Train Tracks
Sleepover
The girl finally woke up.
She blinked. She looked at me, then at her surroundings, and then back at me. She did so with such utter calmness for someone who found herself in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar guy after being in a very dangerous situation.
“Did I faint?” she said in an astonishingly flat tone.
I blinked, surprised at her reaction. Or lack of one. “Ya, you passed out right after beating up those assholes. And you got cut pretty badly on your stomach. I tried patching it up but you probably need to get it checked up.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking coolly down on her wound. “Where am I?”
“In my room.”
She arched a dark brow at me. “Do you always bring female strangers to your room?”
I met her gaze evenly. “They usually bring me to their rooms.”
“Shouldn’t have asked…,” she mumbled regretfully.
“Okay,” I declared, standing up. “Since you’re all up and chatty now, you can just hurry your little ass back home and…”
I glanced down with astonishment and a lot of exasperation.
The girl had gone on right back to sleep.
_____________________________________________________________________
For the record, I did try everything. I shook her, doused her in ice-cold water, pushed her off my bed, threatened her, cajoled her, yelled at her and repeated the process about ten times. Nothing worked.
At one point, she had opened her left eye a tiny slit and murmured something that sounded like “Little sleep. Been storming the past days. So sleepy...,” before falling asleep again.
Giving up after a while, I moved her back besides me on the bed and really looked at her for the first time. She was about my age. Sporting a baggy black t-shirt with some strange band on it and unflattering sweatpants, she didn’t really scream money or fashion. Her dark hair, bordering on some slash between violet and black, fell in disheveled tangles to her waist. Her bangs had grown out so long that it covered the entire right side of her face. Despite her messy appearance, on closer observation, she was quite pretty, with a petite face, thin figure (if not a little too thin), and her large, deep violet eyes.
I could have appreciated her looks more if she wasn’t in my bed in my room hogging my covers. This had never happened to me before. I had never dared bring a girl back home. There was definitely considerable fear at what my father would say and an underlying uneasy feeling at having a girl so close to my private life.
And I had rights to be worried. Everything about that girl screamed trouble.
____________________________________________________________________
I was dragged out of dream world by someone flicking my forehead. Swiping at the annoying hand, I squeezed my eyes shut and rolled over.
“Yo buttface, we have school in 15 minutes.”
I ignored the voice, falling back asleep. It occurred to me a few minutes later that someone had to belong to the voice. Suddenly remembering last night’s events, I slammed myself up in shock and glanced around. My eyes settled rather unfriendly on the dark-haired girl leaning against my doorway.
“So you really aren’t going to school?” she inquired.
I glared at her in response.
She gazed back for a few seconds. Finally, she shrugged and left.
I flipped over and nuzzled into my pillow, willing myself back to sleep.
Two beams of light. Thunderous rumbling. The girl with a ragged scar through her right eye.
Violet.
The girl's eye color suddenly seemed so important, but straddling the precarious world between reality and dream, it was quickly forgotten. I sunk into a dreamless sleep.
She blinked. She looked at me, then at her surroundings, and then back at me. She did so with such utter calmness for someone who found herself in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar guy after being in a very dangerous situation.
“Did I faint?” she said in an astonishingly flat tone.
I blinked, surprised at her reaction. Or lack of one. “Ya, you passed out right after beating up those assholes. And you got cut pretty badly on your stomach. I tried patching it up but you probably need to get it checked up.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking coolly down on her wound. “Where am I?”
“In my room.”
She arched a dark brow at me. “Do you always bring female strangers to your room?”
I met her gaze evenly. “They usually bring me to their rooms.”
“Shouldn’t have asked…,” she mumbled regretfully.
“Okay,” I declared, standing up. “Since you’re all up and chatty now, you can just hurry your little ass back home and…”
I glanced down with astonishment and a lot of exasperation.
The girl had gone on right back to sleep.
_____________________________________________________________________
For the record, I did try everything. I shook her, doused her in ice-cold water, pushed her off my bed, threatened her, cajoled her, yelled at her and repeated the process about ten times. Nothing worked.
At one point, she had opened her left eye a tiny slit and murmured something that sounded like “Little sleep. Been storming the past days. So sleepy...,” before falling asleep again.
Giving up after a while, I moved her back besides me on the bed and really looked at her for the first time. She was about my age. Sporting a baggy black t-shirt with some strange band on it and unflattering sweatpants, she didn’t really scream money or fashion. Her dark hair, bordering on some slash between violet and black, fell in disheveled tangles to her waist. Her bangs had grown out so long that it covered the entire right side of her face. Despite her messy appearance, on closer observation, she was quite pretty, with a petite face, thin figure (if not a little too thin), and her large, deep violet eyes.
I could have appreciated her looks more if she wasn’t in my bed in my room hogging my covers. This had never happened to me before. I had never dared bring a girl back home. There was definitely considerable fear at what my father would say and an underlying uneasy feeling at having a girl so close to my private life.
And I had rights to be worried. Everything about that girl screamed trouble.
____________________________________________________________________
I was dragged out of dream world by someone flicking my forehead. Swiping at the annoying hand, I squeezed my eyes shut and rolled over.
“Yo buttface, we have school in 15 minutes.”
I ignored the voice, falling back asleep. It occurred to me a few minutes later that someone had to belong to the voice. Suddenly remembering last night’s events, I slammed myself up in shock and glanced around. My eyes settled rather unfriendly on the dark-haired girl leaning against my doorway.
“So you really aren’t going to school?” she inquired.
I glared at her in response.
She gazed back for a few seconds. Finally, she shrugged and left.
I flipped over and nuzzled into my pillow, willing myself back to sleep.
Two beams of light. Thunderous rumbling. The girl with a ragged scar through her right eye.
Violet.
The girl's eye color suddenly seemed so important, but straddling the precarious world between reality and dream, it was quickly forgotten. I sunk into a dreamless sleep.