spills over and down my cheek.

The next thing I know, I am completely sobbing into Warren Preston's shoulder and his arms are locked around my waist. He doesn't say anything, just lets me cry.

I am inconsolable. All the things we lost. I don't care too much about all the pretty much worthless things like my books and my favorite comforter and everything else.

It's the photo albums that I hadn't managed to grab. The pictures on the walls. Her jewelry. Her journals. Everything that Dad and I squirreled away to treasure and hold dear.

All I have is the one photo album, the purple urn of ashes, the precious bottle of her favorite perfume, and of course, her violin which is now mine.

Once I start to calm down, I realize that I'm clutching his shirt tightly, unrelenting in letting him let go. But he doesn't seem to want to and his arms stay around my waist.

We both hear the latch of a door opening and in a flash, Warren is letting go and stepping back from me.

"Warren?" I peek around his shoulder at the sound of a sleepy voice. A young boy, about twelve maybe, is leaning out of a door and squinting at Warren.

This must be his little brother.

Warren glances over his shoulder, "Go back to sleep, Sawyer, it's okay."

Sawyer gives me a look of confusion, but shrugs and slides back into his room.

I clear my throat, "I'm... I'm gonna take a shower."

And before he can say anything else to me, I flee into the bathroom and close the door and lock it.

Did... did I really just cry into the shoulder of Warren Preston? And did he really just hold onto me as I did that?

What a strange world this is.

I ignore my reflection, I'm sure I look horrible, and strip off my clothes. I have to peel my fingers from my violin case because I'm still holding it in a death grip. The shower is large and tiled with a fancy shower head and shampoo and conditioner waiting. I turn the water on, turning the water up as much as I can stand it.

Oh man, does that feel so good.

The water runs grayish as I wash away the soot and ash from my hair and face. I scrub every inch of my body, wash my hair, wash my body, and stand under the water for bit just for the luxury of it.

Then I'm out and I dry off, feeling better than before. I look at the clothes Warren gave me. It's just a pair of plain sweatpants and a Clearwater baseball t-shirt.

The clothes smell like him and fit me reasonably well, although the shirt is snug in chest and the pants snug in the butt. Not bad. It feels weird to be wearing his clothes.

I find a brush and start brushing out my wet hair, thinking.

Since I'm stuck here indefinitely, I know I'm going to have to get over the fact that I'm stuck with Warren. There's nothing I can do about it now, so I'll just have to get used to it.

I braid my hair back, getting it out of my face, and gather together my stuff before opening the door.

Warren is there waiting and he looks at me. I don't understand the look behind his eyes, but it doesn't matter as he pushes off the wall and leads down the hallway a bit to another door.

"This is your room." He says to me.

I nod, "Thank you." I say quietly, breaking in with a large yawn.

He doesn't say anything back. Just looks at me. I'm starting to get uncomfortable with him just staring.

"This will be fun." He says in an equally quiet voice, a very slight grin on his lips.

My stomach drops to my feet. For a moment, I think he's about to say something else, but instead he simply turns and enters the door across from mine. I stare, hearing the lock click behind him.

What?

I'm too tired for this. I shake my head and go into my room. It's spacious and clean, the carpet soft under my feet, and a large bed neatly made up with blue sheets and comforter waits for me in the middle of the room. White curtains cover the two windows, which face out towards the front of the house. I have a feeling that the windows lead out onto the roof of the covered porch below. A vase of fresh hydrangeas sits atop a polished wood vanity, giving the room a fresh, faintly floral scent.

It's nice and clean and definitely a whole lot better than what a hotel or motel would have to offer us if we had ended up staying at one.

I flip back the covers, crawl up onto the bed, and curl up into my usual ball with a sigh. I should practice, I really should, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Sorry, Mr. Sachet, I promise I will tomorrow or something.

Tomorrow is going to be interesting, I can already tell.