21

I'm oddly comfortable, too cozy. Nothing hurts. Usually when I stir awake, my back and neck sore from sleeping on a flat wannabe mattress on the floor. I stretch, and a delicious soreness gathers between my legs.

I breathe in and a leathery rose and patchouli scent startles my eyes open. Adrenaline claws through me and prompts me to stand. I toss the thick, black sheets off and squeal. I'm naked! I gather them and throw them on top of me instead and crawl off the large bed.

Dylan's bed.

I press my hand over my racing heart, forcing it to calm down. "Dylan."

Silence responds to my call. I yell his name a bit louder and wait. Nothing. I circle his spotless room and notice a white box and a folded paper on the pillow. It's about to fall. I roll my eyes when I realize that I'd pushed it when I jumped up, thinking I'd been kidnapped again.

I don't know if I want to laugh or roll my eyes as I take tentative steps to the note, but a smile tugs my lips apart when I spot Dylan's too neat handwriting. He writes in small, boxed in, all capital letters.