for June

9. Going Places

June woke up with the sound of a tyre popping somewhere down the street. It was dark outside, and she turned to the clock on her side table. It was four-thirty in the morning. She could no longer roll over and go back to sleep, the sound had somehow rattled her nerves, forcing memories she'd suppressed to float to the top again. She could hear her raspy breathing and feel the sweat slick her shirt. Even though she didn't need to be awake for another two hours, she couldn't go back to sleep as if memories weren't haunting her. She flung the covers away and slipped into the warm fluffy robe, sleep completely gone. The scar on her left hip ached as if it were just yesterday.

She splashed icy water on her face, wanting to ease the burn. She brushed her teeth strenuously, as if brushing aside the memories. Fire leapt in her eyes, the roar of it deafened her ears, the heat of it still seared her flesh, and she watched her parents' house burn again, bright.

June crept out into the hallway, and light-footed, started for the stairs. As she reached the bottom floor and headed for the kitchen, she noticed the light in the study, a thin sliver of which traversed the length of the floor where she stood.

She touched the door with her finger. "Chad, are you still up?"

Chad held a finger in the air, frantically scribbling in a journal. When he was done writing, he looked up. "What time is it?"

"Almost five."

"Why are you up?" His brows creased in disapproval.

Hers rose. "Why are you up? Did you even go to bed?"

He shook his head, putting the pen down on the page and closing the book. "I was writing."

"All night?"

He pushed the chair back and stretched his tight limbs. "I do that when I'm in the mood."

"Is that how you wrote all those books?"

He laughed. June was obviously still processing that information, that he was a famous writer, and she'd had the misfortune or fortune of meeting. It had been about a week since the revelation.

"Maybe." He approached the door, and she stepped aside to make way. "Why are you up though, if it's only five in the morning?"

"Some stupid car popped a tyre and woke me."

"Nervous?" he asked, and she nodded. "Don't be. They are all morons and they are new to this. You'll be right."

"I hate that saying. You'll be right?!" She grimaced. "What does that even mean? Dad used to say it all the time, and nothing was right."

Chad eyed her curiously. What the hell had riled her up? He wanted to laugh but thought better of it. "I meant nothing by it," he said, somewhat baffled. "All I meant is that you'll be fine because you know what you're getting into more than the first years."

June sighed. "I don't think I can do this."

"Yes, you can."

"I haven't been to Uni in over a year, Chad. All my friends are a year ahead of me now, and I can't avoid them."

"Then don't avoid them."

"And if they ask what happened?" she whined. "What do I say then?"

"The truth." He poured leftover coffee from the pot into the largest cup he could find. When he turned back, she stood there unresponsive. "Whatever the truth is."

"I don't want to tell them the truth." She shook her head. "I don't want to tell anybody the truth, or what happened, or what I've done, where I've been, or where I lived the last year of my life."