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It had been three days since my...Episode. I had been avoiding Mr. Phoenix at all cost. I didn't even go to work with him. I opted to stay home with the boys. Cameron was usually gone from twelve to four. Carter played his drums and occasionally left out. Rylie played his video games, watched animé, and sometimes went to see his friend who lived a few floors down. I stayed in the room I shared with Rylie. Sometimes I sat on the second floor balcony where Carter kept his drum set.
When I knew Mr. Phoenix was set to return, Childishly I'd pretend to be sleeping. Mr. Phoenix was too kind. He would let me "sleep." He wouldn't want to be a bother. It was wrong. I knew that. I just didn't want to talk. Not to him. Not some shrink. I was fine. I've always been and one bad night wasn't going to change that. I had been dealing with this for years. I know myself.
I was sitting on the balcony. They had lounge chairs spread across the space. Two on the left, the door space, one on the right, Carter's drum set pushed to the corner. It was rather spacious, the balcony. The usual humid air had become cool with warn undertones. I was sitting with my legs folded in lotus position. A pair of basketball shorts from Cameron and a large hoodie from Carter on.
The shorts were apart of my usual pajama wear Mr. Phoenix had instructed Cameron to let me use. The hoodie was from loaned from Carter when I sat out here the other night. The weather had chilled and he figured I'd need it. Just like the other night, I was sitting in silence. A book in my hands. Rylie had an extensive collection on his dresser and I decided to pick one up. It was nothing fancy, just one of the books from the Maze Runner series.
I was finishing up a chapter when I could hear the door slide open then a rhythmic clicking noise. Carter steps into my peripheral vision. Sweat pants cinched at the ankle, a black T-shirt on. The tattoos on his arms and hands shown. He quirks up at a brow at my sitting figure.
"Didn't know you were out here," he comments. His deep voice accentuated his looks. It's like you'd expect him to sound the way he does. He surely had girls or boys maybe even both pining after him. He takes a seat behind his drums. I realize the clicking noise was his drum sticks.
He taps a light beat on one if the smaller ones before adjusting one of the cymbals, "My dad's probably going to be home in like an hour. Just a heads up if you wanna "go to bed," he air quotes the three words with a small twitch to his lips. I swallow hard. Someone had noticed my pattern.
"Oh."
"You know," he taps a beat, "He's worried about you," his blue eyes meet mine, "After whatever happened the other day he's just been really concerned. We've never fostered a girl and well, to be frank there hasn't been any women in the house since our mom passed. He doesn't really know what to do. He's being really cautious with how we do things. We can't even walk around in our boxers anymore."
I wet my lips. The dry air making them chap, "Sorry."
Carter shrugs, "It's not a problem. It just sucks having to wear pants and shirts all the time," he lets out a soft chuckle, "But I get it. He doesn't want you to be uncomfortable even though you seem to be uncomfortable 24/7."
