Fineas has been frantically clinging to the floor in fear of being heard ever since he accidentally dropped the matchbox in April’s memory box on the wooden floor out of shock. In his defense, he tells his imaginary audience, why would she have a matchbox? Who would give her one, and why would she keep it? Was it from a friend, starting a fire on some excursion? Was it from a date, lighting a candle? Was it-
No, he thinks to himself, cutting off his own thoughts. That’s not important. He can deal with those preoccupations later. Right now, he has to find his way out of this goddamn house. Why did he think that it was a clever idea to break into his girlfriend’s house while her deranged father was still living there?
He could wait until the man went to sleep, of course; that was always a possibility. But the fate he would face if he managed to wake him up while escaping is something so unknown, something he can’t quite risk. He could wait until the next morning, when the man went to work, but that was hazardous as well: too much time to be caught. He supposes, though, that that’s the safest way to get out.
Either way, he has to wait a while. Extremely carefully, he lifts out his phone from his pocket. He can’t afford to drop it, even if he’s lying down; the collision will be too much, and will result in the man running toward him, probably with a fully loaded gun, thinking he’s a thief or an assassin, and he’ll shoot without thinking twice, and it’ll be too late-
Fineas knows he has to stop coming up with these scenarios, but he can’t help it. He really can’t. In moments like these – moments, of course, that he’s never experienced before, as this is his first break-in – it’s instinctual to think of the worst possible outcome. He checks the time on his phone: 7:20. God, it’s already been an hour since he arrived. He has no choice but to stay there, though.
He sifts through April’s memory box – he knows he’s being nosy, but he craves entertainment. This time, however, he makes sure the box is under each item he picks up – he won’t make that mistake again. There’s letters from friends, receipts, photos, addresses scribbled on post-its, candy wrappers – anything that has a relation to someone important. There’s even a couple things from their dates.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there. He won’t let himself fall asleep.
Eventually, he hears the man get up. Fineas holds his breath as he walks past April’s room.
The man walks outside. Fineas can hear the sound of the man getting in the car and driving away. He doesn’t waste a second. He crawls out from under the bed, climbs out the window, closes it gently, and sprints all the way home, as fast as he can, frantic, dizzy, and scared.
He calms himself before entering the house, taking deep breaths.
“Where the hell were you?” his mother asks him the second he steps foot in the house.
Oh no. He was so relieved that he got out of that house alive that he forgot that he was still a minor on a school night, living under his parent’s roof with the promise to text them long forgotten. Yet somehow, the wrath of his mother doesn’t feel as impactful this time.
“Off with Thomas,” he says, the first thing that came to mind. That seems reasonable enough – to be with his best friend.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You weren’t answering your phone. I was getting worried.”
He feels bad – he really does. But he can’t do this right now.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “It won’t happen again.” He goes to his room and shuts the door, shutting her out as if he was shutting out a pestering sibling.