Page 11 of Left In The Dark

“Yes, I remember the Balcony. That was one of our favorite places to try to use our fake IDs at,” I say between chuckles.

She sputters a laugh. “Yup, and now we can show them our real ones while not being worried about being turned away.”

“Pretty sure they only let us in the last two times because they were hoping we’d get our fill and stop coming on our own.”

“Oh, the good times. So you in or what?”

“Sure.”

“And about last night, if you’re worried—”

“I’m not. Blake Mitchell isn’t keeping me in my house anymore. I’m done holding myself back because of him. He’s only one person, who happened to get lucky by catching me off guard. He won’t do it again.”

“That’s the spirit. We’ll be with you the whole time too,” she reassures me. “No more letting you go out alone into parking lots.”

“I’ll try to take your advice more, too.”

“As you should,” she preens. “I’m the smart one in the group, after all.”

I let out a short laugh. “Okay, okay. No need to sound so big‑headed. But yeah, it sounds like a good time, and I could really use a redo of my first night in town.”

“Cool. So pick you up at seven, then?” She perks up.

“Seven it is.”

“See you later.”

“Later.” Ending the call, I stare at the boxes again and get back to my previous task. The first one is full of books and the second has wall decor. The last one has lots of photos, electronics, and linens. I gave half of what was in my dorm away—things like laundry detergent, school supplies, packs of ramen, and my small microwave. Whatever I wouldn’t need here. Hours pass as I clear out space on shelves for my books, replace my bedding and switch out other decor around my room.

By the time I’m done, the large space starts to feel more like me. A mixture of who I was before I left and who I am now. Sitting down on my bed and looking around, I realize how much hasn’t changed, and that it doesn’t have to for me to move on from the torment I suffered in the past. This unsettled rift between me and Blake does, however.

“There you are.” My mom stands in the doorway, eyes circling my room. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks,” I say, adjusting a picture of me and my friends at the lake on my nightstand. “I think it’s coming along okay too.”

“Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry, or are you going out today?”

“I’m going out but not until seven. I have some time to eat.”

“I’ll set the table for two, then.” Smiling wider, she turns around to walk back to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, I follow her, and my plate is waiting for me in the spot across from where she’s sitting.

“Smells good,” I say, settling in the chair. The savory scent travels deeper into my nose, and I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.

“It’s only leftovers mixed with whatever I had in the fridge. I really need to go to the market tomorrow.”

“I’ll go,” I offer, lifting a spoonful of goulash to my mouth. Humming around each bite, I don’t stop until I preactically clear off my plate, and my mom smiles at the fork coming up empty as I lift it to my mouth.

“Let me get you some more, and you’ve done so much in the short time you’ve been here. Use tomorrow as a day to relax. I don’t mind going.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal.” I hand her my plate as she stretches her arm across the table. “I want to familiarize myself with the town and the people. See if Mr. Karts is still trying to swipe candy bars on his shopping trips.”

Laughter flows through the kitchen and my plate clinks against the table as she lays it in front of me. “Well, if you insist. And don’t forget, there’s more where that came from in case you’re still hungry.” She lowers her eyes to my plate.

She finishes her food before me and I set my dishes in the dishwasher when I’m done, running the load before walking out back to check on the pigs. We only have three at the moment. Mom couldn’t handle more on her own, and I’m not sure we’ll keep the ones we have either. She’s either trying to back my father’s dream after all these years, or she could just be so used to this life that she doesn’t know how to live any other way.

Grunts and high‑pitched sounds come from behind the barn. Two black pigs run around me and one shoots out from wherever it was hiding, running straight for me.

“You guys are hungry, huh? This better hold you over for the remainder of the night.” Leaning down, I pet one on the snout and exit the way I came in, walking toward the feed. Lydia is pulling in through the front gate as I’m filling up the large black bucket on the other side. The pigs rush over, shoving each other out of the way, and their sounds grow louder.