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I’m in Zach’s room.
I walked for hours to get here.
I walked for miles in my blue sandals that gnawed on my feet. I have blisters on my heels and my skin tore open, oozing blood.
But I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I kept bleeding and sweating in the heat until I reached The Pleiades. Instead of going to the cottage, I walked toward the main house and got in through the service entrance.
If someone had found me wandering the hallways, in a dark blue dress, with bloody feet, I don’t know what I would’ve said to them. Maggie would’ve been pissed. Mrs. S would’ve come to know and I could’ve been fired. But I didn’t care about that. I didn’t care about the job or the house I’m trying to get back.
Good thing too because I didn’t encounter anyone on my way to his room.
His door was locked.
After the whole debacle of him dousing me in water and taking away my keys, Mrs. S said that we weren’t allowed in Zach’s room, unless he was the one letting us in. But there was no hesitation in me when I used the pin in my hair to break in.
And now, here I am. Dizzy and tired and probably as pale as a ghost.
Maybe he’s out on his bike right now, doing what he does this time of night. But I’ll wait for him to come back.
I don’t know what I’ll do when he does come back or why I came into his room in the middle of the night. I’m pretty sure tomorrow, all of this will look crazy and unhinged. But for now, I don’t know what else to do or where else to go.
I look around his room. It appears the same from days ago when I stupidly hid in his bathtub.
But there are subtle differences. A few of his clothes are scattered on the dresser. His backpack is on the black leather couch, directly opposite from his king-sized bed. His empty mattress holds the shape of his body and rumpled dark sheets.
And then, there’s his book, sitting on the nightstand.
Still in my sandals, I round the side of the bed and limp over to it. The cover of the book is all white, with the title written in bright blue.
Last time I flicked through it, but tonight I take the time to read what’s inside. There’s a story behind almost every constellation, and soon I’m flying through the pages.
I don’t remember sitting on the bed but I am. Right on the edge as I read the love story of Perseus and Andromeda. Apparently, the night sky is full of them, love stories. That’s where the term comes from: a love written in the stars.
Again, I don’t remember taking off my sandals and lying down but I am. I’m on my side, facing the big window as I keep on reading. The sheets feel warm like a cocoon, and even if I didn’t already know that this is where Zach sleeps, I’d smell him and figure it out.
Blueberry pie and clean musk.
Last thing I remember before closing my eyes and drowning in his quicksand of a bed is turning the page and thinking that there’s no way I can sleep in his room.
Turns out, I was wrong.
I did sleep. God knows for how long and God knows what woke me up with a jerk. But I’m awake now and sort of dizzy and foggy.
I take in the room; it’s dark. The overhead lights have been switched off. I swallow in fear. And then, my eyes fall on a shadow. A big, black shadow in the shape of the guy I’ve come seeking.
He’s sitting in a chair, in the glass alcove, overlooking the sky and stars and age-old love stories.
The only light in the room is the glow of the lamp, ripping his body in two: dark and light.
I can see his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair and his gorgeous soft lips lightly wrapped around his finger. He’s contemplating as he watches me sleep.
Slowly, awareness seeps into my brain and I prop myself up. Apparently, the book I was reading was tucked under my cheek and my movements cause it to fall.
It does with a thud and we both watch it. Me, with a grimace and him, with a blank look.
I’m about to get off the bed when he speaks, “You know…”
I whip my eyes in his direction.
