Unfamiliar Ceilings

I woke with a start, the heat of the sun beating through the coach window. I had that dream, the horrible one where it feels like you’re falling and you jerk awake. I remember someone telling me that if you hit the ground before you woke up, your heart would stop. But that makes no sense to me, because it’s a dream; you can invent whatever you want in a dream.

People on the coach had already dispersed, leaving me alone with my bag on the table in front of me, and my little box beside me on the worn out seat. I stood up and scurried sharpish to the front of the bus, exiting and thanking the driver on my way. My suitcase was standing alone on the small stretch of curb near the sliding doors. I pulled up the handle and dragged it into the terminal. It was half past three, by the clock on the wall.

How in the world did you fall asleep before three?!

I pulled my iPod from my pocket and pressed shuffle, expecting to be kept waiting a while for Mark’s arrival. Halfway through the second song on the shuffle, I saw Mark across the terminal from me. He was walking in my general direction, but I doubt that he’d seen me yet. I stood near the uncomfortable metal chairs, rather than drag my suitcase across the crowded room to him; there was no graceful way to do it.

I saw a flash in his dark eyes and his face split into a smile. His pace quickened and a few seconds later he was scooping me into a giant hug. We stayed like that a few minutes before he broke the silence.

“It’s so good to see you, Leila,” he beamed at me, releasing me. The thing I loved about Mark; he never made silly comments like, “Oh, you’ve grown!” or “Wow, you’ve changed.” He knew stating the obvious annoyed me, quite a lot.

“Hi, Dad,” I smiled as he grabbed my suitcase. I never called him Mark to his face, only when I was talking about him. He led the way out to his car. It was this old, beaten up Land Rover. The sides totally caked in mud from the times he’d driven out to the country with Stephanie, I presume.

I wondered if Stephanie had changed. I doubted it. But if she had, God knew it’d be interesting. The car ride back to Mark’s suburban London home was quiet, and took longer than I remembered. Maybe because last time I took it, I was more excited than apprehensive. I watched the city scenery flicker past as the Land Rover drove at the speed limit. One bud of my earphones was still in my ear, I didn’t recognise the song, but it went perfectly with what I saw through the glass.

*****

“Leila!” I heard Stephanie almost shriek from the front door of her and Mark’s suburban, Victorian detached home. Her hair was noticeably blonder than the last time I saw her, and her figure was still pristine and perfect, pinched in at the waist like an hourglass. She crushed me in her embrace, compressing my lungs and making it near impossible to gasp a breath of oxygen.

“Hello, Stephanie,” I said in a whisper, pulling up the corners of my mouth. She released me and looked down at me, smiling brightly. She left one of her arms around my shoulders and led me into the house, while Mark struggled with my suitcase. Stephanie was explaining that I get a room at the front of the house, that she thought I’d love it, that I could decorate it any way I wanted to, and that she’d already gone out and got a variety of different coloured paints for me.
Which isn’t too bad, right?

Mark dragged my case, bag and velvet box up to my room while Stephanie towed me around the house, showing me around. I was grateful; both for the tour and for them taking me on such short notice, but all I wanted to do was go and unpack, maybe have a look at what I could do with my room.

“And that’s everything,” Stephanie said once she’d finished showing me around the abnormally clean kitchen, whirling around and beaming at me. “What do you think?”

“It’s...fantastic,” I mumbled, running my hand over the black marble topped island in front of me. “It’s changed so much.”

Stephanie just shrugged and leaned back on the counter opposite. “And anything you need just let me or your dad know, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. I smiled and took that as my cue to leave. I passed Mark on my way up the huge staircase and he ruffled my hair and told me we’d be having visitors over for dinner at seven. In almost three hours.

It took me over ten minutes to figure out which room was mine. The house had around three elegantly furnished guest rooms and two bathrooms. I realised I’d gotten to my room when I saw about fifteen paint cans lined up against the wall with a brand new packet of paintbrushes on top, a queen-sized bed in the centre of the wooden floor and a wardrobe running along one wall. There was another door leading off into an impressive en suite bathroom and a huge bay window with a red cushioned seat.

I flung my suitcase up onto my bed, rummaging through it for my iPod dock and an outfit to wear in two hours time. I unpacked all of my clothes and belongings, not even close to filling up the huge wardrobe, while dancing and singing along to some of my favourite songs, played at full volume. Once everything was away and my suitcase was perched safely on top of the wardrobe, I spun back around and looked at the plain white walls of my new room, my hands on my hips.

I bit on my bottom lip and thought, begging for some form of inspiration to hit me. I’d never been allowed to do what I wanted with a room; it was always my mother’s choice in everything, from paint to soft-furnishings. Now it was my turn to have what I wanted, and I couldn’t think of anything. I don’t know how long I stood and differed on what I wanted.

I hadn’t heard my bedroom door opening, so I jumped when the music from my iPod stopped abruptly. Maybe it was Mark or Stephanie. Maybe they were calling and realised I couldn’t hear. I turned around, letting my hands fall from my hips. It wasn’t Mark or Stephanie.

“Who are you?” I asked, looking to the face of a boy I didn’t recognise.

“You like A Day To Remember?” he asked, ignoring my question and looking at me with piercing, icy blue eyes.

I just nodded. “Who are you?”

“You don’t look the type,” he said, breaking eye-contact with me and wandering further into my room. He jumped onto my bed and sprawled out while I stared open mouthed. “I’m Dean Owens. Me, my parents and my brother are here for dinner.”

Doesn’t explain why you’re in my room.

“What gave you the idea it was alright to come in here?” I asked. He just lay on my bed and raised a hand above his head and inspected the sleeve of his pale blue flannel button-up shirt. His hair was jet black and swept into his face and his skin was a pale toffee colour. His dark grey jeans were ripped at the knees and his black slip-ons were scuffed and probably dirty. And still on my bed.

“No need to be rude love,” he said, heaving himself up. “Only came to introduce myself.”

I sighed. “Well, now you have, so, leave.”

“Oh,” he raised his eyebrows. “Your dad asked me to come get you, Leila.”

I just rolled my eyes and took three involuntary steps to my bed, to collect the dark blue denim skirt and a plain, long, white vest top that I’d laid out earlier. I shot Dean a very pointed look, telling him to get the hell out of my room. He didn’t see it; he was looking up at the ceiling and smirking.

“Get out,” I sighed, standing upright with my clothes held to my chest. He stayed for a moment longer on my bed, both hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling and smirking, before he finally obliged and left my bedroom.

It’s going to be a long night.