The walk home seemed like a punishment, and neither of us spoke a word as we dragged our feet over the asphalt sidewalk, probably looking like two people going to die with our bowed heads.
Once home, not much changed. Mason refused to look at me, even when he mumbled a weak "I'm going to bed." He didn't request that I follow, thankfully, so I went up the stairs after him and darted into my room. Unintentionally slamming the door, I changed into my PJ's so fast even Superman would have been proud, then launched into my bed. Staying up all night and crying were sure fire recipes for fatigue and I was only too happy to acquiesce my drooping eyelids and drift off to sleep.
The house was eerily silent as I sat up in bed, trying to shake the last dredges of sleep from my body. Even though I wasn't sure of exactly what time it was, something in my subconscious told me that it was well after dark, so lack of noise shouldn't have been a surprise. It was Friday night, after all. Mason had probably gone to work.
After sitting up in place for a few minutes as the fog of after-sleep wore off, I carefully peeled back my comforter and swung my bare legs around to the side. It was pitch black in my room without even the slightest hint of moon shining through the window (thanks to my curtains), so I tip-toed gingerly across the plush carpet with my arms outstretched, trying to feel my way to the door. But as luck or my clumsy ways would have it, the tips of my feet caught on something hard lying before my dresser and in no time flat I was flying forward like a surprised mummy. My shoulder was the first to make contact, and it hit my door with a loud jarring sound. Thankfully the door gave a little and I bounced off without any immediate pain, landing on one knee and a hand. The flush of embarrassment raced to my cheeks even though no one was around, and I looked back over my tingling shoulder to try and see what it had been that caused my downfall. My weak human eyes failed to give me the information I wanted though, so I jumped up and flipped on the light switch right next to the door jamb.
Amongst the battlefield of dirty clothes and other teenage girl accessories that littered my floor was a giant lump consisting of tennis shoes and the outfit I shed that previous morning; the culprit for my fall. Giving it a good glare, I made a mental note to clean my room. The only signs of my cream colored carpet were the sporadic bare patches that weren't covered by my mess, and I had a feeling that there would be more falls in the dark if I didn't take care of it.
That said, procrastination decided to live up to it's reputation and force me downstairs to investigate the silent house and get some food in me before I cleaned. There weren't any lights on upstairs and only a couple small ones in the kitchen and living room, so I knew Mason had gone. The big shock came when I looked at the microwave clock and nearly fell over upon reading that it was nine-thirty. How had I slept all day and into the night!? I hadn't felt that sleepy! Glancing down at my nightshirt-clad self in confusion, I tried to think of why I had slept for over fifteen hours, but no luck. Maybe I was having an emotional brain-drain and it needed some off time. Whatever the case, I realized I was becoming more nocturnal by the minute but shrugged it off. Everyone had slept that late at one point in their lives, right? Besides, I was too hungry to care about anything else at the present moment.
As I backtracked towards the refrigerator, a slip of paper on the kitchen table caught my eye. It was pretty much the only thing on the shiny wood surface so it wasn't a mystery why I had spotted it suddenly, and the tiny print of Mason's hand jumped out at me just as much.
Kayla- I made mac 'n cheese for you. It's in the fridge, all you need to do is heat it up. See you in the morning.
I crumpled the worthless piece of paper in my fist and dropped it back on the table, meaning to deal with it later.
The kitchen was still pretty dark since I hadn't flipped on the big overhead light, and the only one on before I opened the fridge was the stoves. But like a frosty portal to another world, light and mist bathed me as I pulled open the metal door and stared at the frigid contents. There were quite a few red rectangles about the size of a book lying on the shelves, made of clear plastic with a ghoulish filling. There was white print on each of them that read 'Mort I. Shyin farms' in neat letters, and a shudder raced through me as my finger reached out towards one of the bags. This is why I never opened the fridge, but curiosity won out over disgust when my finger came in contact with one of the cold packs. The blood beneath the plastic rippled and made a squishy sound, causing my hand to jump back to my body faster than if electricity had zapped it. What if one of those bags contained blood from Caitlin, mom or dad? I swallowed the wet lump in my throat and snatched my bowl of cheesy noodles out of the fridge, not sure I really wanted to eat something that had shared space with human blood.
But I was hungry, so after impatiently waiting for the microwave to do its job, I took my steaming bowl of home-made mac 'n cheese to the living room and plunked down on the couch. Since I didn't live with anyone that ate my food, I didn't have to put the macaroni in another bowl, but happily ate out of the original container while turning on the TV and kicking back. I slouched down in the middle of the vast couch, my feet up on the coffee table as Mason's cheery face looked back at me from the glowing screen. His news show had only started half an hour ago so I hadn't missed much, but I was surprised at how different my owner looked as forkful after forkful of mac 'n cheese was shoveled into my mouth. His suit was pressed just fine and his tie was straight, as well as his impeccable not-one-strand-out-of-place hair. But the cheesy, mindless clone look on his face didn't quite reach his lime-colored eyes. He looked preoccupied as he traded small talk with his co-hosts, maybe because I knew him so well. Even when he wasn't at work, Mason always looked one hundred percent something. Whether it be tired, excited or stupid, his body followed his face and his face followed his eyes. But not this time. I wondered what was bugging him, and more importantly, why did I even care?
