Page 25 of True Sight (Nat. 20, #4)

HENRY

I ’ve been tracking the storm ever since I heard one of the guys working on the studio calling it a tropical storm on Wednesday.

I knew hurricanes were a potential threat when I chose to move here but I didn’t think that I would be living through one within my first two months here.

I don’t care what the news is saying, they might be saying it’s ‘just a tropical storm’ but to me, it is a full fledged hurricane and I’m treating it as such.

I did all my food shopping, got bottled water, and made sure to fully charge all of my things in case we lost power.

I seriously considered going back to London for a visit just to escape the storm but I was needed too much at the studio to do that.

But now that the storm is here, I wish I had booked the very expensive plane tickets I found and left town.

I’ve hated storms ever since I was a boy.

As long as I can remember, any kind of storm larger than a rain shower frightens me to my bones.

I’m not sure why, maybe I have some sort of traumatic experience with them that my brain has blacked out like it has so many other memories from my past. There’s just something about the uncontrollable power of a storm that makes me want to hide under my covers until it passes.

I know, reasonably, that I’ll be fine once it’s all over but during, I’m always a wreck.

I always feel silly being afraid of storms but then again, there are other people out there who are afraid of much sillier things.

Like balloons.

Or butterflies.

My irrational fear could be far worse.

After looking at the forecast last night, I texted Alex to let her know that I’d prefer her to teach her classes from home today if she had the space instead of driving into the studio.

Hardie called me last night to let me know he was closing the jobsite down for the day so his people could stay home.

If big, burly Hardie wasn’t coming in, neither was I.

So instead, I woke up before the sun like I had been for the last few weeks, rearranged my furniture to make room, and taught my classes from my laptop perched on my TV stand.

Thankfully I have the best students who were totally understanding of the last minute change of venue.

But that was hours ago and now there’s nothing more for me to do except stand in front of my window and watch as the storm creeps closer and closer to shore.

“You’re okay,” I say aloud, trying to keep myself calm.

“It’s all going to be fine. You’re safe, you’re at home, you’re okay.

” I place my hands over my heart and close my eyes.

Taking a few deep breaths, I can feel my heart pounding in my chest no matter how much I slow my breathing.

Opening my eyes, I decide that if breathing won’t help, maybe a distraction will.

I plop down on the couch and open up my favorite social media apps and start to watch people’s stories and videos they’ve posted from the day.

I scroll for several minutes and at some point, absentmindedly switch from social media to social commentary and consume all the doom and gloom the news loves to report on.

When I finally realize that I’ve just made my anxiety worse, I throw my phone face down on the couch and decide that maybe a cup of tea will be a better support.

After taking my time and making myself the most perfect cup of tea possible, I walk carefully back to the couch.

I have filled my mug up all the way to the brim and any type of jostling will cause it to spill.

Almost as if the universe is playing a cruel game, halfway between the kitchen and my couch, the largest and loudest crack of thunder explodes outside my flat without warning, spooking me and causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.

The muscles in my arms contract from the stunning noise, causing my scalding hot tea to splash over the edges of my mug and burn my fingers.

The shock of them suddenly being encased in boiling hot water surprises me even more and I drop my mug onto the floor, causing it to shatter.

My entire place is filled with the sound of rain falling from the sky at a rapid pace that the ticking of my heart tries to rival.

“ Shit ,” I groan, wiping my hands down my shorts and looking at my perfect tea that is now nothing more than a puddle on the floor.

Another boom of thunder rings out accompanied by a crack of lightning that’s so bright it almost seems like it’s struck my building.

I can feel the walls shake and hear the wind screaming outside.

My eyes dart to the window and I can see that the storm has arrived.

I flinch again when another loud boom of thunder rolls through and wince when an ear-splitting crack of lightning hits the ground outside.

When it does, all the lights in my flat go out.

“Please, please come back on,” I beg to myself in a whisper. “ Please come back on .”

They don’t.

No longer able to remain calm, I give into the starving fear that’s eating away at my gut and do what I always do when a big storm rolls in.

I hide.

Abandoning my spilt tea, I run to my bedroom and snatch the duvet off of it as well as a few pillows and head for the bathroom.

Just like my flat in London, this place has a tub-shower setup which at this moment I’m more grateful for than any reasonable human should be.

I toss my pillows in, followed by myself, and then throw the duvet over my body in an attempt to hide from the storm.

In all my years of panicking, this is the one thing that seems to make me feel the most safe.

I tuck myself into the bath, no matter how uncomfortable it is to squeeze my nearly two meter frame into such a tiny space, and wait for the storm to be over.

I’ll try to sleep or listen to music, but sometimes I just wait for it to be over.

Something about being in a small space, completely covered and under something familiar, makes the fear more bearable.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been hiding when a loud banging sound rings out through my flat.

It isn’t thunder this time; it sounds like a knock.

I peek out from under my blanket and wait to see if I’ve made the sound up.

When it happens again, I almost can’t believe it.

Who the hell is knocking on my door during a god forsake hurricane?

I sit up in the tub completely and wait.

The pounding continues until a very familiar, and cranky, voice calls out.

“Henry! Henry, it’s me, it’s Conrad. Open up. Come on, sweets, I know you’re in there,” he shouts through the door. He’s followed up by a couple of excited barks.

I spring out of the bathtub, ditch my hiding spot and race to open the door. When I do, I can’t believe what’s waiting for me on the other side. Conrad and Annie, both soaking wet and dripping water onto the floor, stand in the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I cry out, shocked to see them both.

“We came to check on you,” he answers breathlessly. His chest is rising and falling as if he just completed a marathon. Annie is also panting but hers is far less labored than her owner.

“And what did you do, run here?” I step aside for them to come in and close the door behind them. Annie instantly shakes herself dry and jumps up against me, begging for attention. I give her a pat on the head before gently putting her paws back on the ground.

“Just from down the street,” he explains. When I give him a confused look he continues. “The police have your street blocked off because it’s flooding pretty bad so I parked up the road and ran.”

“But why?” I ask, simply amazed by what he’s telling me.

“Because I remembered you telling me you didn’t like storms last weekend and I wanted to make sure you were okay.

I didn’t want you to be scared and alone.

We orphans have to stick together, remember?

” When his lips turn up into a shy, almost embarrassed smile, I can’t stop myself from lunging at him and pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you for coming,” I sigh into his ear, relief washing over me. He wraps his arms around my back and squeezes me gently.

“Anything for you,” he whispers as he nuzzles his chin deeper into my neck. Part of me fears he’ll be able to feel the hundreds of butterflies taking flight in my stomach. I can feel his wet clothes starting to soak through my own so I pull away to look at him.

“Come on now, let’s go get you both dried off. You can borrow some of my clothes while we dry yours,” I offer.

“What happened here?” We’re passing the kitchen and have come upon my split tea from before. Pieces of my mug are scattered across the floor and I worry that Annie may step on them.

“Oh, some thunder from earlier thought it would be lovely to startle me after making some tea. Here, let me clean that up. Check Annie’s feet, I hope she didn’t step on any glass.” He checks her paws as I grab a towel to sop up the mess.

“I think she’s okay. Do you need help?” He kneels down and reaches for a piece of mug as I reach for it too. Our fingers brush and I feel my heart leap into my throat.

“You know, you should be careful when you clean up glass, you wouldn’t want to cut yourself.

” His voice is low and gravely and he hasn’t moved his hand away.

I’m about to respond when another boom comes from outside and I clench my eyes shut.

They only open when I feel his fingers intertwine with mine. I look at our hands and then to him.

“You’re safe, sweets. I’m right here.”