Alone
850 Words
The house is too quiet when I get home.
No footsteps. No humming. No clinking dishes in the kitchen. Just the soft buzz of the hallway light and the echo of my own breath. I sighed. It used to be more lively before.
I slip off my shoes and drop my bag by the door, listening. No sign of Mom. Her purse is gone. So is her car.
Of course.
She must be out again. Probably with her yoga friends. Or picking up organic wine Nathan likes.
I walk into the kitchen. The light is on, casting a warm glow over the counter. It smells like coffee, faint but still lingering. He’s been here.
Then suddenly, a memory came when I first saw them having s*x in the kitchen sink. They were so inlove, so lustful as he humps her in and out and Mom moaning so loud not even caring if I'm there or not.
I open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and lean against the counter, letting the cool metal press into my back. For a second, I just breathe. In and out. In and out.
Then I hear it.
A door creaks. A step. The soft shuffle of bare feet on wood.
I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him.
Nathan walks into the kitchen like a ghost, quiet and solid. He’s in a black t-shirt this time, sleeves snug around his arms. His hair is still damp from a shower, messy in the way that looks unintentional but isn’t.
His eyes meet mine for just a second before he opens a cabinet and pulls down a mug.
We don’t speak.
I watch him move. Smooth. Efficient. Like he’s not even thinking about it. Like he doesn’t feel the weight of my stare or the tension floating between us.
But I know he does.
His hand tightens slightly on the handle of the mug.
“You didn’t say anything after class,” I say, voice quiet.
He doesn’t turn around. “About what?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe about me being there.”
He pauses just long enough for it to mean something. Then he sets the mug down.
“I didn’t think it was necessary,” he says.
I laugh under my breath. “Right. Of course. Just another student, right?”
His jaw tightens.
I take a slow sip of my water, eyes locked on him.
“You could’ve told me,” I add.
“I didn’t know,” he replies, finally facing me. His expression is unreadable. “I didn’t know you went to Rose.”
“Funny,” I say. “We live in the same house, but somehow you know nothing about me.”
He doesn’t say anything.
I push off the counter and walk past him toward the sink. Our arms brush — just slightly — and he flinches like I burned him.
Good.
I rinse out my glass and turn back around.
“I’m not trying to make things weird,” I lie.
His eyes flicker. “Then don’t.”
The silence that follows feels louder than anything else. It fills the room, presses into my skin. The air feels heavy, like if either of us moves the wrong way, something will snap.
I cross my arms.
“You know,” I say, tilting my head, “it’s funny watching all the girls in class trip over themselves for you.”
He frowns. “Ava—”
“I mean, not that I blame them,” I add quickly, voice light. “You’re what, thirty-four? Tall, smart, fit... charming enough when you want to be.”
He steps forward.
Not much. Just one slow, deliberate step.
“You think this is funny?” he asks, voice low.
I hold his gaze. “I think it’s interesting.”
“I think you need to be careful.”
“Of what?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares at me, something stormy flickering behind his eyes. Then he turns and walks toward the hallway.
Before he disappears, he says quietly, “Your mom’s staying at Leila’s tonight.”
I blink. “What?”
He doesn’t look back. “She texted. Said not to wait up.”
Then he’s gone.
The hallway swallows him whole, leaving me alone in the kitchen with my thoughts. Wow. I check my phone just to be sure if Mom texted me too, but I found nothing. Wow just wow. She really stopped caring about me now, not even bothering to tell me I'll be alone with him here today.
I don’t know how long I stand there. Minutes pass. Maybe more. I just can't believe how my Mom changed. Is his d**k really that good for her to just focus on him? It's a wonder she stayed with her friend and not with him today.
Ugh, I don't even care anymore. I walk to the sink, lean my hands on the edge, and stare out the window into the night.
The silence between us is louder than ever.
- Writer
