Consumed

Chapter 11: Meri

I open my eyes and stare up at the plain white of the ceiling in Milan's bedroom. Sleep still tugs at me, and I'm slow to take things in. But the first thing I notice is that Milan is gone. This drags me from the remnants of sleep. Panic tugs at me.

Where is he? How long have I been asleep? He left me... I close my eyes again, rationalizing things to keep the irrational panic at bay. He probably left you so that he wouldn't wake you up. After all, it's not like he has nothing better to do besides watch movies. And he most likely didn't want to scare you if you woke up with him next to you.

I take a shaky breath and sit up. The initial fear fades out, and calm takes over for the first time in months. The bedroom is really nice. I didn't notice last time I was here because I was tired and scared. Now I'm feeling better, and I'm not as scared. It actually seems like things might be okay for the first time in years.

A soft smile breaks out on my face as I look at the room. There are little touches that make the room Milan's scattered about. Despite the minimalist approach to the room — black carpet, white walls, simple silver shades, and plain black or chrome furniture — I can still tell it's his.

His chrome bookcase is full of books from all genres, and one is lying on his desk, face down. The desk is tidy. His pens and pencils are neatly piled into a round pencil container. Each one of them is perfectly straight, and there's not room for another pen or pencil in the small container. He has two notebooks set neatly to the side, and a calendar underneath the glass cover that protects the desk. Otherwise, the desk is clean. Just like his car.

Unlike most guys, he doesn't leave clothes lying all over. The rug is vacuumed and doesn't have anything on it. Every item in the room has been neatly organized or placed into its place. His guitar is on its stand in one corner, and besides a textbook that was left on the armchair beside the bed, nothing else is out of order.

I wonder briefly if he's OCD. But seeing the little signs of disorder in the room — his scattered books, the abandoned i-pod on the dresser, and the music magazines piled haphazardly on the end table — I figure he isn't. He just likes his things neat.

A knock sounds softly on the door.

"Yes?" I ask, wondering why the person knocked.

Milan pokes his head around the door and notices my examination of the room. He blushes. "I was going to clean the magazines and books up. Just didn't get a chance."

"It's fine." I smile at him, and then I get up, heading for the glass and chrome bookshelf. "You have so many books," I say, kneeling on the floor to look at them.

Milan comes over and sits beside me. He pushes aside the glass door and pulls out Heidi. "You remember the day we met? You told me your name was Heidi." He laughs and sets the hardcover collector's copy into my lap. "Out of all the names you could pick, that was the one that fit the least."

I blush, but laugh at myself. "Yeah, I know. I'm reading Heidi." My fingers trace over the gold leaf on the cover, and awe wells up in me. I've never seen books so beautiful. The library doesn't have ones like this.

"You can read anything you like from my collection or the library downstairs," he says, smiling at my surprise. "I know you had to leave your stuff at your house, so you don't have anything here. What's mine is yours now."

My eyes widen as I look up at him. "Why?" I find myself asking.

He frowns, and his smile becomes uncertain. "Why what?"

"Why are you helping me?" I ask, avoiding his gaze.

He hesitates. "It's the right thing to do..."