Page 60 of Withered

She gets up and flops on the bed again. “Five minutes more, please.”

“No way!” I get up on the bed, bend down to grab her arms, and forcefully pull her up. Her eyes remain closed as her head hangs. She’s a big girl for someone who only eats salads.

“Come on, wake up now,” I say.

She finally opens her eyes and says, “I’m up, alright.”

As she drags herself to the bathroom, I give Mom a call. We talk for a couple of minutes, and I was going to hang up when she stops me. “Wait, Rose.”

“Yeah?” I ask her.

“Jake stopped by yesterday,” she informs me, and I instantly freeze.

A warm sensation spreads throughout my body. I feel bad for yelling at him. I’m so stupid.

You are, indeed.The voice in the back of my mind speaks.

“What did he say?” I ask her.

“He asked about you and said he needed help with some project,” she tells me before hanging up.

Project? Really?That jerk didn’t even have a good reason.

After having breakfast with Kristy, I return home. It’s Sunday, and I don’t want to be a third wheel between her and herfriend, who is coming to visit her.

Mom and Dad are both in the living room, and I talk to them before going upstairs. My windows are shut. I take a step forward to open them, but the idiot voice in my head tells me to stop, so I come to a halt in the middle.

Turning around, I leave my belongings on the bed and take a relaxing shower. Once I’m freshened up, I grab a new book from my shelf and start reading it, laying down on my bed, my head leaning against the headboard, my feet stretched out in front of me.

Every minute, my gaze wanders to the window. I try to ignore it once…twice… Finally, I groan and make my way downstairs with my book.

“Mom, is it okay if I go to the park or Starbucks?” I ask her.Please say yes. Please say yes.I chant.

“You only got home an hour ago, and you were gone all day yesterday,” she says.

“I know, please just this time?” I ask, hoping she would let me.

Unlike Mom, if it had been Dad, he would have let me. But this is my mother; I have to ask her.

“All right, go. Do you not want to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” I shout as I start climbing the stairs to my room.

I grab my phone and wallet and run two steps down at a time. I grab my book, say a short bye, and leave the house. Luckily, the nearest Starbucks is only five minutes away.

I stride down the sidewalk, my eyes taking in the sunlight as the pavement gleams. It’s busier than usual, with kids running, couples walking hand in hand, and parents strolling their children.

A ball comes to a halt near my foot, and a boy sprints towards me. I lean down to pick it up and grin at him; he smiles back, mumbles a brief thanks, and runs away.

When I arrive at Starbucks, the familiar aroma of freshly made coffee fills me up. The store is packed; the queue is long, and most of the tables are taken. It’s unusually quiet, content, and relaxed for the number of people present. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, reminding me of Esme’s café.

I walk up to the counter and order a vanilla latte, my mouth watering at the sight of the desserts on the shelf. I pay for my drink and search for a solo table or chair. All of those are taken, so I take a seat at the smaller table for two by the window.

I start reading the book, sipping on my latte, savoring its taste, and hoping everything goes well today. Whenever someone walks in, I get distracted and lift my head to look at them. When I finish a few more pages, the door swings open, revealing a familiar face.

Professor Caleb walks in, going straight to the counter. He’s dressed in a white shirt, a red jacket, and black jeans. I still can’t believe he’s my professor. My eyes follow his every move. He orders a drink, turns around, and heads to the door when he spots me watching him.

I resume my reading. Bad move. I hear footsteps approaching and stopping near me. I lift my head and notice Professor Caleb is looking down at me while he sips his drink.

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