Awaiting the moment they started talking, the nail on my thumb made a crescent shaped indention in my skin. It pierced my skin more as the apprehension grew.
My mother and I exchanged a few passing glances, but I quickly drew my attention back to the window. Her gaze never left me, but I pretended not to notice. I couldn't understand why she seemed so worried about me. I never gave her a reason to.
Catching me by surprise, she started speaking to me. “What are you thinking about?” she questioned.
“What do you mean?” I asked again. I was persistent in getting an explanation, for revealing too much of my thoughts was bound to get me in trouble.
“You haven't said a word since to us in days. What's on your mind?” she paused as if giving herself up to thought.Seeing that this wasn't anything concerning him, my father slipped out of the room, going unnoticed by my mother.
“Nothing's wrong. I just wasn't feeling very well, that's all,” I assured her, using as convincing of a voice I could possibly come up with.
“Are you sure?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Positive,” I smiled, lying through my teeth. She smiled back, and told me I could go back in my room. I thanked her with one last pleasantly forced smile before returning to my upstairs room.
With the bed and its sheets beckoning me, I retreated under the blankets. I clutched the sheets with a force that nearly ripped a hole in the fabric. I knew that something wasn't right, but what that something was I couldn't say. It could only be described as a gnawing suspicion that something would go wrong. I couldn't explain it or put any reason behind it, but it was there, and the feeling was real.