Kidnapped Love

Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

Sunlight crept along the edge of my comforter, a golden invader in a realm of sleep. I blinked against its persistence, and my mind stirred with the day's weighty anticipation. Today was not just another morning; it was the prelude to an evening that had been lounging ominously on the horizon of my calendar. The dance.

I let out a slow breath, trying to steady the flutter in my chest. My feet found the plush rug beneath my bed, grounding me in the reality of the waking world. I needed to slip into the rhythm of the day before the night's event could sweep me off balance.

"Trish?" My voice was groggy, reaching out for my friend who should've been nestled under her own covers next to me. But her side of the bed was empty, the sheets pulled back neatly—a silent confirmation of her earlier departure.

A breeze laced with the salty scent of the ocean waltzed in from the balcony, ruffling the sheer curtains in a delicate dance. The doors stood wide open, and I wondered if Trish had ventured out to greet the morning, leaving behind this fragrant reminder of her absence.

A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cool air but from a nagging thought that something was amiss.

I drew the doors closed, cutting off the breeze's playful intrusion. The click of the latch was finite, a period at the end of that line of questioning. For now, at least.

Today's trials wouldn't wait for me to dissect last night's mysteries. My hands busied themselves with smoothing down the bedsheets, chasing away the last remnants of dreams. With each fold and tuck, I pushed aside the anxious undercurrent threatening to unsettle the calm surface of my routine.

"Get through the day," I whispered, a mantra to shepherd me forward. "Just get through the day."

Descending the staircase, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee was a comforting escort into the day, mingling with my own trepidation about the evening to come. The soft murmur of conversation drew me towards the dining room where Ron, ever the morning person, was animated in his gestures, while Trish's laughter fluttered like birdsong through the air.

"Morning," I greeted, my voice steadier now. "Did you go out on the balcony this morning?" I asked Trish.

"Morning, sleepyhead. No, wasn't me," Trish replied without looking up, her attention seemingly captured by the steam rising from her coffee. "Thought it might've been you during your little midnight march," she added with a teasing lilt, finally meeting my eyes.

"Midnight march?" I echoed, the notion feeling as foreign as the concept of flying.

"Yup, sounded like you were walking around in your sleep. Quite the nocturnal adventure," Trish chuckled, taking another sip of her coffee.

Ron merely shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he too found humor in my unwitting escapades.

I frowned, trying to recall any fragment of a dream that could have propelled me into such an act. Sleepwalking? It was absurd; I'd never done anything of the sort before.

"Guess it must have been quite the party last night to put me on autopilot," I mused aloud, though the idea settled uneasily within me, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong spot.

"Or it was just the wind," Ron suggested pragmatically, always one to look for the simplest explanation.

"Maybe," I conceded, letting the matter drift away with the remnants of my unease. I wasn't about to let something so trivial overshadow the nervous excitement for the dance.

Shrugging off the mystery, I decided to focus on the present—namely, the gnawing hunger that had made itself known. My stomach grumbled in agreement as I moved towards the kitchen, craving sustenance. A breakfast devoid of complexity but rich in comfort seemed fitting, so I reached for the bread, sliding two slices into the toaster.