Chapter 14 New And Hopeful
I came downstairs the next morning, slowly. The house was quiet, too quiet. That kind of quiet that doesn’t feel peaceful.
I went to the kitchen but Cynthia wasn’t in her usual spot. I opened the fridge, saw some juice, poured myself a glass and sat at the counter. I am getting used to this silence now, but not in a good way. It was the kind of silence that teaches you how to feel lonely even in a full house.
Just then, I heard a door creak somewhere upstairs.
I waited, then not long after Carson appeared at the end of the hallway. He didn’t look surprised to see me. He just looked... tired.
I stood up. “Morning,” I said.
He nodded.
“Morning.”He replied.
I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
I tried again. “Can I ask you something?”I asked.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
“Sure,”He said.
“Why did you lock me in yesterday?” I asked.
He blinked. “I didn’t mean to make you feel trapped.”He said.
“But I was. Literally.”I replied sharply.
He looked away, like he didn’t know what to say.
“I just needed space,” he finally said. “And I didn’t know how to ask for it,”He said, rolling his eyes.
“You could’ve just said so,” I replied.
“I’m not good at... words,” he said.
“I noticed,”I replied.
He gave a small, tired smile.
“I’m not trying to make you the enemy,” I said softly.
“I’m just... trying to understand you.”I said again trying to act nice.
He sighed and walked over to the couch and sat.
“There’s not much to understand. I’m not complicated. Just guarded.”He said.
I moved closer but didn’t sit yet.
“What are you guarding?”I asked.
He was quiet for a long time, then he looked at me.
“Everything. My peace, my thoughts and my heart.”He said.
I finally sat.
“I’m not here to steal those things.”I said looking concerned.
“I know,” he said. “But I don’t know what to
I looked at him.
“What if we just... start small? One question a day, one answer and one story. Nothing deep,”I said.
He thought about it. “Like an icebreaker?”He asked.
I smiled. “Exactly.” I said.
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
I tilted my head. “Can I go first?”I asked.
He nodded again.
“Alright,” I said, pretending to think hard. “What’s your favorite childhood memory?”I asked.
“My dad once took me to a lake. We fished, we didn’t catch anything. But it was peaceful. I remember the sun and the sound of water.”He said.
I smiled. “That sounds nice,”I said.
He looked at me. “Your turn.”He said
“Hmm...” I looked up. “When I was six, I got stuck in a tree. My brother was too scared to help me down, so he stayed with me up there until our parents came back. We just sat there for hours talking nonsense.”I said and chuckled.
He chuckled. “Sounds like a good brother.”He said.
“He is,” I said.
And just like that, the silence didn’t feel heavy anymore. It felt... soft. Like we both dropped something off our shoulders.
Carson looked at me again.
“You want to try this again tomorrow?”He asked.
I nodded. “I’d like that.”
We sat there for a bit longer, not talking, just being us.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was something and right now, something felt better than nopaintin
Later that day, I found myself wandering into the hallway I always ignored—the one that led to the other side of the house.I hadn't really paid attention before, but something about today made me stop.
There was a photo of Carson as a boy. Maybe six or seven. He was standing beside a tall man, probably his father. They both wore fishing hats.
So that lake memory... it was real.
I looked at the photo a little longer, then noticed a room at the end of the hall, its door slightly open.
I knew I shouldn’t enter, but I pushed it gently.
Inside, it smelled like books and something old. The room was filled with shelves, a small desk sat in the corner. There was a notebook open on it. A pen resting across the page.
I stepped in slowly.
The notebook was filled with writing—not neat or planned, it's just thoughts being penned down. Some were angry, some were tired, Some were broken and some were beautiful.
One line read: “I don’t know how to be close to people without feeling like I’ll disappear.”
I closed the book quietly and left the room just as quietly as I had entered.
That evening, he was sitting outside. I hadn’t even noticed him until I walked past the window and saw him out on the porch.
I stepped out, barefoot, holding a light shawl around my shoulders.
“Mind if I sit?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Sit.”He said.
We both looked out at the yard. The sun was dipping low, soft orange light falling over the grass.
“I found your library,” I said, watching his expression.
He didn’t look surprised. “Yeah?”He said.
I nodded. “You write well,”I said.
He looked at me for a moment. “I don’t write for people.”He replies.
“I know,” I said. “But I’m not a person. I’m here,”I said.
He looked away. “Yeah. You are.”He said.
“Do you think people like us can ever learn how to be... okay?” I asked quietly.
“I think we can learn how to try,” he said.
I liked that answer.
That night, I sat by my window, necklace still around my neck, the book he gave me still open beside me. I didn’t read. I just stared at the stars.
For the first time, I didn’t feel trapped.
Not because the house changed.
But because something inside me shifted.
Maybe in him too.
We were still strangers in some ways, but now we were strangers sitting closer.
Strangers trying.
Trying was something.
And for now, that was enough.