Page 47 of Run For Me
I pack up my school stuff, so it’ll be ready in the morning. There’s a good chance I won’t be up early, so it’s best I get everything together now, so when I need to rush out the door, I’ll only have to grab my bag and go.
I head into my bedroom to grab some clothes so I can take a quick shower. That scent hits my nose again, and I stop. A woodsy, musky scent, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. So strange.
I dig through the drawers of my tall dresser for pajamas to sleep in and when I pull out my last pair, I realize I need to do laundry. Groaning, because laundry is literally the bane of my existence, I toss the clothes in my hand onto the bed and gather up the dirty stuff. I scoop it all up, tossing it into the hamper, and cringe when I touch something cold and wet on a pair of sleep shorts by my bed.
I don’t even want to know what that is.
“I really need to do laundry more often,” I mumble when the basket is stuffed full and there are still clothes littering the floor. I bring the basket to the kitchen and open the accordion doors, toss the dirty clothes into the wash, add soap, and start it. Once I’m back in my room, I finish getting the dirty stuff together, but when I come to my closet, I freeze. My eyes slowly move up the doors from floor to ceiling. Something isn’t right here… It’s different. Something is different.
But what—
I gasp and take a step back, my hand covering my mouth as my eyes dart back and forth.
When did that door get fixed? The door has been broken for months, and I swore I would fix it but never got around to it. Did Sam do it when he was here? I run through the last few weeks, trying to recall what the door looked like while I was in here, but I can’t remember. I don’t check my room for changes every timeI come in here. It’s my safe space, and usually I’m hiding out in my bed or sleeping. I didn’t notice the door.
But if it was Sam, surely I’d have noticed it sooner, right? He’s been gone a few weeks now.
It had to have been Sam. No one else has been here.
I take a step closer to the closet and place my hands on the knobs, fear working its way up my spine as I prepare to pull them open. Is someone hiding in there?
Is it him?
I tug the doors open so quickly they make a snapping sound and bounce back. I duck my head in and find it’s empty—as usual. I wasn’t using it because the door was broken.
But it’s fixed now.
I stare at the closet for a long, long time, my thoughts going this way and that. I finally make the decision that it most certainly was Sam who fixed it and I’ve been too distracted to notice. I should at least thank him, so I send him a quick text doing just that and then go in the shower. It’s quick because I don’t wash my hair, and when I’m done, I feel so much better and I’m ready for a good night’s sleep, now that it’s almost one in the morning.
When I plug my phone in, I see a text from Sam. I open it and my heart drops from my chest.
Sam:I didn’t fix your closet doors.
Chapter Thirty
Sailor
I stare at the text for far too long, my hands shaking.
I blink over and over again, knowing I need to do something but don’t know what. When I snap out of it, I suck in a breath and sit on the edge of my bed.
Me:You didn’t? Are you sure?
Sam:I would have remembered something like that.
It’s all he says, and I’m thankful he isn’t asking questions or accusing me of something. How would I cover this up? Because he’s right. Someone doesn’t just forget fixing closet doors, so if I fixed them, I’d have remembered. And if it wasn’t me, that means I had someone else here. I’m surprised he doesn’t ask about that. I’d have nothing to say.
But if Sam didn’t fix my closet door.
And I didn’t fix my closet door.
That means only one thing.
Me:Were you in my house?
I stare at the phone, my heart pounding. I’m not sure what I want the answer to be.
Yes, so I know I’m not crazy.
