up the stairs behind Mandy, playing grabby-hands all the way up. He lived here most of the time, now.
I closed my door and climbed into bed, vowing that tonight I wouldn’t let Tate enter my brain.
I yawned, too tired to write in my journal, so I pulled the sheet up to my neck, nuzzling into my soft pillow.
Around three in the morning, the sound of soft music woke me. I rolled over. Matt and Mandy must have their radio on. Eager for more sleep, I closed my eyes and settled my head back down into my pillow. But the music got louder. I put my pillow over my head, hoping to drown it out, but it didn’t help.
I got up and padded to my door. Careful not to wake anyone, I turned the knob gently, but it wouldn’t open. I jiggled the knob, cringing when it rattled too loud, making more noise than I wanted. It still wouldn’t budge. My heart picked up speed, and I yanked hard now, shaking the door—panic surging to my throat from the fear of being locked in.
The music grew louder. With my lips pinched in a thin line, I gave it one more forceful tug, crashing to the floor and skidding to my back when it finally opened. I scrambled up, my face flushing, glad no one had seen my embarrassing mishap.
I pulled down my T-shirt and tiptoed out into the hall, heading toward the stairway. The music emanated from this direction and not from Mandy’s room. As I crept by the closed door of her parents’ room, I stopped. The music came from here, playing out like Chopin’s Waltz. But I didn’t know a whole lot about classical music, just what little I’d learned in my chorus class.
I stared at the closed door, then put my ear up to it. The mysterious music quieted some, but still continued playing. My heart raced…breathing heavy. The urge to run back to my room engulfed me—to shut the door and pretend it never happened. But something compelled me to stay, pulled me in.
My quavering hand grabbed the antique doorknob. It slid, almost slipping out of its hole when I gave it a gentle pull. The door creaked opened, revealing the dingy room.
The first smell that hit me wasn’t the musty aroma from the other day. It was the scent of shaving cream—Tate’s shaving cream. A small smile lit my tremoring lips. This smell warmed me…reassured me, erasing my fears. I reached around the door and searched for the light switch, flicking it up to turn it on. Nothing happened. Scraps of light came from the glow of the moon shining in through the window, illuminating the dresser, but that was all.
I walked farther into the room and advanced toward the dresser. The music got louder, reaching higher crescendos. My face wrinkled in confusion, and I inched closer, trying to make sense of it. Sad and melancholy notes filled the room—heartbroken, bereaved. Perplexed at what could be creating this, I opened up the top drawer of the dresser—careful—not disturbing it.
The drawer was dark and empty so I closed it, stepping back, listening. A delicate breeze tickled my ear—like the feel of someone’s breath—making me grin. I glanced to the locked window. Nothing could have come through there.
The feel of tenacious arms cradled, pulled me in, holding me prisoner inside a satiny caress. It mesmerized me—captured me in a trancelike state. An arousal stirred deep, nerve endings tingled.
Everything was unbelievably good in this moment. I never wanted it to end. I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, swaying back and forth, this wonderful feeling of pure, undeniable love surrounding me.
It went away as quickly as it came. A shutter banging against the side of the house woke me, snapping me back to reality. Another storm was blowing in, the wind slapping the lapboard siding, shaking the walls. The music stopped and released me. My chest ached. I didn’t want this feeling to stop—could have drowned in it forever.
The wind blew hard, now, so I left, shutting the door behind me. I tiptoed back to my room and climbed
I closed my door and climbed into bed, vowing that tonight I wouldn’t let Tate enter my brain.
I yawned, too tired to write in my journal, so I pulled the sheet up to my neck, nuzzling into my soft pillow.
Around three in the morning, the sound of soft music woke me. I rolled over. Matt and Mandy must have their radio on. Eager for more sleep, I closed my eyes and settled my head back down into my pillow. But the music got louder. I put my pillow over my head, hoping to drown it out, but it didn’t help.
I got up and padded to my door. Careful not to wake anyone, I turned the knob gently, but it wouldn’t open. I jiggled the knob, cringing when it rattled too loud, making more noise than I wanted. It still wouldn’t budge. My heart picked up speed, and I yanked hard now, shaking the door—panic surging to my throat from the fear of being locked in.
The music grew louder. With my lips pinched in a thin line, I gave it one more forceful tug, crashing to the floor and skidding to my back when it finally opened. I scrambled up, my face flushing, glad no one had seen my embarrassing mishap.
I pulled down my T-shirt and tiptoed out into the hall, heading toward the stairway. The music emanated from this direction and not from Mandy’s room. As I crept by the closed door of her parents’ room, I stopped. The music came from here, playing out like Chopin’s Waltz. But I didn’t know a whole lot about classical music, just what little I’d learned in my chorus class.
I stared at the closed door, then put my ear up to it. The mysterious music quieted some, but still continued playing. My heart raced…breathing heavy. The urge to run back to my room engulfed me—to shut the door and pretend it never happened. But something compelled me to stay, pulled me in.
My quavering hand grabbed the antique doorknob. It slid, almost slipping out of its hole when I gave it a gentle pull. The door creaked opened, revealing the dingy room.
The first smell that hit me wasn’t the musty aroma from the other day. It was the scent of shaving cream—Tate’s shaving cream. A small smile lit my tremoring lips. This smell warmed me…reassured me, erasing my fears. I reached around the door and searched for the light switch, flicking it up to turn it on. Nothing happened. Scraps of light came from the glow of the moon shining in through the window, illuminating the dresser, but that was all.
I walked farther into the room and advanced toward the dresser. The music got louder, reaching higher crescendos. My face wrinkled in confusion, and I inched closer, trying to make sense of it. Sad and melancholy notes filled the room—heartbroken, bereaved. Perplexed at what could be creating this, I opened up the top drawer of the dresser—careful—not disturbing it.
The drawer was dark and empty so I closed it, stepping back, listening. A delicate breeze tickled my ear—like the feel of someone’s breath—making me grin. I glanced to the locked window. Nothing could have come through there.
The feel of tenacious arms cradled, pulled me in, holding me prisoner inside a satiny caress. It mesmerized me—captured me in a trancelike state. An arousal stirred deep, nerve endings tingled.
Everything was unbelievably good in this moment. I never wanted it to end. I stood there with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, swaying back and forth, this wonderful feeling of pure, undeniable love surrounding me.
It went away as quickly as it came. A shutter banging against the side of the house woke me, snapping me back to reality. Another storm was blowing in, the wind slapping the lapboard siding, shaking the walls. The music stopped and released me. My chest ached. I didn’t want this feeling to stop—could have drowned in it forever.
The wind blew hard, now, so I left, shutting the door behind me. I tiptoed back to my room and climbed
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