What You're Not | ✔

17. Locked In

"Can you please stop banging on the door? You're giving me a headache," Miles groaned from his spot on the floor.

The room was dimly lit by a flashlight we found on one of the shelves and the two of us somehow forgot our phones (mines at home, his in his car).

I looked back at him. He sat, leaning against the wall with my purple headband wrapped around his head like a bandage. He looked rough, which was expected after almost being killed by a shelf.

"I think that giant cut on your forehead is giving you a headache," I told him. "We need to get out of here."

I'm sure it's only been about ten minutes since we've gotten locked in here, but that was ten minutes too long.

"You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

Giving up on anyone hearing my calls for help, I took a seat next to him and stretched my legs out in front of me. "No, I just prefer to not be locked in a closet. Also, I don't really enjoy being this close to bleeding people."

"Hey."

"What?" I said, focusing my eyes on the ceiling.

"Hey," he nudged my foot with his.

My gaze shifted down to him and I quickly turned away when I realized he had lifted the headband, showing me the gash on his forehead. He let out a throaty laugh.

"Jerk," I said, shoving him to the side.

He simply continued to laugh. "Does it make me look bad ass? I heard girls like a guy with scars."

"You look like you need a doctor." I stood up again, looking out of the frosted window. "How has no one walked by yet?"

"Relax, someone will come," he assured me. "Someone always comes."

I turned to him. "You talk like you've been locked in here before."

"This is a good place to hide if you're trying to get out of a math test," he said with a smile.

Accepting defeat, I returned to my spot on the floor beside him. "So, is this also a part of destiny's plan?"

His lips curled up into a half smile as he snorted a laugh. "All this mocking is starting to hurt my feelings, Mermaid."

His little confession of believing in destiny still hadn't left my mind. It was weird to think that he found the thought comforting. There was nothing comforting about some unknown force controlling everything. People made their own decisions, their own mistakes, and they had to accept responsibility.

"Sorry," I muttered, scraping black polish from my thumbnail. "I just don't get why you'd believe in something like that."

He was silent for much longer than I thought he'd be, so I glanced over at him. His eyebrows were furrowed as his eyes narrowed down at his clasped hands, as if in deep thought. I watched as his jaw clenched, then softened, then clenched once more before his emerald eyes flickered up to me.

"Believing that things happen for a reason is the only thing that keeps my sane," he told me, his eyes looking away once more.

Despite his curious response I wasn't going to probe any further. Asking people to vent about their problems went against what I believed in. I didn't have to ask though, because he continued on his own.

"Choosing to look for a silver lining after my sister's death was the only thing that kept me going," he said, picking lint from his jeans. "Believing that her death was a part of a bigger picture helped cushion the blow."