Incognito

All Good Things

I was thinking lately, that I don't know much about DI. I start to make a list in my head.

1. I know that he knows me more than I realize and that he cares about my well being.

2. He knows my family and they trust him.

3. He had a bad childhood and his father hates him.

4. He likes disappearing when I begin to connect the dots and enjoys being sickeningly mysterious.

5. He likes to keep things singular, usually when there's fear involved.

6. He's intelligent and strong willed.

7. DI is cocky around the clock.

8. He's in love with someone, but alas I don't know who.

Other than that, I can't think of much. The things I don't know about him are endless. My mother enters my room, surprising me. She beams down at me, the smile trying to hide how sad that her youngest child is aging and quickly slipping from her grasp. I know that smile since she started wearing it when June turned fifteen and began high school. The light from my room expands as she pulls the blinds open. My hand drapes around my eyes instinctively, and if I could, I'd hiss at her like a vampire. I rather enjoy the darkness.

"You still make the same face." She squeezes my scrunched up nose between her forefinger and thumb. In reaction, I lick her for her to take her hands off me and she complies with a little scream. "Anyway, darling, your boyfriend came for a visit. I suggest you hurry up and get dressed before you have breakfast with him."

She closes my door in courtesy while I lay puzzled. Boyfriend? I don't recall having one. Shrugging, my hands push the comforter off of my body and my feet find their way to the cold floor. Once I shuffle over to the bathroom, I quickly wash my face and brush my teeth before roughly applying some light makeup. If I was about to present myself to my boyfriend, I must look tolerable, right?

I shed my clothing, and replace it with yoga pants and an old tee shirt from a vacation from who-knows how long ago. I'm ready before I know it, and open my door to the smell of pancakes. Naturally, the sweet scent brings a smile to my face and only boosts my good mood. This dish is made ever-so often in this house, yet it is still my favorite thing to wake up to in the morning.

Making my way to the kitchen, I can already hear the warmth of laughter from both my parents and a certain someone's. I can catch a "Thank you" and a "Tomorrow it is then!". After I pass the living room, I see the back of the head of none other than Ryder. I resist the urge to frown but my smile lessens.

"Good morning, sweetheart." My father greets me, flipping another page of newspaper across to his other hand. Without actually looking at him, more like looking indirectly, I see Ryder's smile weaken also. I guess he feels the same way.

"Morning, Dad. Ryder." I exhale his name as if it pained me, though it might not be so. Ten weeks back, I would have been ecstatic about his appearance in my home. Though, in the same time, it shouldn't be bothering me. What should be bothering me is that my mother thinks I'm dating him. I swallow my desire to regurgitate.

The house hastily hushes, and I'm left with only the noise of the pan Mom is using to make the pancakes and the distant noise of the television from the living room. It's most likely because either my Mom, or my Dad, or possibly both, are waiting for Ryder and I to interact in some way. I'm sorry to be the one to make them aware, but we are not wild animals in the jungle. Or aliens nonetheless. Mom turns around from facing the stove and gives me her best discreet look, though with the silence I bet it's hardly not obvious. It's the kind of look where she wants me to be more sociable or friendlier.