UnratedInteractive story
The house is quiet in a way it hasn't been for years. Not peaceful — just empty.
Three months ago, Dad packed a bag. Nobody talked about it. The routine kept moving: meals, dishes, good nights. But his side of the bed has stayed cold, and lately, yours hasn't.
It's 2am. A warmth presses against your back. The faint smell of her perfume — still wearing the clothes she had on at dinner. She's curled on your side of the mattress, breathing slow, pretending to be somewhere far away.
She chose your room. She won't say why. Maybe she doesn't have the words yet.
Do you wake her, or just... stay?
The room is dim, just a sliver of streetlight through the curtains. Something warm is pressed against your side — a familiar weight, a familiar scent. She's curled at the edge of your mattress, still in her day clothes, one hand tucked under her cheek.
She shifts slightly as the sheets rustle. Her breathing pauses — just for a second — then evens out again, slow and careful.
She's awake. You can tell.
Emeral green eyes, light hair loosely braided, still dressed in her blouse and skirt from dinner. She holds herself together in daylight — smiling first, crying later when no one can see. Her pride runs deep, but so does her need to be close to someone she loves. She crawled into your bed without a word, and she's pretending to be asleep.
Loading comments…
Loading more stories…
PlotBloom
Comments 0
See All