Grey
Thank you, Princess.
Setting my phone down, I bite my cheek.
Was I too harsh?
“Whatever it is, it can wait until you talk to them about your feelings,” Mr. Donovan says, dishing me another piece of cake.
He’s right.
Again.
I smile at him and force myself to enjoy this moment of peace with them, surrounded by their care and the sweetness of strawberry cake.
I can handle everything else tomorrow.
SEVENTEEN
A sudden noisejolts me awake, sending my heart pounding in my chest.
I sit up in bed, my ears straining to catch any sound. There it is again—a faint plink, like water dripping. My heartrate kicks up, my breath quiet and measured. I left the lights on because I was afraid to sleep here alone, but now, even the brightness can’t chase away the anxiety gripping my heart.
I reach for my glasses on the nightstand, and slip them on as I climb out of bed, each movement cautious as I strain to hear the noise again. When my feet hit the cold floor, a shiver races up my spine, and I swear my heart stops.
Once I’m sure I can manage, I walk to the bathroom, and thedrip-drip-dripof water seems to grow louder with every step. Turning on the one light I didn’t already have on, I close the tap on the sink faucet, but then the sudden noise of the ventilation starting up makes me jump and my heart race even faster.
Fuck, Amelia. Relax.
I grab a plush yellow hoodie from the bathroom hook, and pull it over my head for comfort before I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My braid looks as messy as I feel, with strands of hair escaping in every direction.
I’m still anxious as I head back to bed and lay down, trying to calm my breath. My eyes flick to the clock on the nightstand.
It’s already one a.m.
Jetlag is still messing with me something fierce, but I thought I’d be able to manage at least some sleep before heading to work in a few hours.
So much for that plan.
Taking a few deep breaths, I will myself to relax, repeating calming mantras in my head. But each soft creak of the building makes my heart race anew, my imagination conjuring up a thousand terrifying scenarios. The anxiety builds until I can’t take it anymore. I throw off the covers and get up, my body moving almost of its own accord.
I head to the elevator. My fingers tremble as I press the button for their floor. The short ride up feels endless, but I still have to take a moment in front of their door to catch my breath, trying to gather my courage.
Why the hell didn’t I just text to see if they’re still up?
God, I’m such a Muppet.
Since my phone is still on my nightstand, I decide to knock, telling myself I can always go back home if they’re asleep. But it doesn’t even take a minute before the door opens. Oliver is standing there, not looking sleepy at all despite the late hour, his eyes widening as he takes in my disheveled state.
“Everything okay?” he asks at the same time I ask, “You’re still awake?”
He searches my face, and I feel my bottom lip tremble traitorously.
Safe.
The thought hits me like a ton of bricks.
They make me feel safe.
