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As the time for Gianna’s arrival nears, a mix of excitement and anxiety fills my chest. I arrange the food on the table, making sure everything is perfect. My heart races with anticipation, fueled by my impatience of finally meeting her.
“Focus, Percival,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath. “This is your chance to repay her kindness, to give her something incredible in return.”
When the door finally opens, I stand tall, ready to greet my savior with all the charm and charisma I possess. She steps into the room, her blond curly hair framing her face like a halo, and I’m struck but not in the way I was anticipating.
Chapter Six
Spencer
Asoddasitsounds, a thrift shop has always been a haven for me. A place where I can get lost in a world of forgotten treasures and stories waiting to be discovered. The vibrant colors and patterns of vintage clothing hang from the racks, each piece telling its own tale of yesteryears. Quirky knick-knacks line the shelves, and I smile at a ceramic cat wearing a polka-dotted bowtie.
As I navigate through the narrow aisles, I glimpse a piece of antique furniture tucked away in the back corner. My heart races with anticipation as I walk towards it, brushing past an ornate lamp and a frayed patchwork quilt. And then I see them—the perfect pair of nightstands. Their craftsmanship is exquisite, with delicate carvings adorning the wooden frame and brass handles that gleam in the dim light.
“Wow,”I run my fingers over the smooth surface. I can already imagine them standing proudly beside my bed, the fresh coat of paint I’ll give them, bringing new life to their aged beauty. They would fit perfectly into the vision I have for my home, a blend of old-world charm and modern simplicity.
“Can you believe these were just sitting here? They’re going to look amazing once I’m done with them.”
My mind fills with ideas for how I’ll transform these nightstands, the countless hours I’ll spend sanding and painting until they become the embodiment of my dream. It’s moments like these that make me feel alive, the thrill of unearthing hidden gems among the clutter and giving them a second chance to shine.
I carefully pull out one of the drawers, taking a closer look at the intricate joinery and appreciating the time and skill that went into creating such a fine piece of furniture. It’s hard to believe someone could part with these, but their loss is my gain.
“Spencer, you’ve got yourself a real treasure here.”Right now I’m more determined than ever to bring out the best in these nightstands and, by extension, myself. The world may be chaotic outside these walls, but here, surrounded by the relics of the past, I find peace, purpose, and the promise of a beautiful future.
“Alright, that’ll be forty dollars for the pair and five for the t-shirt,” says the woman behind the counter, her smile warm and genuine. I place a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the counter, my heart swelling with pride as I take this small step toward building the life I’ve always envisioned.
As the woman thanks me and bags up my purchase, I imagine what it would be like to have the freedom to come and go as I please, to drive myself to the thrift shop without relying on others for assistance. It’s not just about the car or the nightstands; it’s about the independence I crave, the chance to make my own decisions and live life on my terms. I know I can’t change everything overnight, but each choice brings me one step closer to the person I want to become.
“Take care now,” the woman says as she hands me the receipt. “Can’t wait to see what you do with those nightstands!”
“Thank you,” I reply, then hand her a note saying I’ll pick up the furniture later when my Aunt Orla is available.
With that, I head back to my home. The sun is shining brightly overhead, casting long shadows across the parking lot and bathing everything in a golden glow. It should be a beautiful day, yet something feels off, like an itch at the back of my mind that I can’t quite scratch.
As I walk, I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. My steps quicken, my breath coming a bit faster as I glance over my shoulder, searching for any sign of danger or unfamiliar faces. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary—just a few other shoppers going about their day, lost in their own thoughts.
“Get a grip, Spencer,” I chastise myself silently, trying to dismiss the uneasy feeling as nothing more than the overactive imagination of an artist. “You’re just being paranoid.”
But even as I reassure myself, my instincts tell me that something isn’t right. The air feels heavier, charged with an energy that makes the hairs on my neck stand. My heart races, each beat a reminder that I can’t ignore what my gut is telling me: something is lurking in the shadows, something that has its sights set on me.
And so, as I reach the bus stop, I glance around one last time, searching for any sign of the danger that seems to be closing in. But there’s nothing there, just the empty expanse of the parking lot and the relentless passage of time.
“Maybe it’s all in my head,” I admit. “Or maybe I’m not as alone as I think.”
~~~
The ride on the bus back to my aunts’ house is mercifully uneventful. The dilapidated Victorian house comes into view, its worn-down exterior a stark contrast to the warmth and love that reside within. Paint peels from the wooden siding like memories of better days, and the garden, though overgrown with wildflowers and weeds, has an undeniable charm.
I step inside, the comforting aroma of freshly baked pastries mingling with the familiar scent of old books and well-loved furniture.
“Hi,” I say, one of the few noises I dare to make.
Then my Aunt Fiona’s smiley face comes into view. “You’re finally home. Come join me in the kitchen. We have a guest.”
With my curiosity piqued, I follow her into the cozy kitchen. There, sitting at the table sipping coffee and enjoying a pastry, is a man. One I thought I would never see again. Let alone sitting in my home as if he belongs there. His charming smile lights up the room, his confident demeanor a striking contrast to my own cautious nature.
“Hey there, Spencer,” he greets me, his eyes sparkling. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Uh…” I stammer, taken aback by his sudden appearance. Somehow, I manage to take the notebook from my bag and scribble on a sheet. “What are you doing here?”
