Say You Swear

The pillows are purple and white, fluffy, and there’s two matching blankets folded neatly—definitely not by me—and hidden under the glass of the coffee table.

The remotes are in a giant cup that reads ‘size does matter’ and the rug beneath my feet is a fuzzy black. “I see I won on the rug.”

“Yes, you did, and thank god, cause Brady totally spilled root beer float all over it.”

“Guilty as charged,” he shouts from the entryway.

I turn to them, all three pretending they’re not waiting for me to have a mental breakdown, understandably so.

I haven’t talked much since everything with Noah. Granted it was only two days ago, but still. It’s noticeable, maybe even more so when I learned he left for campus, without a word, only hours after we got back from his favorite place.

“I’m going to go check out my room,” I tell them. “You guys can go to your place. Just come back when you’re done.”

No one moves, so I do, and only then does Cameron turn to them and begin to whisper.

She promises we’re fine, and that she’ll call if there’s a need, but I don’t stick around to hear the rest.

I step into the room that has my name stenciled across the door, quietly closing it behind me and quickly spinning to face the plywood a long moment before I convince myself to turn around.

My stomach churns, but as I allow myself to glance along the small space, my mind eases.

I smile at the wall of string lights and walk over to find the power button located on the outlet cube. Turning them on, the bright white lights begin to twinkle, earning a low laugh from me, and I plop onto the fluffy white comforter my parents bought me before move-in.

There’re Post-it Notes scattered along my mirror and pink pens in an Avix mug, sitting on my dresser, a few other knickknacks sprinkled around. Above my headboard hangs a giant splatter paint picture with a pair of puckered, pink bleeding lips in the center. Textbooks are in a pile by the closet, so I move that way, and lower to the ground to check them out.

I open to the first sticky note hanging out the side and read over a passage about the pains in American History. Beside it are some scribbly thoughts in my handwriting, a proposal on how we as the next generation can do better.

I don’t remember writing it.

I don’t remember this room.

But I don’t hate it either.

I love it.

Does that mean I’m still me?

Pulling myself to my feet, I peek out the window, and when I do, I gasp.

Noah is here, sitting in the parking lot with his truck idling.

I can’t see his face from here, but he’s looking forward, in the same direction Mason’s truck is still parked.

I pull my phone from my pocket, preparing to text him, but then his truck begins to roll, so I lower my phone onto the nightstand beside me.

There’s a soft rap on the door, and when I glance that way, Chase pokes his head inside.

His eyes flick around, a small smile pulling at his lips, and I realize then, this is the first time he’s seen it.

He’s never been in my room.

My skin prickles with unease, and he walks closer.

“We’re going to head to the house, but I wanted to check on you first.” He pushes my hair behind my ear, and a small frown flickers across my face from the action. “How you feeling?”

“I’m good.” I nod. “Honest, I just want to look around and get reacquainted with the place.”

“K,” he breathes, and when he leans closer, a knot forms in my chest.

I try to smother it, to press it down, but it doesn’t work.

His lips fall to my forehead and that knot tightens, my breastbone caving in, but when my eyes open, meeting his soft green ones, it becomes a little more bearable.

He grins and walks out, closing the door behind him.

Blowing out a deep breath, I lower to my bed, burying myself in the mountain of pillows and close my eyes.

I inhale deeply and my muscles clench.

I inhale again.

And again, and then I’m sightless in a thick, cloudy haze.

My senses go haywire, searching.

I’m hit with mornings in the mountains and evenings on the ocean.

With spice and pine and mint.

My eyes open as a flash from the hospital comes to mind.

The scent was there, it lingered, and under the heated steam of the shower, the aroma was brought back to life, invading and overtaking my senses.

It calls to me, soothes me, and then it pulls me under.

I’m not sure how much time passes before Cameron’s soft voice wakes me.

“Hey sleepyhead,” she whispers, curling up in front of me. “Nice to see you actually knocked out for once.”

“I feel like I slept for a day.”