Letting you go [COMPLETE]

Chapter 11

A thousand reads! Thank you! So so much!

*unedited*

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“So, who are you going to the museum with?”

I turn to Rick, stretching. My phone sits beside me on the bed side table and I can’t help but look at it.

“You remember that?”

He looks offended—as if doubting his is the most serious offence ever committed. “Of course I do. I’m not dumb.”

I ruffle his hair, getting off the bed. I’m thankful that I’d slept in long pants because otherwise I’d be frozen right now. Last night had been the coldest night of the month. I don’t know the temperature but I’m just glad I’d been warm enough. Having Rick cuddling up to me had helped—the extra warmth something only a person could give.

I smile at him. “I know you’re not dumb. You’re the smartest in your grade.”

He runs his hand through his bed hair, yawning. “I am, aren’t I? So who’re you going to museum with?”

“You’ve asked that already.”

He glares at me. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“Someone.”

“Is he the reason you keep looking at your phone?” he asks, eyes sparkling with knowledge that a ten-year-old should have.

“No,” I lie.

He sees right through it. “You are. I’ll tell mum and dad.”

I smile sadly, staring at him. He still had child-like innocence that I didn’t have at that age. It had been killed. “Fine. Yes.”

He smiles, like he’s won a prize. “So it is a guy?”

I roll my eyes, rubbing sleep out of my eye. “You’re too perceptive for your own good.”

He frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry. It just means you’re too smart.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he glares. “It better. Matt says his sister makes him look stupid because she lies to him about what words mean.”

I laugh. “It’s the truth. I promise.”

He frowns, not convinced. “Okay . . .”

With a smile, I sit down next to him, throwing my arm over his shoulders. He doesn’t complain when I pull him against me. “When did you get in here last night?”

He shrugs, resting his head on my shoulder. I ruffle his brown hair, way too long than it should be. He refuses to cut it though, since apparently, it’s “in style.” “I don’t know.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

His silence gives me my answer. With a sigh I pull him closer, kissing his hair. “You wanna talk about it?”

He doesn’t say anything and I wait. He’ll talk eventually.

Finally, he speaks. “I had a nightmare.”

“What about?” I ask carefully.

“You. I woke up and Aunt Amie said that you were gone. And I called the hospital . . . but you wouldn’t talk. You weren’t there.”

I wipe the tear away before he can see it. “It was just a dream. That’s it.”

For now, I think, dreading the day. I shake away the thoughts.