It All Started With The Butterflies

Chapter 25

"Where am I?" I enquired.

"My room," Caspian clarified.

The room was neat and devoid of any unnecessary possessions. All I could see was a couple of cans of deodorant, a bottle of shampoo and a pair of jeans that hung over a chair; nothing else that said anything about his personality or character.

"Your parents?" I asked, wondering about mine at the same time. Had they figured out I had lied?

"You're in Stinger headquarters." Caspian helped me stand up. "The new recruits stay here, until training is finished."

"I thought you were already with them for like a year."

"Training is three years."

"Almost as bad as high school," I joked. "Do your friends know I'm here?"

Caspian shook his head.

"Ok." I hoped I wouldn't have to climb out of a window or anything like that. "So?" I looked to Caspian for further instruction. "How do I get out?"

"You can head out through the front door," he suggested. "It's Saturday, everyone sleeps in."

I walked towards the door. "Thanks so much." I wasn't entirely sure what else to say.

Caspian gravely nodded his head.

"One more thing, how did you know where I was?" I enquired, out of sheer curiosity.

"Someone saw you and told me my girl was with another man," Caspian replied.

"Who?" I asked. I didn't know Caspian had told anyone about our short-lived relationship.

"Doesn't matter," Caspian replied, turning his face away from me. "I shouldn't have come anyway, you're not my girl anymore."

"You wish you hadn't come." I tried to keep my voice low, but I wasn't very successful.

"That's not what I..."

I didn't give him a chance to finish. I flung the door open, only to meet a pair of piercing green eyes. "Oh, my giddy aunt," a woman before me exclaimed, with her hands on her hips. She was not someone I expected to be a Stinger. She wore a long floral dress with off-shoulder sleeves. Her salt and pepper hair was braided and settled on one of her shoulders. Permanent wrinkles veined her cheeks. Her mouth was bare of any lipstick, and was cracked and dry. She was old, maybe in her late forties. She looked like she was strict. While I was examining her, she was doing the same to me.

"Morning," I greeted.

"And who might you be?" she asked, not returning my greeting.