Page 31 of Time After Time
There was pig shit on my cheek.
Chapter 11
Geneviève
Sitting on my bed after waking up, a restless thought slid into my mind, stubbornly clinging like it had every right to be there. It came from what Sebastian had said yesterday and all those reassurances that everything was fine. But his hug—it hadn’t felt the same. Not as tight, not as warm. Something was off, and no matter how much I tried to brush it aside, I couldn’t shake the feeling.
I checked my phone first thing, hoping to shake off the unease that had settled in overnight. There was a text from him: something about being busy and not having time to meet up. It was short, straightforward—no sad emoji, no “wish I could see you.” And what really got me was the lack of his usual details. Sebastian wasn’t required to fill me in on his day, but he always did.
Two firm knocks echoed against my closed door, and I knew instantly who it was. Her knock had a rhythm I could recognise anywhere: she knocked once and waited a few seconds before two more quick knocks. She’d finally got the hang of knocking, but waiting for permission to enter? That part still hadn’t clicked.
My sister stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and flopping down onto the foot of my bed. Her hair was pinned back with a simple clip, a few loose strands framing her face.
“Got any plans with Seb today?” she asked, kicking her feet in the air and glancing at her nails. She picked at one absently, frowning at a dark spot where the hood of a car had slammed down on it a few days ago.
Her question had irked me.
“He said he’s busy today,” I muttered.
“Doing what?”
“He didn’t tell.”
Sylvie’s brow wrinkled. Her eyes widened. “That’s…”
I raised an eyebrow, letting my expression do the talking—frustration, reluctance, all of it. It was easier to ignore the nagging tightness in my chest than to confront whatever it meant.
“Unusual,” she finished.
My hand moved to my forehead, fingers pressing and massaging, trying to stave off the headache I felt coming. “Anyway, it’s been a while since we had one of our sisterly dates.”
“I’m in,” she said.
My smile widened. I could never pass a sisterly date. The best days of my life were those I spent with Sylvie. She always knew what plans to make, and somehow, she always made me feel at peace.
“You get to choose this time.”
Her right elbow pressed into my mattress as she leaned her chin on her palm, her feet swaying in the air as she kicked back and forth, contemplating. “What about a coffee date and some shopping?”
A grin spread across my face at the suggestion.
“Then get dressed.” Her fingers grazed over my bare calf. Although one leg was snug beneath the thin covering of my bed, the other basked in the warmth of the room. Despite the summer heat, a subtle chill from the night had made me seek the reassuring comfort of the thin sheet. And also because, for some reason, after winter, I had a hard time getting rid of any sheets being on my bed.
My feet glided over the refreshing chill of the bedroom tiles, the cool sensation both invigorating and soothing. After just a couple of steps, the cool surface gave way to a fluffier texture. The white rug positioned in front of my closet.
I dug through my wardrobe to find the right outfit until I pulled out a white t-shirt that fit snugly and stopped just above my belly button, pairing it with black, tight shorts that felt as comfy as leggings. And then, to top it off, I picked a short red skirt adorned with white flowers—something I’d had for almost two years but never wore out.
Sylvie had left my room before I chose my outfit, rolling her eyes at how long it would take me. But several minutes later, she came back in, this time while I was in the midst of applying my makeup, insisting on inspecting my clothes to ensure our styles matched.
It wasn’t until we stepped outside and I settled into the passenger seat of her car that I noticed her unusual choice of clothing. Instead of her typical subdued blacks, whites, and beiges, she was wearing a crisp white tank top paired with long, flowing red trousers. I didn’t even know she owned colourful clothes.
“Ready?” She checked the mirrors while I fastened my seatbelt, barely able to sit still, the excitement bubbling up inside me. Sylvie gave a quick nod and a big, toothy grin as she got the car ready for our outing. “Let’s go, then.” Even though there wasn’t a summer breeze outside, I knew our hair would be awild mess as soon as she started the engine. But first, she fiddled with the radio while I shifted in my seat, anticipation practically buzzing between us.
“Random playlist?” I asked, and Sylvie nodded, securing her seatbelt before starting the engine, her hand lovingly caressing the wheel.
It made me chuckle. Sylvie’s love for cars wasn’t just about appearances. She was known for her obsession with antique models and loved the smooth purr of a good engine, especially if it came from a car she had fixed herself. At the same time, she was meticulous about safety; seatbelts were non-negotiable, and she never missed a beat when it came to traffic rules.
Just thinking about cars brought back the haunting memories of that nightmare I’d had a few weeks ago. It had felt so real, leaving me to question if it wasjusta bad dream.
