Maybe. I have nowhere else to go.
I don’t answer.
I lie back down, staring at the ceiling.
She wants to stay.
I close my eyes, and somehow, sleep finds me again.
SIX
CARMEN
Sleep weighed heavily on me last night. It pushed me down until I rolled over and crawled deeper under the blanket. Curled up. Not wanting to come out. Even now that I’m awake, the alarm from my phone doesn’t push me to move. It keeps ringing. Louder and louder. Until I shove one hand out from under the blanket. I exhale, my fingers blindly searching the nightstand for the phone. When I finally find it, I drag it back under the covers with me.
It’s Saturday, and it’s already nine in the morning.
Since arriving at the Harrington house, time has passed faster than it ever did in juvie. I drop the phone beside me and close my eyes, trying to slip back into sleep. But sleep never comes easily to me.
The wind whistles outside, slipping through the gaps in the balcony door. I notice it too late. The door creaks open. I hear quiet footsteps following the wind. I don’t need to look; I already know it’s him.
I peel the blanket away from my face. My hair is tangled and knotted from tossing and turning all night. I glare toward the balcony.
“Judas, go away,” I shout and then pull the blanket back over my head.
The blanket shifts as he tugs it away from me. I yank it back, holding it tighter this time.
“Judas, stop it,” I shout again, then uncover my face.
He stays there, silently watching me. His smile widens when our eyes meet.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, squinting at him.
He lifts his hands, curling them as if gripping bike handlebars, and leans forward. His eyebrows rise, waiting for a response.
I stare at him for a moment. “…No.”
“Yourdad is already mad at me becausehisperfect son almost died last night. I’m not getting blamed again,“ I say.
He rolls his eyes dramatically, reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and types quickly with his thumbs. He holds the screen out toward me.
Just come outside. Trust me.
I shake my head and drop back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
“Absolutely not. It’s Saturday.”
He huffs and taps the screen again.
You’re already awake.
“That’s your fault,” I reply.
A smirk pulls at his mouth as he puts the phone away. Before I can react, he grabs my wrist. Tugs. I end up sitting upright. Cold air rushes under the blanket. Too cold. My hands instinctively reach for it, pulling it back around me, but my feet are alreadybare on the floor. He points toward the door, then at me, finishing with a small shooing motion.
I yank my hand free. “You are unbelievable.”
He shrugs and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall like he has all the time in the world.
