Page 80 of After the Storm

7 years ago…(Ages 16 & 17)

Ares snores fill the entire room while I lie here, wide awake on the floor. No matter how many times I do it, it feels weird to sleep here without Ravyn. It just feels like a piece of our group is missing.

All of my anxieties swirl in my mind, screaming much louder than the voice of reason. Anxiety about being in a totally separate country from my mom while she’s on this trip. I’ve done this a million times, but every time, I keep myself up wondering if she’s okay. There’s also anxiety about school and grades and, well—everything else.

So I do the first thing I can think of. I slip on my Christmas slippers despite it being September, and I walk downstairs, hoping Roman, Ares’ older brother, might be awake. So often, I find him awake in the middle of the night, just in the kitchen to clear his head. I don’t think he has any idea how much he clears mine as well.

As I turn the corner to the kitchen, sure enough, there he stands in the light of the refrigerator. Looking for a snack, if I had to guess. He’s not wearing a shirt, and his plaid pajama pants sit low on his hips. Every time I see him, I think of how hot he is.

I walk into the kitchen, and he jumps, dropping the apple in his hand.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry, I really didn’t mean to. Just couldn’t sleep,” I explain.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks. What isn’t on my mind? I swear, all I do is think. If I didn’t know better, I would think my thoughts have thoughts.

“We don’t have to get into my stuff,” I say, brushing him off.

“Wouldn’t it feel good to just talk it out with someone you don’t know all that well?” he asks. The thought is inviting, he isn’t wrong. Except of course the part where I’m desperate to know him better.

“Yeah. I guess it would. It’s mostly just my mom and these trips. It’s not really homesick or even mom-sick, I just worry about her. I worry about everything, really. Like all the time. It’s exhausting.” With each word, it feels easier to just spill my guts to him. For a couple of years now, we’ve been finding each other in the kitchen and talking. At first, it seemed like a coincidence, but now I’m nearly positive we both come down here knowing we’ll find each other.

It’s a blessing and a curse that this is all there is between us. On one hand, the nights I’ve spent in this kitchen have been some of the calmest and quietest nights I’ve had inside my head. On the other hand, it’s nice to have someone to spill it all to occasionally and not have to face them or follow up with them afterward.

“Sounds exhausting. Sounds like someone needs to get out of their head,” he says, washing off the floor apple.

“Yeah. I guess I could. If only I knew some stranger who would ask me the most random questions I’ve ever heard to get me out of my head,” I say sarcastically.

“You say random, I say creative,” he corrects.

“Well, let’s see the creativity then.” I test. He taps a finger on his chin, pretending to think really hard.

“Favorite number?” he asks.

“You were thinking chin tapping hard and came up with favorite number?” I ask with a laugh.

“You’re grouchy tonight,” he says, scrunching his nose up.

“Seven,” I say simply.

“Why seven?” he asks.

“People say it’s lucky; it’s also the number associated with love.” No sooner do the words leave my mouth my cheeks burn red. That definitely seems like I’m suggesting something, right? He’s going to think I’m coming on to him.

“Have you found it to be lucky?” he asks.

“No, not particularly,” I admit. The more I think about it, when I’ve tried to implement sevens for luck, I might have had even less.

“Do you believe in luck?” he asks.

“That’s a big one.” I hesitate, thinking for a moment. “I guess not. I believe in things feeling unlucky or lucky, but no, I guess I don’t believe in luck, just being on your side or not.” I shrug. I never really gave it much thought, but I guess I don’t believe in luck. Believing in luck feels an awful lot like believing in coincidences, which I don’t.

“Fate?” he asks with a popped eyebrow.

“Yeah, I think so. Not in any crazy way where we don’t have free will, though.” I nod to myself.

“Ghosts?”

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