Page 17 of Salace

Letting the curtain fall back into place, I make my way out of the bedroom and head down the hall, quietly taking each step down to the ground floor. Once I reach the bottom step, I cast a glance up over my shoulder, then wait a few seconds before letting out a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding and heading quickly toward the front door.

I put a hand on the doorknob, then rest my head against the cool oak. I don’t even know how to go about this without possibly hurting Ms. H’s feelings, but if my parents caught her out there staring at my bedroom window, they’d interrogate me, call the cops, have her arrested on an imaginary whim, then where the hell would I get with Aimee? She’d hate me even more than she apparently does now.

Pulling open the door, I leave it cracked slightly behind me as I head down the walkway toward the street. There’s no other way than to be honest with her about the possible repercussions of being out here, uninvited. If she hates me, then she hates me.

I’m kind of getting used to women feeling that way as it is.

I raise an arm to wave at her, and when I get her attention, she immediately turns on the headlights of her car, blinding me.

“Fuck,” I grumble, as I raise an arm to shield my eyes. I blink rapidly a few times to shake off the sudden explosion of lights. When I’m damn sure I can see clearly again, I drop my arm—then raise an eyebrow curiously.

Ms. H’s car is gone.

I didn’t even hear it leave.

Which makes me wonder.

Did I imagine the whole thing?

* * *

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Ugh, hello?”

I smile slightly. Aimee was obviously asleep, and I’ve woken her up, but her froggy tone is endearing.

“Hey, sorry I woke you,” I laugh quietly.

“Who is this?” she asks, as she lets out a heavy sigh.

“Kasey.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh.

“What’s up?” she inquires tiredly.

“This is going to sound really weird, but um…”Just ask.“Is your mom home?”

“I think so. She was passed out on the couch last I saw. Why?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I guess I was just curious since I have no fucking clue where my parents are. Doing an informal poll of my friends to see if they can account for their parents is all.”

My laugh is as lame as my excuse, but it’s the only thing I’m able to think of on the spot. I mean, how else does one explain calling their fucking crush to ask about their mother instead of them?

“And what’s the percentage so far?” she asks, stifling a yawn right after.

“Percentage?”

“Of friends who know where their parents are.”

“Oh! Ha ha,” I laugh in the same lame fucking tone. “So far, one hundred. I’ll let you get back to sleep so I can wake up someone else. Sorry about that.”

I jab the end-call button before she has a chance to say anything else, then toss my phone onto the nightstand. I fall back onto my bed, grab one of my pillows, and hold it tightly over my face.

I have no idea why I can’t be myself around her, and considering she doesn’t seem to want me around her at all, I have to figure out how to stop messing this up before it can even get started.

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