I wash my hair and body, letting the hot water relax my muscles as I sing a Haddonboro song to myself.
“Keep your distance, and I’ll bite my tongue for you. Just walk the other way, don’t try to play, I’ll act like I don’t have a clue, that you want me, there’s a red sky, tonight…”
Although I begin to enjoy it, an edge remains, a readiness to jump out at any sign of noise. To find a weapon to protect me in case someone does break into the bathroom. Or maybe they’d wait for me in my room?
Stop it. I have to stop it, or I won’t get through the next five days. Just five more until I’m not alone.
I finish washing in silence, turn off the tap and wrap the towel around my hair, stepping out and wrapping a second lavender-scented towel around me. Mom always dries our clothes with a little sachet of lavender. Dad smelled just like this towel on Sunday afternoons, when he’d finally wake from his Saturday night shows to go to work at Rosalie’s. His old shirts used to smell like his cologne, and he gave some to me before I went away to college to use as nightshirts. I still spray them with his cologne from time to time.
A deep breath helps me savour the lavender scent as I squeeze my hair with the towel in front of the mirror.
A heart with a bow through it appears through the condensation.
Something from Mom to Ron, maybe? No, she wouldn’t like anyone making a mess. Ron to Mom? No, he’s not cheesy like that. Why haven’t I seen it before or since they left?
I probably just didn’t notice it. That’s all. I’m not very observant, I guess.
Stevie waits patiently on my bed for me, raising her head as I enter and close the door instinctively. No privacy when you live with family.
“We need our own place, girl,” I whisper and drop my towel, searching for pajamas in my chest drawer. I can’t find any comfy ones, so I open my closet, and pull a black teddy off a hanger and slip it over my head, letting it fall to just above my knees.
Stevie sighs and lowers her head, resting it on my pillow.
“Cutie! Have I told you how lucky I am to have you with me? You’ll protect me, won’t you?” I ask her as I dry my hair with the towel, pacing the room.
A deep dread flows through me—the kind I’d do anything for relief from.
Someone’s watching me.
I turn off my bedroom lights and take long steps to my window, peering down at the empty side yard. Alex and Carol’s lights are still off, and there’s no movement down there I can see, but it’s dark.
Something moves beside me, and I jump as Stevie bounds off the bed, joining my side. “Stevie,” I gasp, clutching my chest.
Why do I do this? Why am I like this? My imagination runs away from me.
I hop into bed and she hops in after me, curling up by my feet. I reach for my bag, grabbing Pascha’s green notebook from it, and flipping through the pages to take my mind off the worrying that won’t go away, no matter how silly I tell myself I’ve been.
I guess I should have given this back tonight… but then they’d know I pitched Pascha’s song if they went through it.
Cline would go through it. He’s obsessed with her.
These songs… they’re good. I can’t deny it. I have to respect it. But I can’t sing her song. I don’t want just any song. I want to sing a song that means something to me. When I read my best to the band tonight… those reactions…
A flush of heat warms through me, and I pull my covers off.
Were they thinking what Dad was open enough to tell me? That I’m just not cut out for this? Was it because the lyrics don’t mean anything to them like they do to me? They’ve all gone through loss, surely, especially Cline now. Maybe it hits too close to home for him?
I have to pitch them another song. I rest the green notebook on my nightstand and pick up a black one with a pen. Maybe I need to write a new one right now. That’ll keep my mind occupied. I can write about something I don’t want to stop thinking about. My rendezvous tonight.
Stevie nuzzles in against my leg as I put pen to paper, and the rest of the world falls away with the words.
The end of the summer meant the end of us,
Whatever we were to you.
The words you said in the back of my head,
Conclusions I drew.
Now the leaves are falling, and we meet again,
Reminding me of better times.
And I’ll let you come, and I’ll let you go
Never really mine.
You ask me to stay,
And I’m the one to walk away.
You give it to me,
But not enough so I can see.
What have we done?
I’ll hang around, we’ll have some fun.
That’s all it can be.
You know what you did to me.
The branches are bare, like me in your bed,
Asking me to stay, don’t pretend,
This time I know my place, I won’t be calling you,
Every season has its end.
You ask me to stay,
And I’m the one to walk away.
You give it to me,
But not enough so I can see.
What have we done?
I’ll hang around, we’ll have some fun.
That’s all it can be.
You know what you did to me.
You know (when the snow flies).
What you did (we’ll say our goodbyes).
To me.
You know.
That’s all.
We can ever be.
My hand skims up the page to the top, empty space, and I write one word.
Taylor.
As I continue to write, my eyes grow heavy and the pen almost slips from my hand, jolting me awake. I tuck it into the book, marking my place and slide it across my nightstand on top of Pascha’s. Closing my eyes, I press my cheek against the cool pillow, letting myself
