The Little House of Paints

Chapter 14

I spent the rest of my day at the store. Call me dramatic, but with my luck, I probably would have run into Miller on the street if I had left after only a few minutes of hiding. Staying for six hours in the same building to make sure that the person you are now avoiding is by no chance anywhere near, isn't insane, right?

Oh, who am I kidding?

It is completely insane and irrational, but I don't know what else to do. It makes sense to just not see him anymore. I should just cut him off completely after messaging him about his potentially cheating girlfriend. But likely a man with his already flimsy morals wouldn't care if someone else also happens to have flimsy morals.

After a quick family dinner, I rush upstairs making up some excuse of being tired. It is not a complete lie, but it also isn't the true reason why I am so anxious to go upstairs to the sanctuary of my room. My own little corner of the house.

It is pretty much the same as when I was living here full time. Instead of being one of the parents that turns their children's room into a second bathroom when they move out, my dad has left my room untouched. He probably keeps it like this to hold onto my youth. By coming in here and seeing it empty, he has to finally admit that my visits back home are just that. Visits. Temporary, not permanent.

My twin bed is situated in the corner with a large window located directly next to it. Since my room is sandwiched between the bathroom and a storage closet, there is sadly only one wall available to have a window on. My old, red, ratty quilt is thrown a little bit haphazardly on my bed, a clear sign of my morning rush. My closet door is slightly open as well once again hinting at my urgency. Though my dad thinks that I took my sweet time getting into town, I truly did hurry in hopes that speed would distract from my spiraling thoughts. Clearly though much to my dismay, it didn't work this morning and racing up here hasn't worked now.

I plop down in my oversized bean bag situated in the corner of my room. When we first moved here, Dad gifted it to me. I think he wanted me to make it into some kind of nook or something. To his dismay, it went largely unused back then. Now, I find myself gravitating towards it more and more. I would probably get one of them for mine and Teagan's apartment, but unfortunately I think Jericho would get lost in it. Plus there is no room for it, so it is a moot point.

Settling myself among the bean bag, I pull the blanket on top of myself that was thrown over the back. With the combination of a singular giant window in my room, a hardwood floor, and an older house at play, it tends to get drafty in my comfy corner in the colder months. Wrapping myself up, I grab my phone from the end table next to me.

Though it is against my usual preferences, I facetime Teagan. We usually go back and forth between our preferences because that is what friends do, but it seems that we are leaning more towards her choice nowadays.

As soon as her face appears on the screen, I can tell that she is angry. And not like 'give me a minute' type of anger. This is the 'you are in deep, deep, trouble' type. Usually this type of fury is reserved strictly for overbearing parents, but it seems like my friend is taking a page out of her parent's playbook.

"Hey?" I start hesitantly. This of course manages to make her even more mad. Her nostrils look like they are almost flaring at this point.

"Hey?" She mimics my voice, "That is all you have to say."

"Hi?" I try to lighten the situation, whatever that might actually be, but to no avail.

"Okay, Kendahl, riddle me this," she seems to start to compose herself, "How could you think to not tell your best friend that you live in a town with a murderer on the loose!" By the time that she is done with her supposed question, her fury has once again turned back up to full blast. However, lucky for me the nostrils have stopped looking flary so the anger might be unwinding.