The Boy on the Second Floor ✓

xxviii. Unhappy Thanksgiving

xxviii. Unhappy Thanksgiving

It was Thanksgiving. Taylor was visiting her family, and would hopefully be returning soon. I was sat on a chair in our balcony, a cigarette between my lips. As smoke floated up into the sky, and cold air nipped at my skin, I blocked out the thoughts racing in my head. I just wanted peace for once.

It was already getting dark and I hadn't moved for hours. Taylor had left before noon, and I'd sat down here not long after she was gone. Normally, she would have left a few days earlier and come back some days after Thanksgiving, but this year was different. For some reason, her family had come here instead of her going there.

Maybe they got a cabin here in Michigan and wanted her to come see it for Thanksgiving. Whatever the reason was, I wasn't invited. As always.

Thanksgiving - and any other holiday if we're being completely honest - had lost its magic years ago, when, after I lost contact with my family, Taylor stopped taking me to any of her family gatherings. That meant that I was always left alone for all holidays, including Thanksgiving.

I wasn't even sure if anyone knew Taylor and I were still together. They probably all thought that she had dumped me a long time ago in exchange for someone hotter, and much better than me. I'd dump me if I was her.

I puffed out a thick cloud of smoke and watched as it swirled around in the soft evening breeze. The olive green fuzzy robe I was wearing hung loosely on my shoulders. Its belt loosened when I stood up to my full height and put out my half smoked cigarette; I'd finish it later.

I took cautious steps towards the bedroom. I didn't even know why I was being cautious since I was the only one here, but it just felt right. Maybe I'd just gotten so used to having to sneak around the apartment.

I opened the door of Taylor and I's bedroom and stepped inside, walking straight over to the window and looking out into the dark road.

I saw a small car drive in front of the building, and a figure stepping out. This figure wasn't just one of any random man, though. It was someone with brown hair, grey eyes, and a terribly angry expression on his face. I obviously couldn't see his eyes from where I was on the second floor, but I could still tell that he was angry at something or someone.

This man, if you hadn't figured it out already, was Samuel; the man I forced myself to push out of my life but was now missing terribly, perhaps even too much so.

I watched as he turned around to look at the leaving car. He waved to the people in it before turning back around and walking inside.

Why was he so angry? On one of our conversations, he'd told me he enjoyed Thanksgiving. The way he had looked surely didn't show any sort of enjoyment to be present in him at the moment he stepped out of the car.

Something had probably happened. Something bad. I wished I could go down and talk to him, maybe help him calm down, but I knew I couldn't.

Taylor would kill me if I disobeyed her again.