alexis
The walls are white.
They are bare and pale and staring at me with such a lack of color that I begin to question the thought of color itself. The entire room is white, now that I look at it: the bedspread, the dresser, and even the closet door. Guest rooms are intended to be this way, I guess. White and plain, so that the visitor can customize the room to fit their liking. But to me, the room resembled more of a prison than a bedroom, and I didn't plan on staying for long.
I like black. Black and grey, or maybe a light blue. And white isn't bad, not in small increments. Like those pillows in a hotel bed, all freshly washed and smelling sweet. Or clouds in the sky on a bright summer day. But I've always liked the cloudy ones more. And on those days the clouds are a distinct grey.
This white room that is now mine is the opposite of my bedroom at home. We renovated my room a few years ago, once I got past my horrendous twelve-year-old self's sense of style. My bunk bed was replaced with a queen size covered in too many pillows, and the pale pink walls were refreshed with a grey so light they appeared white if you looked away too fast.
My bedroom is now two states away, in Washington. And I'm here in California, where the sun is too bright and the sand gets everywhere that you don't want it to be. The stars don't shine because the pollution is too thick, and the pavement on Hollywood Boulevard gets so hot in the summer you could burn your bare feet if you dare walk on it without flip-flops.
My eyes avert to the window, which has white curtains- what a surprise. Outside, I see the colorless grey-blue sky that is nearly known as the trademark of Southern California. The houses outside all look the same, except for the alternating trim colors. There are a few trees outside, in the yard. But they don't get enough oxygen, because of the smog. The leaves are a sad, pale green. They are envious of the bright green trees that line the highways of my hometown.
She said that moving would help me. But nothing else has, and I doubt this will. Nothing, let alone plucking me out of my normal habitat and moving in with my grandmother could make me forget about everything.
I don't remember telling anyone that remembering it all was the problem, because I love the good memories that are still left. There are so many more good than bad ones, anyway. I want to remember the surge of happiness I would feel when I would see him waiting for me on the porch of my house, or the flutter in my chest when my phone lit up with a text from him, even if we had been together the entire day. The way it felt to fall asleep next to him, and the way he'd laugh as he told me something stupid about his day. His days were always better than mine. His bright eyes would grin at me, his smile lighting up his whole face and somehow sneaking onto mine.
But that all ended six months ago, along with everything else.
"Alexis?" A hand taps on the door. He used to call me Lex.
The door squeaks open, and Gram is here, noticing the way I glare at the wall. I haven't moved since I got here, which was a few hours ago. I would call someone, but my phone is buried in my suitcase, and besides, who would I call? There's no one now.
"Maybe you should unpack, honey," Gram suggests, and begins walking over to my untouched suitcase, sitting next to me on the bed. When I got off the plane, I grabbed it from the overhead compartment and followed the stream of people to get out of the airplane. I'd planned on somehow escaping, maybe running away and sneaking onto a plane that was headed for some foreign country I'd never heard of. But the plan hadn't really been thought through enough, I guess. Right when I got off the plane there was an airport employee waiting for me, dressed in a flight attendant costume and a smile.
"Alexis Patterson?" She'd asked, looking me up and down and pursing her lips. Maybe people in California didn't wear sweatpants and oversized hoodies on planes, maybe they were always dressed up and ready for the paparazzi to shine lights in their empty eyes.
"Yeah?" My voice was shaky and unsure. She nodded and took this as a confirmation of my identity, reaching for my suitcase.
"Your grandmother instructed me to take you to meet her personally, to ensure you didn't get lost or anything. LAX is a big airport," She informed me and began guiding me away from the gate. I'd turned around and looked back, but the flight attendant who served me a drink on the plane was shutting the door. There was no going back.
Now, Gram reaches for the zipper of that same suitcase, but I slap her hand away.
"Don't go in there," I shoot her a frantic look. "Please," It even wasn't that there was anything in there that I didn't want her to find, it was more that I didn't want to let her in.
She nods once and steps away, placing her hands on her hips and looking at me with crystal blue eyes. I was thankful that she didn't try and pry. That, she earns points for.
"Dinner will be ready around seven." And with that and a slight breeze, I'm left alone.
...
I don't remember falling asleep but I guess I did. I wake up in a ball on the floor, near the door. My sweatshirt is all wrinkled from my awkward position, my knees sore. I slowly stand and was just about to open my door when I hear a voice I hadn't heard in exactly 174 days. A voice that I had prayed to hear for so long. A voice that used to tell me he loved me. A voice I used to trust.
"Lex, I'm so sorry!" I turn around and see him. Calum. He's staring at me, and standing in front of a desk I hadn't noticed before. The top of it looks too bare like it's missing a shiny laptop, or a mug full of pens.
He is wearing the same thing as the last time I saw him: black ripped jeans and a white muscle tee. I stare at him, trying to comprehend the situation.
Why is he here? How did he even find me?
Surprisingly, I'm not nearly as panicked as I thought I would be if I ever saw him again. But I can't seem to close my mouth from the shock, and my heart feels as if it's going to pound out of my chest.
He takes a step toward me. His looks tired, empty, and his dark circles add ten years to his face. But he is still beautiful, his brown, almost black eyes staring into my own. We used to joke that if we ever had a kid, it would have one brown eye, and one green, the color of mine.
Maybe it never was a joke.
I take a forceful step back, my back pressing against the door. I'd imagined this moment for half a year now, and it wasn't supposed to happen like this. And as much as I'd missed him, prayed for him to come back, what he did to me would haunt me forever. He ruined my life. My chance at love and at anything, really.
His shirt slides down his chest a little, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his tattoo, the Roman Numerals for the year 2012: the year he moved away and met me. Before he got the tattoo, which I'd protested, he'd told me it was to represent his fresh start and how important of a role it had played in his life. I now found this conversation funny, almost. Becuase here I was on the brink of a fresh start of my own, and yet here he was, preventing me from doing so.
"Look, I know what I did was wrong. So wrong. and believe me, I have spent the last six months regretting it every second of every day. But please babe, just listen to me."
"Don't call me that," I say suddenly, my voice sharper than I'd expected. I sound confident, the exact opposite of how I felt. "Don't call me babe."
"I am trying to apologize babe, and you're making it very difficult!" His voice raises, and his face distorts with anger. He takes another step toward me. I can't escape him. I'm almost backed up against the door now, out of room to breathe.
"I swear to God, Calum. If you take another step toward me I will scream." I tell him, my voice shaking. By now I was scared. Scared of this boy I used to love. He smirks and lifts his foot. "Calum...", I beg. But then he plants his foot forward, and I open my mouth and let out the most glass-shattering scream I could muster.
And then he's gone. I'm still on the floor behind the door, but it was a dream. He isn't here, and I'm alone. Completely and utterly alone.
"It was just a dream," I mutter over and over again to myself, trying to make myself believe the words, but they might as well be in another language. I hear Gram yelling for me. I probably scared her, since I actually did scream quite loud. I have to go tell her I'm okay or she'll call them and they'll take me away again. She didn't know how bad it really was. But no one knew what happened to me. Why I'd suddenly retreated into a little cocoon of nothing. Why I ignored all my friends and failed my classes, and stopped caring about literally everything.
Calum was why. And something deep down inside me told me it wasn't just a dream. Some part of it was real. I don't know why, or how I know. But it felt all too real.
It felt like he was really coming back.
...
here's the first chapter uhh i hope you liked it