table.”
“No, I’m staying in my own house.”
“See - I still get you,” Kara said as she tried to smile. “But I’m gonna warn you,” she said as she looked around the room. “If a certain someone says it’s time to go – Mom is gonna make you.”
It was like she didn’t want to mention that my father haunted this house in front of Monroe, but it was clear to me that she already sensed that. “He doesn’t talk,” I said, crossing my arms. “At least not when you’re awake.”
“Mom says he does…maybe you need to stop looking for words and just listen to the emotions of the room…I would think that words are for the living, not the dead.”
“Well, I’m alive and he’s dead, so I guess we have a language barrier.”
Kara’s expression grew dim. “K…maybe you’re right….maybe mom is. I don’t know; I’m just doing the best I can right now with what I have. Your bed is upstairs…I hung drapes on the window to give you privacy.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, clearly not caring anymore.
“Let me know if you need anything, Monroe,” Kara said as she glanced at her before going down the stairs.
“I guess I’m gonna check out my new room,” I said blankly as I walked to the stairs that led to the studio.
They had put my bed and a night stand on the left wall. The black leather couch, guitar stand, and amps were still in the same place. In a way, I was surprised I hadn’t thought of this before. When I did sleep, it was usually on that couch with a guitar in my lap.
There was an area rug beneath my bed that matched the new maroon drapes across the window. I liked how it matched my fluffy black bedspread. I walked over to the bed and sat down and pulled my phone out of my bag. I saw the cord for my charger on the night stand and plugged it in. There was no life in my battery, so I had no idea how many texts from Britain were waiting on me.
The sound of the guitar seemed to grow more intense as I impatiently waited for life to creep into my phone.
“You can yell at me with this song all night - I don’t know what you’re mad about. It’s not like I meant to run into him,” I said into the room.
The sound fell silent, and I heard an innocent voice. “You like dead people, don’t you?”
I looked up quickly to see Monroe standing in the doorway to the studio.
“They like me,” I answered, smiling slightly, surprised to finally hear her speak.
In Monroe’s hand was what looked like a rock. It was the size of a football, tan, and had crystals embedded within the surface. I assumed that was in her bag, which meant Aden had brought them in – which also meant he was more than likely in my old room, ‘protecting’ me like he was supposed to. I wondered how mad Draven was and what he was doing now that he knew I had seen Britain again today.
Monroe slowly walked over to the night stand and sat the rock down. I could see now that it had a cord attached to it. I assumed it was some kind of lamp.
“Where did you get that at?” I asked as I admired how unique it was…it almost calmed me to look at it.
She didn’t answer me; instead, she reached to plug the cord in. I expected it to light up or something, but nothing happened.
“I don’t like the bad dead…but the good dead are nice…I guess…still scary,” Monroe said slowly as she knelt down.
“The unknown is always scary,” I mumbled. Something about hearing her voice made me feel sorry for her. She had this hard core Goth image going, one that might scare most people: Black and lace head to toe, piercings, and black lip stick…but when she spoke, her image changed….it was as if innocence was washed over her. I felt privileged to hear her speak; it was as if it was her simple way of telling me that she trusted me.
Her fingertips moved up the cord.
“My mom liked talking to the dead…to my dad.”
“Your dad is gone?” I asked in the kindest voice I could manage as I tilted my head and looked down at
“No, I’m staying in my own house.”
“See - I still get you,” Kara said as she tried to smile. “But I’m gonna warn you,” she said as she looked around the room. “If a certain someone says it’s time to go – Mom is gonna make you.”
It was like she didn’t want to mention that my father haunted this house in front of Monroe, but it was clear to me that she already sensed that. “He doesn’t talk,” I said, crossing my arms. “At least not when you’re awake.”
“Mom says he does…maybe you need to stop looking for words and just listen to the emotions of the room…I would think that words are for the living, not the dead.”
“Well, I’m alive and he’s dead, so I guess we have a language barrier.”
Kara’s expression grew dim. “K…maybe you’re right….maybe mom is. I don’t know; I’m just doing the best I can right now with what I have. Your bed is upstairs…I hung drapes on the window to give you privacy.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, clearly not caring anymore.
“Let me know if you need anything, Monroe,” Kara said as she glanced at her before going down the stairs.
“I guess I’m gonna check out my new room,” I said blankly as I walked to the stairs that led to the studio.
They had put my bed and a night stand on the left wall. The black leather couch, guitar stand, and amps were still in the same place. In a way, I was surprised I hadn’t thought of this before. When I did sleep, it was usually on that couch with a guitar in my lap.
There was an area rug beneath my bed that matched the new maroon drapes across the window. I liked how it matched my fluffy black bedspread. I walked over to the bed and sat down and pulled my phone out of my bag. I saw the cord for my charger on the night stand and plugged it in. There was no life in my battery, so I had no idea how many texts from Britain were waiting on me.
The sound of the guitar seemed to grow more intense as I impatiently waited for life to creep into my phone.
“You can yell at me with this song all night - I don’t know what you’re mad about. It’s not like I meant to run into him,” I said into the room.
The sound fell silent, and I heard an innocent voice. “You like dead people, don’t you?”
I looked up quickly to see Monroe standing in the doorway to the studio.
“They like me,” I answered, smiling slightly, surprised to finally hear her speak.
In Monroe’s hand was what looked like a rock. It was the size of a football, tan, and had crystals embedded within the surface. I assumed that was in her bag, which meant Aden had brought them in – which also meant he was more than likely in my old room, ‘protecting’ me like he was supposed to. I wondered how mad Draven was and what he was doing now that he knew I had seen Britain again today.
Monroe slowly walked over to the night stand and sat the rock down. I could see now that it had a cord attached to it. I assumed it was some kind of lamp.
“Where did you get that at?” I asked as I admired how unique it was…it almost calmed me to look at it.
She didn’t answer me; instead, she reached to plug the cord in. I expected it to light up or something, but nothing happened.
“I don’t like the bad dead…but the good dead are nice…I guess…still scary,” Monroe said slowly as she knelt down.
“The unknown is always scary,” I mumbled. Something about hearing her voice made me feel sorry for her. She had this hard core Goth image going, one that might scare most people: Black and lace head to toe, piercings, and black lip stick…but when she spoke, her image changed….it was as if innocence was washed over her. I felt privileged to hear her speak; it was as if it was her simple way of telling me that she trusted me.
Her fingertips moved up the cord.
“My mom liked talking to the dead…to my dad.”
“Your dad is gone?” I asked in the kindest voice I could manage as I tilted my head and looked down at
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