Blurred Lies (The Blurred Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled,” Nate says with a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes; obviously he’s as aware as I am of our momentary lapse into a happier place. I nod and retrieve my things from the entryway, then follow Nate down the hall located through an industrial looking metal archway installed in the white wall next to the TV.

“That’s my room,” he says as we pass the first door to the right, “and that’s the bathroom,” he motions to the first door on the left, as best he can with my boxes still in tow, “and here’s your room,” again on the left, next to the bathroom.
Convenient.

“Cool. So...that door right there is Ryan’s room?” I ask, hesitantly, motioning to the last door on the right. Not wanting to hear the answer, and wanting to all at the same time.

“Yeah, I know it’s a little cozy. The layout’s not the greatest, but it was the most logical when we were designing the renovation, so…” Nate trails off, not knowing what else to say to ease my mind about being directly opposite Ryan’s bedroom every night for the next…who knows how long.

“No, it’s fine. It’s totally fine,” I say giving a reassuring smile to my brother as I open the door to my new room.

“Holy shit!” Nate gasps in amazement behind me.

Okay,
Weird.
The room’s pretty nice, but I’m not sure what’s made Nate react like he’s never seen the place before. He designed the entire apartment, after all.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, in bemusement.

“Nothing,
that’s
what’s wrong,” he says, still sounding a little taken aback.

“Oookay…care to elaborate?” I ask, confusion lacing my words, but a teasing tone to my voice.

Nate pushes me and my belongings into the room further and sets my boxes on the ground to the right next to the door. I set my suitcase next to me then turn to face Nate, an expectant expression on my face and hands on my ample hips.

“Let’s just say this isn’t how I left this room when I made the trip to get you last week,” he says, eyes still wandering around the space.

“So, Ryan cleaned it up a bit? Is that what you’re so shocked about?”

“You could say that,” he says, still staring into the room, then turning to me. “Look, I’ve got to head out for an hour or so. I need to quote a job downtown that I had to cancel when…well, you know. That okay with you?” Nate queries with concern in his eyes.

Everyone’s always so concerned. It drives me crazy, sometimes, but I guess they have good reason.

“Yeah, of course…I’m fine. Don’t you worry. I’ve got plenty of unpacking and organizing to keep me busy,” I say with confidence in hopes that he’ll believe me.

“Okay, cool. I’ll get dinner for us on the way back. You’ve got my cell number if you need me,” he says as he gives me a quick peck on the forehead and exits my room.

My room.
That thought makes me feel…odd. My old room at our parents’ house…it isn’t mine anymore.

“Thank you, Nate. The room’s really nice,” I yell as he’s on his way down the hall.

“I’m not the one you need to thank for that,” he says as he exits the apartment.

Great, so I’m supposed to thank Ryan for it? Not likely. I don’t even really know what he’s done, since I never saw the place before today, and Nate wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details. 

As I stand barely inside the doorway, I take another look around the bedroom without Nate’s weird reaction to distract me. The walls are the same clean white as the one in the living room, and there’s a large window at the far-end framed by glossy lilac curtains.

My favorite color
.

I’m so not looking too deeply into that observation.

There’s also an eclectic looking, multi-colored dresser under the window, which is cool and looks like it’s been given the DIY, ‘shabby-chic’ treatment. Between me and the dresser is a beautiful queen-sized bed with an antique white headboard and white sheets that have a delicate, purple patterned trim. There’s a matching bedside table at each side of the bed and a desk/vanity table next to the left of the door beside me, with quirky colored drawers on each side matching the dresser under the window. 

All the room really needs is some art and other décor to hang on the walls, in order to liven it up a bit. I can work on that. Nate probably wants me to be able to put my own stamp on the place. Or Ryan.

Did he really do all this?

I’m sure the room wasn’t this girly last week. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. He’d never do something this sweet for anyone, especially not me. He hates me, right?

Right.

Considering unpacking and then deciding against it, in favor of procrastination, I retrieve my toiletries from the front pocket of my suitcase and a fresh set of clothes from the inside, consisting of white cut-off jean shorts and a light pink tank top. I figure it’s probably safe to just leave my clean clothes in the bedroom seeing as both my new roommates are out of the apartment. So I grab the toiletries and the white fluffy towels that were left folded on the bed for me and make my way to the bathroom.

I enter the generously-sized room, which is almost as large as my bedroom, and turn on the light. There are no windows in here, but that doesn’t make it any less impressive than the rest of the apartment. A large bath tub, big enough for two, sits in one corner and an equally large walk-in shower with glass doors stands adjacent.

I briefly wonder if Ryan has ever shared the tub or the shower with anyone, and then quickly shake that troubling thought from my mind.

The wall to my right near the door features a double vanity and sink area with a well-lit mirror and granite countertop, and to the left is the toilet and a fancy looking towel-rail radiator. The walls and floor are tiled with various shades of cream, beige and brown, each tile subtly different to the one next to it, giving the room a warm glow.

