Declan pushes open the door.
My old bed.
The room is exactly as I left it, which somehow makes this worse. It’s as if the room has been waiting for me to come back. This is the epitome of one step forward and two steps back. I am eating the biggest piece of humble pie, and it tastes like shit.
"We'll figure out the rest tomorrow," Declan says. "Your stuff, whatever you need."
He turns toward the door.
"Declan."
He stops. His back is to me, and he doesn't turn around. I can see the tension in the set of his shoulders.
"Just…" I don't even know how to start. I don't know what I'm asking for. "Can we just talk? For a minute."
"Not tonight."
My heart sinks. I shouldn’t expect anything else. “Okay. Well, um, thank you.”
"Go to bed, Sutton."
And then he's gone. His door closes. A quiet click. It feels so deliberate, final.
I stand in the middle of my old room and stare at the bag on the bed.
My throat tightens, and then I'm silently crying. I’m too proud to make any noise. I press the back of my hand against my mouth and breathe through it until the worst of it passes.
I’m right back where I started, but this time, I’m at what I’m sure is the lowest point of my young life. I thought showing up here the first time was a bad idea. It’s nothing compared to what I feel now.
I have nothing. I have no idea if I’ll be able to get my things out of my apartment. I don’t even know if they’re ruined. I have no clothes. No home. Nothing.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pull out my phone. My hands are shaking with the strength it takes to keep myself from caring.
Me:Ended up back at the house. Long story. I'm okay.
Keira's response comes in under a minute, which means she wasn't asleep.
Keira:Good.
Me:Thank you.
Keira:I didn’t do anything.
Me:Liar. But thank you.
Keira:I’m sorry. I was worried, and I hate that I couldn’t help.
Me:Goodnight.
I set my phone face down on the mattress and sit there for another minute, listening to the house settle around me. Everything feels the same but different. I feel like I’ve been gone forever, and yet no more than a day.
Eventually, I get up.
The linen closet is in the hall, between my room and the bathroom. I know exactly which shelf holds the spare bedding. I find it without looking. I pull them down and carry them back.
I had washed them before I left. Folded them properly and put them away because I didn't want to be the person who left things messy. I'd been so careful about leaving the house the way I found it, like I could just disappear, as if I’d never been there.
And now I'm back.
