***
“Savannah.” There’s a voice in my ear, a shadow of movement. “Savannah.”
My eyelids fly open, and Cameron is in my face. I jump and push him away, making him fall back on his ass.
“Sorry,” he whispers, holding up his hands.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, alarmed. I look around the room and see it’s still dark.
He stares at me, confused for a second. “You . . .” He pauses. “You were calling for me.”
His face is swollen with sleep, his hair messed up. “I was?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “Loudly. Are you okay?”
“I am. Was I just . . . yelling?”
He nods. “You were calling for me to help you. You sounded scared. I thought . . . I don’t know. I thought something happened to you.”
Sweat clings to my skin, the nightmare still close to the surface of my mind. The smell of Patrick’s cologne is still in my nose. My cheek hurts.
I rub my palm over my face, but I can’t shake him. Can’t shake how he terrorized me. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I hear Cameron get up suddenly, I see him walk into his room.
I’m disoriented, still a little frightened. Cameron comes back into the room dragging a blanket and pillow behind him.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He throws his stuff down on the floor next to me. “Don’t argue, Sutton,” he says. “Just go to sleep.” He gets down on the carpet and curls away from me.
“But—”
“Sleeping here,” he announces.
I close my mouth with a click, staring at his back. I don’t know how to thank him because no one like him has ever been willing to keep up with me this long. I want my life to be better so that I can be with him. If things were different, I’d be his girlfriend. But things aren’t different. So there’s no use pretending.
***
“How’d you sleep?” Marcel asks me at breakfast. He slides butter on his pancakes, and then reaches to grab his coffee. It’s early. Too early for people to talk.
“Good,” I say anyway. Cameron’s across from me, eating, occasionally smiling at me. He looks really proud that he got me to stay the night.
We have to be at school in half an hour, and I’m wearing Kendra’s clothes. An outfit that’s still too tight, but way more stylish than anything I’d normally wear. And that includesThe Shirt.
“Did you want any more juice, honey?” Kendra calls from where she’s standing at the refrigerator. I don’t know if she’s talking to me, but when no one else answers, I clear my throat.
“Oh, um . . . no thanks. We have to get to school.” I look at Cameron, and he curls his lip in disgust before taking a bite of his bacon.
“We could skip,” he suggests.
His dad sets down his mug with a heavy thud. “What’s that?” he asks. He doesn’t sound amused. I wonder if he knows just how much school his son misses.
Cameron rolls his eyes. “I’m going, Dad. I was kidding.”
“You’d better be,” Marcel says, so intense that I feel uncomfortable. “Deal’s off if you don’t graduate.”
Kendra leans against the counter, looking at her husband. She seems upset, obviously thinking about whatever bargain was made between her husband and son.
Cameron lowers his eyes. “Drop it, Dad.”
