Butterflies

Chapter Thirty Seven

Double post. Make sure you read chapter thirty six before this one!

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'You are my favorite feeling.'
~Aesteuticc~
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Nighttime Talks
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Isabelle

Today was a long day. Started off horrible, turned into somewhat fun, and is ending with exhaustion. I huff out a loud sigh before leaning down and spitting out my toothpaste into the sink.

Looking back at the unknown person in the mirror, I shake my head and turn to walk back to my bed. I have all my lights on, and feel slightly bad for my parents electrical bill. Not sad enough tho.

Tucking myself under the comforter, throwing as many pillows as I can around me so I feel more safe, I finally close my eyes. It feels strange, almost foreign from how little I've been sleeping.

Then, I hear a small creaking sound that sounds eerily similar to the one my window makes when it's being opened. I spring out of bed before my body has time to acknowledge what's going on, and I'm fumbling for something–anything to use as a weapon.

A shoe is what I grab first, shaking head to toe and starring at my window. A man, half inside, half outside looking almost as spooked as I feel. Black sweatshirt, black shorts, black shoes. I'd think it was a thug if the piercing green eyes, and sharp black hair didn't give it away.

"What are you doing Milo!? You scared the crap out of me." Dropping the shoe, I drop my head into my hands and groan. Even though I know who the person is now, my body is still in a slight panic mode, and I can't get my limbs to stop shaking.

I hear footsteps, and the window closing, leaving me to believe that he is finally in the room. He is soaking wet, and I'm not surprised, from how it's still pouring outside. Just the walk over here left him drenched.

He's still yet to say anything, but by the way his breath is erratic and his hands are shaking tells me something is wrong. "Why are you crawling into my bedroom window well past midnight? Why didn't' you just use the front door, or knock first, or–" I stop, take a deep breath, and stare at him.

It's quiet, and we're just staring at each other.

"Milo?" I whisper. It's almost like turning a robot off with the way his shoulders sag forward, his facial features fall, and he visibly falls apart. I take a quick step forward, feeling fear grip my throat in all the wrong ways.

"I didn't mean to scare you." His voice is quiet, closer to one of a frightened child than to a strong adult. "Are you...ok?" I ask tentatively. I don't know what could push him over the edge he's so painfully dangling on. I don't know what could trigger him. I don't know anything about him.

The realization slaps me in the face, but I force it back for another time. Now's not for that conversation. He opens his mouth, and then snaps it closed. He shivers, and I see his hands shaking harder.

I take another step, and then another, until I'm right up close to him. He's looking down at me, and I'm looking up at him, yet it feels like he's so much smaller. His hair droops forward, prompting me to reach up, and run it backwards so the water gets out of his face.

"What happened?" I ask again, keeping my fingers in his hair until they run down the back of his neck, and appear out the front, closer to his jaw. His eyes close, and he shuffles closer, then surprises me by leaning down and laying his forehead on my shoulder.