A feeling of unnerving unfamiliarity crept up Jon's body as he crept up the staircase of the McMillan house. And yet, at the same time, he also felt a warm comfort. A sense of belonging. The conflict between the two was making him nauseous, and he chose to just shut off his brain and let his body move on autopilot.
Eventually, he got to the top of the stairs, and somehow he knew to open the door at the end of the hallway. It was like he'd opened that door a million times before. It was his door. And yet, this was the first time he'd ever even seen it.
He was entirely unprepared for the overwhelming flood of pink that invaded his vision as he opened the door, but even less prepared for how reassuring that vision was to him. This was his space. Jon's space. That he had arranged exactly to his own tastes and needs. Except, it wasn't.
For a moment, Jon tried to remember what his bedroom should look like, but the only image he could summon was some generic boy's bedroom, like from a TV sitcom. And that felt strange and artificial to him. The room before him, while in some ways oppressively garish, was at least genuine. Jon could feel the humanity of the room. His room.
Jon walked past the makeup table and the jewelry box. Past the four-poster bed with pink velvet curtains. Past the giant, pink bean bag chair and the stack of fashion magazines. And over to the sliding doors of the walk-in closet.
Something nicer.
The options were overwhelming. Jon couldn't even focus on anything that was on a hanger. Jackets, blouses, dresses, they all just blended together. And how was Jon even supposed to wear any of these? They were girl's clothes. Yes, they were in his bedroom, yes they were in his home, and yes, (something clicked) these clothes definitely belonged to him, but... Jon lost his train of thought. He didn't want to think about tops in that moment.
But shoes. Jon turned his gaze downward, at the rows of neatly-organized flats and heels and boots and sneakers and... his heart swelled with a pride he didn't fully understand. He was just suddenly so happy that every pair of shoes was arranged so neatly. So carefully. You treat your shoes with care, a disembodied voice echoed in his memory. They are important.
Yes. Shoes are very important.
Jon blinked. That was it! Shoes! When he was wearing the chestnut-colored suede Ugg boots in precisely Sarah's size, they'd basically spent the whole time telling him what to do, how to behave like Sarah. They'd know what to wear.
Jon looked over at the alarm clock, instinctively knowing where it would be as though he'd turned to look at it a million times before. It said 6:28. Plenty of time.
