The blanket was gone. Or, rather, never there. That's what Carswell tried to tell himself when he woke up fifteen minutes before his alarm, half froze to death.
He took a quick shower and threw on a tee shirt and jeans. It was his first day of school, and even at a new place he had the same philosophy: dress how they should expect you to. There's no need to set expectations.
Cinder, of course, was not impressed. "That's what you're wearing? Really? At least wear a nice shirt. Or jeans that aren't faded-your mom got you a new pair only a few weeks ago. Are you really just going to let that go to waste?
"Yes, yes, no, no and no. I'm just not wearing them right now."
"Right now or ever?"
He ignored her, running his fingers through his hair. Carswell knew that there was nothing Cinder hated more than when he pretended she wasn't there. Not that pretending wasn't probably just accepting reality, but now wasn't the time to discuss the technicals of his insanity.
Carswell heard Cinder huff, and then the room filled with empty silence.
Before he met Cinder, he had never known how silence could do that. Fill a space. It was more of a thing that was there when nothing else was. But now he knew it to be like air: it could crush around you, pushing at you at all sides; silence refused to be ignored.
"Alright, I'm sorry." He turned around with a strained smile, but it was too late. She was already gone.
Swearing under his breath, Carswell ran down the stairs, hopping from foot to foot to try and pull on his socks.
His mom wasn't just leaving when he entered the kitchen. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, making sure he knew of the fifteen dollars for pizza on the fridge, and ran out to the driveway. His dad's car was already gone.
Carswell was used to this. His parents had always rushed around like angry bees, even before they both got promotions at their jobs. They were scientists of sorts; he never bothered to figure it out. He didn't care enough to.
Not to say that they didn't care about each other. Maybe it wasn't the unconditional blood-comes-first love, but the three of them were each able to recognize the benefits of having other people around. Carswell could cook the dinner and provide a certain leverage in the social department, his dad payed the bills and his mother bought the food.
A shared love of survival was basically the extent of their bond.
Carswell grabbed a Poptart from the cabinet, glancing at the clock on the wall. He had no idea what time his new school started, though he suspected it was eight, same as his old one. Which meant that the bus would be arriving at his stop, a block way, in only five minutes.
He swore, grabbing his stuff and sprinting out of the house. As his feet pounded the pavement outside, he could've sworn he heard Cinder's laugh only a few yards behind.