Chapter 2: His Space
383 Words
The next morning, I woke to the sound of rain tapping against the window. Oregon had moods, and today felt like it wanted to be left alone.
I could relate.
The sheets were too clean. The silence was too heavy. And the house—this sleek, cold mansion in Ashwood—still didn’t feel like mine.
But what really lingered wasn’t the weather.
It was him.
Luca.
His voice from the night before still echoed in my head:
You’re in my space.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. It felt like he peeled something back in me with just four words.
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Downstairs, Mom was humming to herself in the kitchen. Pancakes on the stove. News on low.
She looked... happy. And that scared me more than anything.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asked, flipping a pancake with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Yeah. The bed’s fine.”
“You’ll love Ashwood. It’s quiet, but sweet. Safe.”
I didn’t answer. Because nothing about this place felt safe.
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I wandered the halls alone for most of the morning. The house had too many corners, too many locked doors. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty—it felt watched.
Eventually, I ended up at the second floor landing. From here, I could see the piano room again. The door was shut now. No music.
I told myself I wasn’t going to look for him. That I didn’t care. But my feet moved anyway.
And then—I heard it.
A voice.
Not Luca’s. Not Mom’s.
A whisper. Male. Low. Urgent.
Coming from behind one of the locked doors.
I froze.
The door was barely cracked.
And just as I leaned a little closer to hear—
It slammed shut.
Hard.
I jumped back, heart hammering.
Footsteps. Heavy. Coming fast.
Then—
The door flew open.
And there he was.
Luca.
His hoodie was off, his jaw clenched, eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. Like I’d just caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
Neither of us moved.
His hand still gripped the doorknob.
“Were you listening?” he asked, voice flat.
I opened my mouth—but I didn’t get the chance to answer.
Because then I saw it.
The blood on his hand.
- Writer
