“Hannah,” I whisper, kneeling on the bed to lean forward and place my hand on her shoulder. “Talk to me. How can I help?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine, Thomas. Really. I’m tired, that’s all.”
I don’t believe that for a second. She shifts so my hand falls off her shoulder. I can’t push this anymore. I lie down on my right side, pulling the sheets up over my body. I watch her, waiting for her breathing to even out so I know she’s asleep. Instead, sleep takes me first.
21
HANNAH
My body trembles with unbridled anxiety. I’ve been sitting up in bed against the headboard for two hours, waiting, listening, and watching. Thomas fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and you would think that my brain would have settled by now, but it hasn’t. I can’t stop thinking about how easy it would be for someone to break in. They could come in from the other side of the woods, totally avoiding the Graff’s house altogether, and sneak in without us even knowing.
Sure, we could put up a fight between Arson’s attack instincts and Thomas’s gun, but still, I am sure we would be outnumbered. And what help am I? I’m a burden. Thomas would be worried about me, and distracted, so he makes for an easy target.
How can he possibly be asleep right now? Hasn’t he considered these potential things happening? Shouldn’t we be awake and on the lookout?
Thomas rolls over in his sleep, the bed shifting as he adjusts. He snores loudly as he does, and Arson prettymuch copies him, letting out a weird moaning noise as he scoots closer to me. As if he can sense my distress, Arson blearily opens his eyes, and shifts to be nearer yet.
He shoves his head underneath one of my hands that is picking at the skin of my fingernails. He plops his entire body across my midsection, and the weight of his body calms my labored breathing.
I pet his soft head, and having physical to do helps soothe my increasing anxiety. Even though it helps calm my racing thoughts, it does nothing to help me sleep. The potential of things happening with us asleep are still too great to risk one of us being asleep. This way, if I hear something, I can wake Thomas up right away.
I sit and stare into the dark night for another hour until the sun slowly starts to rise. With the light rising in the sky, my anxiety dissipates. If they were going to ambush us, during the night was the best time. There’s too much risk of being seen during the day. At least that’s my thought process.
Arson is still sleeping in my lap, and I slowly sink down so my head is on the pillow, sleep finally taking over.
A soft whiningwakes me up. There’s a heavy weight on my chest, and it slowly dawns on me that Arson has been lying on my chest since I fell asleep early this morning. The sun is high in the sky now, illuminating the small cabin easily.
The smell of coffee stirs my senses even more. I sit up, and Arson rolls off me, jumping off the bed and onto thewood floor. His nails clack against the wood as he tippy-taps his toes in a combination of excitement and probably the need to pee.
“Alright, buddy, I’m coming,” I tell him. The sheets beside me are pulled up neatly, the spot Thomas was in empty.He must be downstairs with the coffee. I can’t believe I slept through him getting out of bed. I wonder what time it is?
Arson bolts down the stairs, running to the front door as soon as he hits the floor. Thomas chuckles. “Gotta pee, Arson?” As I make my way down the stairs, I see him stand from the couch, set his coffee mug on a side table and head to the door to let Arson out.
“Morning, freckles,” he greets as he sees me.
Self-consciously, I run my hand through my hair, sure it’s a mess of waves and tangles since it was wet the first time I fell asleep, and when I finally fell asleep the second time, I was still a little restless. I tug my shirt down a little too, hoping it’s covering me up.
“Morning. What time is it?” I ask, glancing around to spot a clock. The oven is an old-style stove with no clock on it.
“About nine. Sorry if Arson woke you. I’ve been trying to get him to come down since I woke up at seven, but he wouldn’t leave your side,” he explains.
“Oh, it’s fine. I needed to get up anyway. Can’t waste the day,” I say with an awkward laugh.
“You can sleep as late as you want,” Thomas says. “We have a lot of sleep to catch up on.”
I shake my head. “I’m good now.” I don’t fully believe myself, though. I can feel the pressing tiredness behind my eyes, my body heavy with exhaustion. Thomas glances me over like he doesn’t believe me either. He lets Arson in thefront door, who dashes over to me again, like he only left my side because he absolutely had to.
“Coffee?” Thomas asks, gesturing to the half-full pot in the kitchen.
“Yes, please.” I move in the direction of the steaming pot.
“Sit, I’ve got it.” He shoos me over to the couch. I flop down, pulling my legs up and crossing them underneath me.
“How did you sleep?” he asks as he pulls a cup down from the shelf.
“Fine,” I respond. Probably a little too quickly, because Thomas eyes me warily.
He doesn’t question me though, instead asks, “Cream and sugar?”
