Chapter 2-Back in time
Asleep in my motel room, I dream, I dream of what once was.
Three weeks beforeā¦
I flicker my eyes open to the sun streaming into my window, my daily alarm. Dean has already left the bed as usual and I can't help but be grateful knowing my appearance is no movie-girl wake-up scene. I hurry to the bathroom; the common theme of beige and egg shell white follows me between rooms. I set to work, first thing first I throw my hair up high onto my head into a bun and strip down, entering the shower and turning the water on. It splashes onto my face wet and cold before it eventually heats up. I use this initial blast as a brisk wakeup call, the sharpness of the cold rousing me further into proper consciousness. I let the warm water soak down my back as I shake off the last dregs of sleep. Once I'm out of the shower I wrap the towel around myself, let down my shoulder-length hair and begin to brush out the knots formed overnight. Brushing my teeth is next in my morning ritual followed by pressing contacts to my eyes. I blink a few times, allowing my hazel-green eyes to adjust to the foreign lenses and then I'm out of the room. A pretty standard start to what seems to be a pretty standard day. I dress into my signature dark jeans, black shirt and leather jacket combo. And by signature, I mean that to everyone around me it would seem to be my only outfit, and I simply have to own that concept or else be vulnerable to outright mocking from all my friends (all being about three) about my lack of variety. I take one last glance in the mirror before I head to the kitchen, although I've been dating Dean for a while now, I mean we live together, he is much better looking than I am, and being the slightly insecure person I am, I still feel the need to appear as decent as I can, I still feel the need to make some effort on my appearance, more for my own sake then Dean actually caring if I am honest with myself. I walk into the sun-filled kitchen to the smell of coffee and toast.
"Mornin' Mia," his voice still deepened and slightly raspy from sleep.
I smile, "Mornin' Dean," copying his greeting.
I walk to the eggshell cupboards, searching for pancake mix. I am no cook, but I know well enough how to follow instructions on a packaging. I set to work, first pouring water into the bottle and eventually flipping my final pancake onto the plate, I am especially good at that part.
However, as I am picking up the plate to move it to the kitchen table, out of the corner of my eye I see a dark shape through the window. I glance up quickly, but the sun makes me squint. I move forward and peel back the beige curtains further peering into the light, nothing. I search the small backyard for a few more moments but nothing out of the ordinary jumps out at me. I sigh and shake my head, trying to get rid of the last of the sleep from my head, as that must have been what happened. Still, I would be sure to check later, just to make sure. Dean and I eat breakfast together, he has made me my favourite tea, rose and turkish apple. I sip the last dregs of the hot liquid, thinking about how happy I am to be sitting here with Dean, eating a normal, and quiet breakfast with our whole lives ahead of us. Once we are both finished, reluctantly Dean rises from the table and sighs.
"Well, that's me off to work then."
Dean works at a car mechanic shop, he recently saved enough money to open his own business after having worked for one back in Missouri, he tells me. I tried looking into it myself (for reasons that you may find out, or work out later) but it must have been a small family owned business because I can't find information on it anywhere. I walk Dean to the door, reluctant to see him go, I'm not in the mood for work either. It's a Thursday, but I know we both wish it was a Sunday, we both feel like lazing around in each other's company. I pull him in for a quick goodbye kiss, but he holds it longer, savouring our closeness as if he is storing up energy to get him through the coming day. I wave him off as he backs out of the driveway, the black impala roaring its engine, its familiar sound always bringing me sadness when it signalled Dean leaving, and excitement when it meant his return. I stand in the door way a few moments, wishing Dean back, there is something about today that makes me feel uneasy. I remember the black figure I thought I saw by the kitchen window and I head to the back, determined to seek this out before I start work myself. I'm outside on the neatly cut lawn, Dean loves to mow and so no matter the weather our grass is never longer than two inches. I start to search the ground where I think I had seen the shape but see nothing. I walk towards my office, a separate one-room building we had decided to put in the backyard where I would be able to keep all my work things. I am a conveyancer, so it is filled with files, computers, titles and more files. As I walk towards the door I get a whiff of rotten eggs and my stomach drops. I stand still for a few seconds and try to smell the air again, but nothing. I walk around the grass, attempting to locate any sulphur smell yet I find nothing again. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts, it is just a trick of my mind, not enough sleep or something. Still, with an uneasy feeling growing stronger in my stomach I enter my office. Its walls are a lilac purple, an outlier to the rest of the house, Dean knows it is my favourite colour and he had it painted as a surprise. However, I am too focussed on my anxiety and I go straight to the back of the large room and lift the heavy rug, revealing a trap door, its handle rusting from disuse. I heave the door open, a loud creaking accompanying the action. I walk down the stairs, my senses on high alert for any sign of movement, for any sign of an intruder. I make my way down to the small, damp and dark room and immediately go to open the large chest that takes up most of the space. Again, it creaks open, dust flying into the air. I look down with my heart in my throat but sigh in relief: everything is accounted for. Despite having my fears assuaged, I remove one item from the chest, wiping years off it onto my clothes having not laid eyes on it in a long while. I'll have to make sure to replace it before Dean gets home. I've managed to keep the room and the trapdoor hidden through many pains, hating keeping a secret from him, but just adding it to the painfully long list. I leave the hidden room laughing at myself, at my obvious paranoia.
Yet when I sit down I feel the comforting presence of my once well-loved gun now tucked under my shirt into my jeans.
