Page 19 of Burning Embers
“Why don’t you go inside and start unpacking before Lissa does it for you? Because trust me, if you allow that spitfire to organize your room, you’ll never wear anything but dresses and skirts for as long as you live.” His eyes shadowed with horror, he adds, “I still pull out dresses from my closet to this day.”
Hale’s words reverberate in my head all throughout the rest of the day and far into the night, when the moon glistens in the dark sky like a pearl in a velvet box.
Family.
Trust.
Comfortable.
Safe.
A migraine threatens to rip my head to pieces.
Fuck, is he right? Could I potentially find a home here, with him and the others? Do I even want to?
Those questions battle for dominance inside of me as I turn to stare at my reflection.
Black sports bra covered by a currently unzipped hoodie.
Black, skin-tight leggings.
Sneakers tied tight.
A sliver of guilt embeds itself beneath my skin at what I’m about to do tonight, but common sense eclipses it.
I don’t know Hale, and despite how sincere he sounded, I can’t trust him. Not yet. Trust is earned, not presumed, and it’ll take more than a day to acquire mine.
The house is eerily silent—almost unusually so. I’m used to hearing the crackle of the television and the guffaw of old men and women from my previous homes. Trepidation curdles in my gut like a tendril of electricity.
Is everyone asleep already?
I risk a glance at the clock to see that it’s just after two in the morning.
If anyone were to be looking out their windows…
But no. I need to do this. I’m not sure I’ll be able to settle until I do.
Moving on silent feet, I pad to the window and push it open, wincing when it squeaks. I hold my breath, half expecting Hale to charge down the hallway and kick open my bedroom door to demand answers, but the house remains quiet. Serene.
Outside, crickets chirp, and a tree branch snaps as a critter scurries by. The familiar sounds of traffic are noticeably absent.
Still, I find I can’t release the breath trapped in my lungs as I sling my leg over the sill.
At my previous foster house, I lived on the third floor, which made it a bitch to enter and exit. I got quite used to scaling the walls. It’s almost strange for this—sneaking out of the house—to be so damn easy.
My feet touch down.
I brace myself for a light to turn on in a different room, for Hale to ask where I’m going, for Jake to quirk his eyebrow or glare at me suspiciously, for Lissa to scream my name.
But there’s only silence.
I keep my head lowered as I skirt around the edge of the forest, traveling towards where I know the street to be.
A strange chill skates down the back of my neck, a familiar sensation like when you’re in a crowded room and swear you feel a pair of eyes on you.
I freeze in mid step, glancing from side to side, but there’s not another person in sight.
Probably just an animal,I think, feeling ridiculous.