Whispers of a Past || ON HOLD

Chapter 3: Waffles Before Mayhem

[Seward, Nebraska. January 14th, 2017]

I wake up to the sound of a distance crash somewhere downstairs. My body flings upwards into a sitting position, hands tightly grasping the covers.

"Who, wha...my cookie.." I mumble while obviously still half asleep, peeling my eyes open as I rapidly blink in hopes I can see more than just fuzzy spots.

I yawn, holding my right hand up to my mouth as my left scratches my side. My eyes glance over towards the glowing letters of the digital clock on my desk.

5:45 A.M.

I groan, falling back in my mass of pillows. Darkness surrounds me. Even outside is still dark.

Now what's Noah got himself into now? Waking me up in the dead of night. He knows I'll kill-

The events of yesterday evening suddenly come rushing back to me, hitting my brain like a sledgehammer.

I jerk back up into a sitting position, flinging my covers off as I step down off my bed. I rush to the door, jingling the doorknob that for some 'reason' won't open.

Come on damn door-

The lock clicks off, and that's when I remember I locked my door last night....Whoops.

So what. I was taking precautions just incase.

Sure Casey seems like a nice, almost shy guy. But one can never be too sure.

I swing the door open, coldness hitting my bare feet as I step onto the hardwood floors of the hallway.

Now what?

My feet hurdle down the stairs like a herd of elephants, my right hand gliding across the wood railing at the side.

I come to a immediate stop as I hit the bottom, my eyes latching onto Casey who's currently bent down picking something up off the floor. The lights already on.

So yesterday after we ate I pretty much just grabbed a pile of extra blankets we keep in the closet and a few pillows, placing them on the sofa for Casey.

I then explained to him how the tv works - because he apparently doesn't remember, telling him he's allowed to use it as long as he doesn't blast the sound up to its full capacity.

Then I simply went up to my room and - locked my door evidently, collapsed on my bed around seven something and was out like a light. Which means I must've been asleep until just now.

Yeah. I like my sleep.

Casey's in the midsts of righting a old bedside tabletop mom has positioned next to the sofa - for some odd decorating reason, the lamp and the few odds and ends scattered across the floor.

He looks up at me, a hint of embarrassment flushing across his face as he picks up the 19-hundreds vintage lamp that thankfully - because mom would kill me if anything happened to it, isn't broken.

"Sorry." Casey apologizes, placing the lamp back on the table. "I didn't see it there." He explains, keeping his head down.

My head tilts to the side as I notice his voice is slightly rushed. Almost like if he'd been out running for two hours and still hasn't quite caught his breath.

His hands quickly place the few objects back beside the lamp, and that's when I realize he's now using both his hands.

His left arm seems completely fine now.

"Your arm." I blurt out, stepping forward as I lean down to pick up a small Eiffel Tower statue.

His eyes glance up at me from under his hair, his head still angled down.