The night was cold, damp and stormy. The Water was seeping in through window frames and dripping into the room. The wail of the wind echoing through the house, it was loud and unsettling. I sat bunched up in the corner of my bed, the blanket wrapped around me. No matter what I did I was rapidly shivering. And I couldn't sleep.
I slipped out my bed and left the room, blanket over me. Some of the bare wooden floorboards creaking under my feet as I tried to sneak quietly down the hallway. Once I got to the stairs the wind was stronger. I went up them, skipping a few steps that I knew creaked. As I got to the third floor of the house, I went to the furthest room. Skipping the loose and noisy floorboards as I moved.
The door hinges squeaked as I carefully opened the wooden door. The room was long abandoned. The curtains were moth eaten and the shuttered rattled In the wind. Everything was covered in dust and damp from the rain coming in the now shattered windows. A tall mirror stood against a wall, it was cracked and covered with dusk.
I approached it, staring at the image of myself in the mirror, my nightgown, blanket and hair blowing in the wind. I moved the blanket down my shoulders and turned so I could see my back in the reflection, shivering in the cold.
The large tattoo my dad had forced on my back a month earlier, staring back at me. The fearful memory coming back of its markings being forced into my flesh. A tear dripped down my cheek. Then the door creaked open making me jump.
A sleepy 16 year old boy stood in the doorway, his hair black and scruffy. He wore an old t-shirt and shorts. His eyes were half open; he had clearly not woken up properly. The boy had moved in a week ago to become an apprentice of my farther. I quickly pulled my blanket over my shoulders at the sight of him. The tattoo was mine and my father's secret.
"What are you doing up here?" he asked looking around the room, rubbing one of his eyes.
My heart started to race. I didn't know what to do. I didn't have any friends so I was awkward around people.
"Just closing the shutters, I couldn't sleep" I muttered in response, trying to avoid his eyes
"it is quite noisy isn't it?" he was trying to start a friendly conversation
"and cold" I mumbled, still looking towards the floor.
"Well it's not going to be any better up her" he yawned as he looked around the room
"what are you doing up here?" I spoke a little more confident this time.
"I could hear the floor boards creaking and thought someone might have broken in, so I came to check it out"
"oh" I became flustered, it was my fault.
I pushed passed him without another word and went downstairs to the ground floor of the old battered house and headed towards the kitchen. The kitchen was noisy but not as damp as the other rooms. By the time he got back downstairs I had made him a cup of tea. I knew how he liked them because my dad always made me make them for the both of them. He seemed more awake now. He was surprised when I passed him the tea "it'll warm you up" I explained as he too it.
I went in the hall and put on a coat that covered my neck and sat on the tatty couch with my blanket over me. "Mind if I join?" the boy asked with his mug in his hand. I knew he was cold so I moved over, giving him some room. After ages of silence he had moved over towards me to keep warm and fell asleep. I could feel his warm breath against me. He was right, it was warmer cuddled up together but it felt wrong. I felt wrong. I felt different. Every time hes around me and tries to talk to me I feel awkward (like everyone else) but I always felt like he was watching everything I do and my heart would race. But unfortunately for me my tiredness won me over and I fell asleep myself, cuddled up with the strange boy on my couch.
