My Classified Life

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Candy Land And Plans

I woke up late the next morning, and became acutely aware that downstairs there was a lump of teenage male testosterone sleeping on my couch. That's a first.

I got dressed, carefully making sure I looked presentable. My hair was hopeless and after combing the rats out I just flipped it on top of my head. The house was cold, just the way I liked it, and I put on a long sleeve and some shorts, the perfect comfy wear, and ventured downstairs. The stairs that always seemed so quiet, squeaked loudly and I walked with my body pressed against the wall where it wouldn't make such a loud sound. Gradually, I came down the steps and tip-toed up to the couch to make sure Dylan was there and yesterday hadn't just been a figment of my imagination.

As I approached it became quite clear that the couch was empty, the blanket and pillow both sat neatly folded near the armrest. I ran towards the kitchen, thinking he might be there. Nothing. I did a quick once-over of the entire first floor, I ran from room to room and became out of breath and frantic as I searched. He was gone, just like that.

I just assumed he had reverberated back to his Houdini ways, and became very agitated and annoyed. I even went so far as to search our basement, wasting five minutes of my time. But my house was devoid of anyone but myself, it echoed as I stepped through the kitchen and just reminded me further of the repercussions of my actions. Being a run away is lonely.

I flipped on some TV as to fill the unyielding silence Dylan's absence left me in, and started to prepare something for lunch. On the hard kitchen floor my feet soon became cold and I ran up the stairs into my room to put on some socks. I almost didn't notice it at first, the little scrap of paper, a hand written note. With the familiar scribblings I recognized it immediately. He'd set in on my nightstand, I couldn't believe I didn't notice it earlier.

My dearest Emily,

I went out to get some things and take care of some stuff. I might explain later. I'll be back soon, don't get too worried.

-Dylan

The amount of theatrics he put in this note was quite funny, which he no doubt did on purpose. Maybe to cheer me up? Either way, I laughed. It seemed too easy for him to make me laugh.

I tucked the note under my lampshade where the rest were hidden and pulled on some socks before going back downstairs and finishing my grilled cheese sandwiches I'd started. They were extremely gooey and melty when I plopped down on the couch to each them, sliding in a random cartoon flick from our assortment. The movie was nearly finished when the front door opened and Dylan stepped inside, flashing me his smile and lighting me up.

“Someone's happy to see me.” he said to me after setting down a big suitcase. 'Was it really that obvious?' I thought.

“Maybe.” I said while shrugging my shoulders, I didn't want to seem that happy. I directed my attention to the large case he'd dragged in, it was obviously full of stuff. “What? Are you moving in?” I joked.

“Somewhat.” he admitted.

“So,” I paused, dragging out my words, “where were you?”

He let out a loud sigh, I could already tell where this conversation was going. He didn't want to tell me, that much was clear. He never wanted to tell me anything about his personal life and that always bothered me. He knew plenty about me, it just wasn't fair. We'd often joked that he was my 'stalker', only later did I learn just how truthful that really was. I would always want to know more about Dylan, why he was so reserved one moment and so comfortable with me the next. Why some subjects of conversation bothered him. No matter how much time I spent with him, he would remain a mystery unless he started to open and stop using excuses.