Setting my toiletry bag and towels on the vanity, I retrieve what I need and head for the huge shower. I feel so grubby from the long drive in the summer humidity, and a long rinse in this luxurious room is exactly what my body needs. I open the sliding glass door and quickly figure out how to turn on the rain-effect shower head. The water is almost instantly hot, so I step straight in and put my face directly under the spray. The hot water immediately begins to relax muscles I didn’t even realize were tense. 

I shampoo and rinse, then apply the conditioner so I can leave it in my thick, difficult-to-manage hair until the end of my shower. I squirt some jasmine-scented body wash on my pink loofah and work quickly, washing the day away from my skin. I give the important parts a quick shave before putting my head back under the heavy spray to rinse the conditioner from my long, sandy-blonde waves.

I’m not sure how much time passes as I stand under the water long after the conditioner is gone, but I suddenly realize I should probably save some hot water for the boys in case they want showers when they get back. They might not, but I don’t really want to piss either of them off on the first day of moving in.

Especially Ryan.
I don’t need to give him another reason to dislike me.

I step out of the steamy shower into the cool air and feel instant goosebumps all over. I run to the vanity and grab a big, fluffy towel, wrapping it around my body as fast as I can. It’s only then that I notice the open bathroom door.

Shit!

Oh well, I’m sure neither of the guys are back in the apartment yet. I can’t have been in the shower that long. Even if they did come home, Nate would have heard the shower and known I was in here and not come in, but what about Ryan? Would he have avoided the occupied bathroom, or would he have tried to sneak a look-in…something else to smirk at me for? Or, maybe worse: he’d be disgusted and not want to even look at me the rest of the time I’m living here. 

Suddenly, I feel blood rushing to my cheeks and my heart begins to race.
What if he saw me?

Anxiety claws at my throat and twists my stomach.

No!
I won’t panic over this; I don’t even know that anyone came home. I’m probably still totally alone in this big apartment.

I hastily shut the bathroom door and lock it, just in case, and lean my back against it with my eyes closed, taking in deep breaths. Then I quickly dry my body and hair with the towel. Once I’m done, I wrap it tightly around me and secure it at the front before combing out my hair and applying moisturizer to my face and body.

I stare at my pale complexion in the mirror, which usually has an olive tone, but is currently showing the effects of emotional stress and anxiety. My light blue eyes look brighter with some eyeliner, but I didn’t bring any makeup into the bathroom with me. 

I pack away my toiletries and set the bag on the back of the vanity, hoping Nate doesn’t mind me leaving stuff lying around. It seems silly to take it back and forth between the bathroom and bedroom like we’re living in some kind of dormitory. I see a bunch of men’s toiletry items lining the countertop and shelving, and decide it’ll be fine. I turn to the door to make my exit, when I remember I only have a towel around me. Why did I think it would be a good idea to leave my clean clothes on the bed?

“No one’s home,”
I tell myself quietly as a way of calming my nerves.

I slowly unlock the bathroom door and pull it open a fraction, listening through the crack for any sign of life. Once I decide it’s safe, I pull the door open quickly and make a dash for my bedroom next door. Once I’m in the room, I go to shut the door as fast as possible when something stops me.

Is that music? Crap!

I keep my door open a fraction and tilt my head so I can hear more clearly. Faint music is coming from Ryan’s bedroom.

Double crap!

I shut my door, quickly, and harder than I mean to, causing it to slam. Now Ryan will think he’s living with some angry teenager instead of a twenty-one year old woman.

Fantastic!

* * *

After I dress and apply some light makeup, consisting of eyeliner, mascara and strawberry flavored, pink lip balm, I decide to forego unpacking again in favor of sitting down at my vanity table with my laptop. My laptop is a rather integral part of my life, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. I’ve always been somewhat reclusive and started making friends on chat rooms from a relatively young age.

Now, before you start thinking I’m some idiot girl who dates guys online and arranges to meet with them - risking kidnap and, ultimately, a gruesome death - that’s not how it is. I just never felt like I fitted in anywhere. I had one real friend in school, and we still talk occasionally, but she moved away to college when we were eighteen and we’ve grown apart in the last three years. Since I had an intense disliking for school (not the learning, but the unfortunate social aspect), I opted for online college, majoring in English Literature, so I haven’t really given myself a lot of opportunities to make real, in-the-flesh, friends. 

Online chat rooms give me the opportunity to be myself and talk to like-minded (or not) people, both men and women. You’re not talking to some machine; there’s a real person on the other side, with real emotions and a life of their own. In an odd way, I find it the most real way to know someone. People are far less inhibited online; more honest, somehow. Of course you’ve got your catfish, and the TV show happens to be one of my guilty pleasures, but I’m smart about it and I’ve never been hurt (emotionally or otherwise) in my online friendships. Not really, anyway. I’ve fielded my fair share of wackos, whose sole purpose seemed to be getting me naked on a webcam, but who hasn’t? I’ve also dealt with blatant liars. That’s the internet for you; you find those weirdoes all over it (and off of it, for that matter). In my humble experience, the real world isn’t any better - it might even be worse.

