Fallen

5. Two Perfect Oceans

"We should stay here," he says out loud.

"Sure," I reply, "what else would we do," part of that remark is sarcasm, part of that remark is not.

Great. So I am going to be forced into spending all day with him.

"Where are your parents," he questions lightly, I am surprised it didn't come up sooner.

"Parents are divorced, my dad lives in California for work so I only see him when he comes to visit us in Oregon, and my mom is on a business trip until Sunday night," I give up too quickly, providing him with more answers than I intended to.

"I will get you situated for tonight and then I will check up on you tomorrow," he states it as a question, but I know there is no debate behind it.

    In the broad daylight his eyes shine brighter than before, like two perfectly blue oceans. The kind of water that is almost clear, but the murk at the bottom prevents you from seeing what's underneath.

"Okay," I choke, giving into his commands.

"Do you need to shower or just get dressed?", he prods.

"Both," I reply, getting up from my spot in the kitchen and starting towards the stairs.

"I will stay down here and clean up, but I will knock on the door in a few to make sure you are okay," he says, then proceeds to collect both of our plates and turn on the sink.

   I go upstairs into my room and grab my clothes: undergarments, dark wash jeans and a comfy t-shirt, then walk over to the bathroom. Without thinking, I shut and lock the door, but then I remember what he said last night and I twist the lock back to its open position; even though I am not planning to do anything.

    As I turn to face the mirror, one glimpse at the mess I have become and I burst into warm tears. The heat from my emotions travels to my cheeks and face causing them to go puffy and red. I turn on the shower to hide the muffled sounds of my crying, and as I step in, the hot water pours over my body, burning, yet no heat ever warms the depression that spills from within me.

     Once I am done showering, I rotate the facet to off and wrap myself in a plush brown towel, a designer label scratches at my side. I look in the mirror once more before getting dressed, my straight dark, brown hair looks limp as it grazes my shoulders, my bangs stick to my face, wet and without volume or shape. My brown eyes once full of life are now clouded with despair and my freckles each bleed into the next. Finally, my lips, parted and out of practice from never speaking.

    I dry off and let my towel pool at my feet, I reach for my folded clothes that I had placed on the shelf, and put them on item by item. Once I finish, I open the door and there he was.

"Sorry, I didn't knock to check in, you finished sooner than I had thought. I just finished with cleaning up. I also ran to my car to grab my clothes, I will change quickly and then be right out," he says as he moves his way into the bathroom and then shuts the door behind him.

    I can hear him mumbling quietly to himself, but the door muffles the sound, so I can't figure out what he is saying. It's funny, those little mannerisms and habits that can easily be noticed in such little time.

    By the time he came out of the bathroom with fresh clothes on, I was already in my room, laying on my back, listening to music. He knocks on my open door before coming in, a polite trait that I skim over.

"Is this what you normally do?", he questions.

For starters, I don't normally have boys in my room, let alone strangers.

"Yeah, all Saturday," I reply abruptly.

"Okay, I guess I will just sit with you until dinner then. My dad planned this thing tonight," he explains without elaboration.

"Fine," I say quietly then turn to my side facing the wall, avoiding eye contact. I don't like looking at him.

    He walks further into my room and places his hand gingerly on my shoulder, I shudder and turn around quickly which causes him to retreat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but I just wanted to let you know that everything will be alright. I know I must seem like a complete asshole to you, waking into your life and into your home," he pauses, "I just saw you there and I couldn't keep driving by and let that... happen"

    I feel angry and upset over the whole situation, but what strikes me most from his confessing apology is the fact that he said he drove by. It was almost midnight, there weren't any cars driving past. He also said yesterday that he was heading to a friend's house across the bridge, but his car was parked by our town's welcome post, meaning he couldn't have driven past yet. I don't question, because curiosity doesn't matter to me at this point. Instead, I curl up into a ball and I don't say anything. He takes that as a response and turns around, sitting down on the little rug besides my bed. He stretches his long limbs and lays down, facing forward, staring at the ceiling fan above my bed.