Page 17 of Home Is Where You Are

From this house.

Getting up from the bed, I slipped on the slippers that were still placed under my nightstand, grabbed my phone, and walked out of the room.

I had one stop in mind.

The stables.

There was a loft at the top—that was my sanctuary—with a bed that I could sleep on and a bathroom if I needed it. I’d done it so many times growing up, my parents came to expect me to be there if they couldn’t find me in the mornings. This time would be no different.

As quiet as I could, I snuck out the door in the kitchen and walked down the lighted path to my destination. Once my parents realized I had been sneaking out to the stables, they installed lights so that I wouldn’t hurt myself in the dark anytime I decided to wander down here.

I pulled open the door just enough to get inside and shut it once I was cleared the entrance. The horses made some noises, but I ignored them as I walked over to the staircase.

Carefully, I grabbed the rail and climbed to the top. The door was open which was odd, but I thought nothing of it as I walked over to the bed, exhausted and ready to just sleep the night away. Morning would come too soon for my liking.

I turned the light off that someone must’ve left on and laid down on the comfy bed. My head hit the pillow, and I let out a sigh.

Just when I was comfortable, I heard the bathroom door open, causing me to sit up too quickly. My head spun from the fast motion, and I shook it to clear the fogginess.

There he stood in a pair of sleep pants. I was too stunned to even speak.

“What are you doin’ in my bed?”

His bed.

What was going on here?

“I…”

No words would come. I couldn’t get over how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the boy I’d left behind. He was now a man.

“You what?” he asked as he stepped closer to where I still sat, unmoving.

He couldn’t come closer.

That’d be bad.

So very bad.

“I didn’t know. I shouldn’t be here,” I said as I tried to get out of the bed.

My plan to escape didn’t go accordingly.

My foot got caught in the covers, and I went tumbling to the floor for the second time tonight.

I wasn’t this clumsy. It had to have been his fault. He was there both times I’d made a fool of myself.

“You really have to stop fallin’ over me, butterfly,” he said while trying to contain his laughter.

He leaned down to help me.

And I let him.

I didn’t need to fall again.

I needed to escape.

He pulled me off the floor with no effort at all.