The secret

3. Breakfast & rumors

I wake up to the sensation of a gentle hand caressing my cheek, and I instinctively smile into the soft touch of his fingers. It's such a calm and peaceful way to start the day.

Typically, I'm jolted awake by a blaring alarm, followed by the angry voices of my parents. It's a chaotic mess, to say the least. So this gentle awakening feels heavenly, almost enough to bring tears to my eyes. Why can't every day begin like this?

"Good morning, sweetie," he says as my eyes flutter open. They're tired, no doubt about it; I was up late last night and didn't get much sleep, nowhere near my usual amount.

Usually, I'm a stickler for going to bed early, so this is a challenge for me. But as hard as it is to keep my eyes open – and I know I have to – I'm far more content with my surroundings this morning than I was yesterday.

"Good morning, Jay," I reply in a soft whisper.

"Jay? Who's that?" he asks, a look of confusion on his face. Oh no, not again.

"Sorry, um, that's my nickname for you. I've always called you that in my head," I admit, feeling a bit embarrassed and still not ready to get out of bed. I wish I could just close my eyes again, but unfortunately, that's not an option. We can't always get what we want.

"Oh, that's good... otherwise, I don't think I would've liked this 'Jay' very much," he chuckles softly, sounding like an angel. His voice, his laughter, every sound he makes is heavenly. Just the sound of his voice alone makes me smile, and his soft hazel eyes gazing at me melt my heart. How can someone be so exquisitely crafted? It's almost unfair.

"How did you sleep?" he inquires, removing his hand from my cheek, and I already miss the warmth of his touch. I honestly can't get enough of it. Once you've experienced the high, you're instantly addicted.

"Good... very good, actually." If it weren't for the fact that I'm well-rested, I might cry again. I cry when I'm happy, sad, overwhelmed, nervous – at almost everything. But when I've had enough sleep, I have a bit more control over my emotions.

"That's good to hear. Now you need to get dressed and brush your teeth," he says with a gentle but firm tone. I don't understand the sternness in his eyes; I've never seen it before, and it feels unfamiliar. Yet I know it deep down.

I let out a silent groan, not wanting to get up just yet. I want to sleep for a few more hours.

"Don't do that. You know you can't lie in bed forever," he adds. "I've left a hoodie and sweatpants by the sink for you, because you can't go to school in your ballet clothes."

His tone is soft, caring, but still demanding. Why, though? I don't understand.

As he leaves the room, I force myself to get out of bed. I rush to the bathroom, brushing my teeth quickly, and then I change into the oversized hoodie and sweats he left for me. When I check myself out in the mirror, I can't help but laugh; I'm drowning in his clothes. But honestly, I'd rather be drowning in his clothes than feeling self-conscious about wearing Hailey's. Why would I want to wear her clothes? She's sexy, tall, a model. I'm just... me.

Stepping out of the room, I feel disoriented, like I don't recognize where I am. "Justin," I call out, starting to feel a bit scared. It must be terrifying to live in such a huge place all by yourself. I thank God that this place is heavily guarded; there's no way I could have full control over a place like this.

He appears from around the corner in the hallway and looks at me, trying to discern what I need. I exhale in relief – at least he knows his way around.

"I didn't know where I was," I confess, my voice small and weak. And before I know it, a tear escapes my eye. Damn it, not again... I start to cry, feeling sorry for myself. I always come off as so weak. I know he said it's okay to cry, but I cry way too much.