Darlin'

5| Jane Air-Head

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

"My God!" I whine, my heart thumping in my chest as an endless stream of text notifications continues to assault my dreams. My livid eyes spring open, and I glance toward the nightstand, yanking the phone off the cord and flipping on the silent feature. "Shut up already!"

Clenching my fists, I take several stabilizing breaths as I scan my surroundings. Dread sets in. Right...this isn't my room. I am not at home. I'm in California. In a stranger's bed. I look down, sighing. Fully clothed. What... Did I fall asleep? I wince, breathing into my palm and smelling my breath. Oh...gross.

Unable to will myself out of bed and wash the filth of yesterday's happenings off my body, I purse my lips, scanning Jesse's guest room. Sunlight peers through the blinds, golden rays illuminating the bouquets of artificial pink, coral, and white flowers springing out of asymmetrical vases on the vanity table. Hmm. It could be my room. My gaze trails across the gorgeous macrame hangings on the wall, and I frown. This isn't very Jesse Paxton, that's for sure.

My phone vibrates again.

"Okay, okay, okay," I groan, snatching the phone off the bed and scrolling through dozens of text messages from Momma. My gaze briefly flits up to the battery percentage and then to the black charger plugged into the wall. When did I? That isn't mine... Did he...? While I was sleeping?! Creep! Ping. Ping. Ping. "Oh, good God, woman!"

Momma: Savannah, answer the phone immediately.

Where are you?

What hotel are you staying at?

Savannah, I swear on papa's grave I will call the police if you do not respond to me.

This is unacceptable. I am your mother! You cannot ignore me.

I'm serious, child. Answer, or else your face will be plastered on every single milk carton from here to Timbuktu.

Savannah...WHERE ARE YOU?!

You have ONE HOUR to reply.

SAVANNAH!

I swallow, biting my lip as I type out a response riddled with lies upon lies.

Savannah: Hi, sorry! I fell asleep and my phone died. I'm staying at Beau's place near San Diego. I've decided to stay a little longer so we can catch up. No more than a week or two tops.

I get a response immediately.

Momma: Call me right now!

I wince, replying back: Can't, sorry! We're just about to head out to get brunch. Love you momma! Don't stress, I'm totally fine :)

That'll hold her for a day or so, at least.

Slamming my phone upside down, I lethargically crawl out of the queen-sized bed and look through the built-in dressers for some towels until I find a stack buried behind some linens. The fragrant scent of citrus fills my lungs as I press the towels against my chest, suddenly anxious about what's behind the bedroom door.

Is he here? Did he already leave? It's—I check the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's nine in the morning. Maybe he's at work? Wait...does he even go to work? I can't imagine a criminal having regular Monday to Friday hours. What if he's still here? He probably is, isn't he? It's fine. I'll just be very, very quiet. Like a little mouse. A mouse in a stranger's house. That's me.

Gently twisting the door handle, I hold my breath as I peek my head out, looking down the hallway in both directions. It's silent. Almost too silent. He's either gone, or he's sleeping. I perk myself up on my tiptoes and skulk toward the bathroom in haste.