The next morning, the sunrise felt strange.

Not that it was abnormal. The sun came up and shed its light over the earth, which was its role. However, the event felt out of place. My mind had retreated to such a place of fear that witnessing a scene so innocent was striking.

Regardless, I walked out of my house the next day. Grant's reaction was the most frightening aspect to me. His words confirmed his doubt of the possibility, but his expression betrayed the statements. I had hardly slept the night before, afraid of my next step. Should I go to a therapist? Try to convince Grant again? Tell my parents?

Even though I went to him for answers, I left more confused than ever. Should I be afraid of my own mind?

I would say that I woke up, but I'm not sure if I ever fell asleep. I went through my routine, then left my house earlier than usual in order to catch Grant before his classes. I had to at least say something about the previous night. On the surface, I was embarrassed to have walked out so dramatically, though my aim had been to be open to his conclusion.

The early sunlight danced through the trees and onto the sidewalk. I shivered in my flannel, then adjusted my backpack. The sky was reflecting red as clouds rested in the distance. Hardly a sound was made, with the exception of my footsteps.

I tried not to be too noisy as I knocked on Grant's door. Most neighbors didn't enjoy being awake at 6:30 in the morning. Grant probably didn't either, but I was too anxious to wait until after school.

He didn't answer. That was expected. I also expected the door to be locked, but I tried its handle anyways.

The door swung open willingly.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared into the quiet setting. Grant always locks his door at night. Once, Owen snuck out and we went to a late movie with some friends. We were younger and slightly dumber so no one thought to bring a set of keys. When we came back, Owen was locked outside his house.

In the silence, I entered. A million possibilities flew through my mind as to why the door would be unlocked. Grant could've simply forgot; someone could've snuck in. Either way, I was cautious.

No one was in the living room or kitchen. Grant's bedroom door was next to the stairs, so I peeked in. The bed was unmade, and the room was dark from the curtains being drawn. Some socks and dirty laundry littered the hardwood floor.

"Grant?" I whispered, taking a tentative step in.

The small, square space was clearly empty. I swept my eyes over the messy desk and open dresser drawers. I left the room to check the bathroom, but no one was in there either. After that, I did a thorough examination of the first floor, hoping there were no intruders lurking in the corners.

My heart raced faster as I fled up the stairs. Grant wouldn't have left this early for his class. In fact, he didn't usually have any classes on Fridays. Where would he be?

The second floor was an open loft, which was Owen's space. His desk was still by the window and the mattress was on the wall opposite the stairs. His possessions were neat and in order, as he usually had them. No unwelcome guests were upstairs, which meant the house was empty.

Perplexed, I stood there for a moment. Where was Grant?

I dropped my backpack beside the staircase and pulled out my phone. Quickly, I called him. I held my breath as the tone sounded, indicating that he wasn't picking up. I bit my lip, then repeated the process.

Was he in trouble? Did this have anything to do with Owen's appearance or the lack of it? Why was he just leaving now? If he was grieved by Owen's death, he would have left a long time ago... Right?

On the fifth try, he still didn't answer. I swallowed hard, unsure of what to do with this information or if it was significant at all. Maybe Grant just wanted to be alone.

Finally, I decided to leave a message, then head to school. I turned toward the window in Owen's room.

"If you couldn't tell by my ten million missed calls on your phone, I need to talk to you," I sighed. "So call me back ASAP."

I shoved my phone into my pocket. My hands started for my backpack, but I halted myself in mid-reach. A box was open on Owen's mattress, but it was tipped on its side with contents spilling out. I approached the bed, curious.

The objects were obviously Owen's. How had I not noticed the small mess among his impeccable organization? My fingers trembled as I brushed the pieces of paper tumbling out of the shoebox. Each of the pieces were folded neatly, then refolded by whoever had opened them.

I felt my insides shaking as I jerked my head up to look around the room. Then I realized how long it had been since I had entered Owen's room. I didn't see it often, but sometimes he'd show me a new art project he was working on, or, sometimes, our friends and ourselves would play card games during the endless summer nights.

"Bliss," I whispered to myself, staring at the entirety of the room, lost in thought.

Owen was there, dancing victory while arguing passionately with our friend, Zac, about how he won. Zac always got riled up easily, so he was shouting back, trying to get his way with the game. Elena and I were laughing hysterically, and I was thrilled with the way everything felt so easy and natural between the four of us. Owen was grinning widely as he gestured to the cards, clearly pointing out his win while Zac pretended to be greatly frustrated.

Of course, Zac was actually annoyed. We all knew he hated being proven wrong. No one could argue with Owen--

The bus horn blared through my thoughts, causing me to jump and the paper in my hand to fall. Without thinking, I scooped the papers into the box, and then proceeded to shove the box in my backpack. I ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I missed the bus, but I missed a lot of things in life. A tardy was awarded to my schedule, but my first period teacher could care less. It didn't matter.

What mattered was Grant never called, never came back to his house. He didn't bother sending me a text to tell me everything was fine.

Grant was ignoring me and trying to escape the possibility of Owen being alive. I ignored the box-- until the desire to have solace was unbearable.

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{July 22, 2017}

(PC: byranadamc || Instagram)