Twenty Three

Cassandra

When I wake up, I'm lying belly down with my arms holding a pillow against my cheek. The pillow is soft but doesn't smell like my detergent or strawberry-scented shampoo. Instead, sandalwood and a faint smell of smoke fills my nose. I open one eye when I hear a rustling noise, then turn my body around and sit up, realizing that I'm still in Drew's room. I internally groan, knowing this is going to earn some comments from my sister.

"Morning," Drew says groggily, taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

"Morning." I pull his blue and white checkered comforter up to cover my top half. My thin camisole does little to prevent the morning chill coming from the open balcony door from hitting my chest.