Page 34 of Ashen Souls

The appointment ended with a clean bill of health and a list of lifted restrictions. I could drive again. I could return to class. I could resume my life as if I hadn’t spent the last two weeks losing my mind to something I could not quite explain.

11

Iwas watching the dust motes dance in the first sliver of gray light long before the rest of the house woke up on Sunday morning.

It should have been peaceful. Instead, the silence crackled with a low-frequency static that made my teeth ache.

I stayed in bed until the familiar rhythm of the house returned. The rattle of old pipes, the rush of running water from the bathroom, the smell of coffee winding down the hallway. The sounds of childhood, solid with routine.

They also made the walls feel a little too close.

I missed my apartment.

I missed the uneven radiator that rattled at night, the warm smell of bread seeping up from the bakery below, the privacy of living alone with my thoughts. I missed my desk crowded with unfinished drafts. Even the low-grade stress of campus had a certain appeal now; at least it gave my days structure.

By the time Mom called, “Breakfast!” I had already decided that the absence of the dreams during the past week was proof that I was healing.

At the kitchen table, Mom slid a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me as if she expected me to shatter if she stopped watching.

I picked at them with my fork for a few seconds. But when I pushed my plate away and announced I was ready to go back to my apartment, the table went dead quiet.

Mom froze, her coffee mug halfway to her mouth. “Already?”

“I feel fine,” I said quickly. “Better, actually. And I miss my bed. Harper said she’ll keep an eye on me.”

“She will not,” Dad muttered from behind his newspaper. “She’s a terrible influence.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“She’s chaos in eyeliner,” he corrected.

“She’s loyal,” I countered.

“Loyal to vodka shots,” Matt added through a mouthful of toast, scattering crumbs across his hoodie.

“Matthew,” Mom warned without looking.

“What? It’s true.” He smirked at me. “I once saw her carry you out of a bar like a firefighter.”

“That was one time,” I said, heat creeping into my face. “And it was karaoke night. Don’t act like you don’t have blackout stories.”

Matt’s grin widened. “Mine never involved a sequined microphone.”

Chloe barely looked up from her phone. “Honestly, Harper’s iconic. At least she has a personality.”

Matt flicked a piece of toast crust at her. It bounced off her shoulder.

“Ew!” she shrieked, brushing at her sweater dramatically. “Mom, he’s contaminating me!”

“Enough,” Mom snapped, deploying the glare she usually reserved for unruly ER patients.

I sighed. “Look, I’ll be okay. I’ll text every morning.”

“Yes, you will,” Mom said.

“And every night,” Chloe added smugly.

“Yes, Mom,” I replied, aiming the title squarely at her.