Exotic

~ wake in fright ~

The hammering on my bedroom door the next morning might as well have been an ice bucket tossed over my head. I jumped awake, bleary-eyed and lead-boned, slouching back quickly in my pillows when I realised the only person it could have been.

The clock told me it was the early hours of the morning, an hour before the alarm I had set to be ready for Aaron to pick me up and drive us to the hospital to get Zsa Zsa. My body protested being pulled from deep, rejuvenating sleep, and my brain remaining in a dreamless fog. My mouth was sticky and foul-tasting, and my torso was plagued with a dull ache. I rested to touch my head and combed my fingers through the matts in the back of my hair.

After Aaron had dropped me home, I'd dropped into bed. Reece had clearly given up on catching me sneaking back inside; the house had been quiet. I'd resigned myself to facing consequences when he woke up.

"Miles!"

Judgment day. Game face.

Reece opened my door and came in without waiting for permission. I pushed back my blankets, sitting up in a defensive hunch. His arms were folded; his face was ugly with disappointment.

He just stared for a while, presumably to let me soak in my guilt. I shifted my eyes to the window, to watch the sunrise. I didn't know what it was that made it hard to meet his eye. I hadn't thought twice about leaving the house the night before, but I didn't feel good about deliberately defying him. I didn't feel bad either.

I just felt embarrassed. In my half-delirious state, I could imagine Mum standing behind him, shaking her head in frustration. What are we going to do with him, Reece? I don't know how much more I can take. He wouldn't do this if his father was still around.

"Good morning," Reece stated. His tone made it clear he didn't think it was.

I didn't say a word. I didn't want to give him anything he could warp against me.

"How'd you get home last night?"

It wasn't exactly the question I'd been expected. Or the blunt bullying I'd hoped for, to make me feel justified in my defiance.

Come on Reece. Tell me I'm a waste of air. Tell me I'm a loser. Give me something to warp against you.

"Aaron drove," I mumbled.

"Was he drinking?"

I looked back to him, brow furrowed. He had every excuse to yell at me, demand answers, demand where I was, and he was concerned about how I'd gotten home the night before? Where was he going with all of this? "No. Neither was I."

Why I felt the need to clarify that, I had no idea. It wasn't like I cared what Reece thought about me.

"Alright," he dropped his arms. "Get dressed."

I stared as if he'd sprouted a second head. "I... Get... What?"

"We're going to the garage. Get dressed," he turned his back on me. "If you're ready to go by eight, we'll stop by Maccas."

He left before I could think of the last word. I pinched myself on the shoulder, hard. I wasn't dreaming, evidently; maybe I'd dropped into an alternate dimension last night, right about the time Caleb Proust kissed me.

The garage? Maccas? Maybe he just wanted to confront me in a public place, so there was no risk of him throttling me. But that was more for my sake than his, and I'd never known him to be so considerate.

I fumbled for my phone, half-expecting a barrage of messages. I'd sent three when I'd arrived home, before crashing into bed.

One, to Jamie; sorry for taking off. my stuff is in the dressing room. i'll pick it up when I work next?