I hate when this happens.
“Where am I? I always do this,” I spoke aloud to what appeared to be an empty room. I looked around to confirm that the silence was in fact from the lack of an audience rather than their lack of caring about whatever words I spoke.
I opened and closed my eyes repeatedly as if doing so would bring me back to my own bed.
After a few more squints and a tearful yawn, I started to realize where I was. The bed sheets were familiar. Then, he walked in.
“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice shattered the silence. He approached me and gave me a kiss. He ran his fingers through my loose curls, ruining them – something I’ve hated since I was a young girl.
“I hate when you do that,” I told him for the umpteenth time. “I also hate when you let me fall asleep when you know I have to be home. My mom is going to kill me.”
He sat down next to me. “Stop being so cranky, will you?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I swung my arms around him and held on tight. I didn’t want to let go. I ran my fingers through his hair – something I know he hates as much as I do, if not more.
“I guess that’s fair,” he smiled and didn’t seem to mind that I just ruined his perfectly groomed hair. “Put on some clothes and I’ll drive you home. Layer up. It’s cold.”
I did as he said, but only after grabbing him and giving him one more kiss. I sprung from his bed and walked across his small room to the dresser. I opened the bottom drawer and rummaged through oversized sweatpants until I found one that would fit.
“Let’s go.” I threw on his clothes and we headed out the door.
The drive home wasn’t long since I only live two towns over, but it was long enough to be out of his way when driving to class. He hated when I did this as much as I did, but it’s the price we pay for enjoying each other’s company. Once we turned onto my block, a text from my mother flashed onto my screen. Perfect timing.
“I’ll see you later?” he asked almost rhetorically as he pulled up to my house.
“Of course,” I smiled, gave him his kiss and opened the car door. I scurried to my front step trying to escape the cold. It’s barely November, but the snow on the ground and the frost on cars makes it seem like January. After letting myself in, I made my way to the kitchen where I knew my mother would be.
“Where were you?” she asked almost on cue.
“I was with Gio. I fell asleep,” the tone of my voice was quiet. I felt terrible making my mother worry and this was becoming a habit. “I’m sorry.”
She stared at me and I couldn’t tell if she was mad or tired. “Next time, just tell me.” I nodded in agreement and ran to my room, somewhere I hadn’t been in a while.