I know I said I didn’t date guys online, and I don’t, or haven’t… Anyway, there is one guy I’ve been chatting to for quite some time - since I was sixteen, actually - and he’s become important to me. So important, I find myself completely forgetting Ryan and the past during our chats.

Although we’ve been friends for five years now, we know painfully little about each other’s real lives. Or, more accurately, I know painfully little about his. We decided early on not to share real names or where we live, we gave very rough age ranges upon first ‘meeting’, just to check it was even appropriate to start a friendship at all, and we know little else that’s factual about each other. I’ve mentioned having an older brother and we’ve discussed our upbringings in-depth, without disclosing locations, et cetera. However, that doesn’t mean our friendship is superficial. We talk about the deep stuff that’s affected us throughout life. We’ve developed an emotional connection; I miss him when we can’t talk for extended periods, and he says he misses me, too.

I think about him as I drift off to sleep at night, even though I don’t know his face. I know some of the darkest parts of his life, including his abhorrent upbringing and subsequent suicide attempt shortly before we met, and he knows my parents were killed last week - ran off the road by a drunk driver - and that the life-insurance policy didn’t cover much of the mortgage on our large family home, meaning it had to be vacated and sold as soon as possible.

He’s been my safe place for so long; I get scared when I think of how easy it could be to lose him, especially since my parents’ death. Life seems unimaginably short to me lately. If he ended up in hospital, or worse, I wouldn’t even know. I don’t even have a real name. Thinking about that makes me realize that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to basically have a non-disclosure agreement with each other.

I fire-up the laptop, and say a silent prayer that he’s online. Nate already gave me the internet password on the drive here as he knew I’d need it. I’ve never kept my social life, or lack thereof, a secret from him. I’m not ashamed of it, and Nate understands my reasons for being this way (though he does like to encourage me to “get out more”).

I haven’t been able to chat with Land for days, due to my life spinning off its axis, and I’m eager to talk to him. I’m beginning to wish we’d at least exchanged email addresses, or even cell phone numbers, so we could check-in with each other outside of the chat room.

Oh well.
Maybe I’ll suggest it again today. Last time, he said we were
“getting into dangerous territory,”
if we exchanged that kind of information.

Once my desktop loads, I quickly connect to the router and open my internet browser. The home screen is set to our chat room, which loads quickly, and my heart begins to flutter.

Please, let him be there
.

I log in with my username, BabyDove94, as fast as my fingers will allow, and wait for my profile page to show.

OffLand18 is online.

Yes!
I hastily click the chat icon next to his name, and see he’s already typing a message to me, so I wait patiently to see what he has to say, rather than jumping in with my greeting.

OffLand18 says: It’s so good to see you online again, Little Dove. How are you doing? I know you can’t be ok, but at least tell me you’re coping? I’ve been so worried. I wish I could be there for you.

He wishes he could be here for me?

He’s never said that. In fact he purposefully avoids saying things like that so as not to make it seem like we could meet someday; avoiding wrong impressions, at all costs. We both made the decision long ago that we’d never ask that of each other. I don’t know what to make of it.

BabyDove94 says: I’m so relieved you’re online right now! That alone makes me feel better. I’m doing as best I can. I’m at my brother’s apartment now. It’s a big change, but he’s the best big brother and his place is really nice. His roommate - not so much, but I guess I have to just deal with it, since they’re best friends. We only got here this afternoon. Been here for a couple of hours. This is the first chance I’ve had to get online. How are you?

OffLand18 says: I’m good, baby. Just worried about you. I’ve missed you.

I love it when he calls me ‘baby’. I used to think he just called me it because it’s part of my username, but lately I feel it as a term of endearment. I know that’s how he intends it now. We’re both getting dangerously close to ‘romantic’ when we chat these days. I don’t know what to do or how to feel about it. I don’t want to stop it, because it feels too good, especially now when he’s my only constant in life (other than Nate, of course).

I feel like I’ve become dangerously attached to him, but there’s really nothing I can do about it at this point, other than hope it all works out for the best, whatever the best might be. I just need to keep my head on straight and not turn into a lovesick fool.

BabyDove94 says: I love it when you call me baby.

‘Lovesick fool’ it is then.

OffLand18 says: That’s good, because I love to call you it, baby ;) You’re important to me. More important than anything or anyone. I know we made certain promises in the beginning, but I can’t help feeling they were unnecessary, or whatever, at this point.

Whoa!
My heart is racing. I can’t believe what I’m reading. I realize now that I’ve been lying to myself more and more of late; believing that we shouldn’t exchange factual details about one another or meet in person, one day. Hearing him say that our original agreement was unnecessary gives me a dangerous amount of hope…and fear.

What if we don’t feel the same in person? What if we aren’t attracted to each other? What if meeting each other ruins everything? Or, what if the opposite is true? What if we fall madly in love and can be together all the time? What if it’s perfect?