“Rosaline?”Stop pointing the gun at him. Stop it!“M-my name is Rosaline?”
He smiles and wraps his hand around mine, his finger winding over the trigger.
Then he squeezes.
BANG!
I shoot up in bed with a gasp and pat my chest. My belly. My face. I search for a bullet wound, though I remember my dream clearly. The crack in Liam’s glasses. The stubble on his jaw. The kind gleam in his eyes.
I shot him.Weshot him.
A thunderclap booms right outside my window, and the crack of lightning follows right after. Rain hammers noisily against the roof, so loud it hides the sound of my racing breath. Loud enough to swallow my whimper. Tears sit heavily in my eyes, not falling, but not drying either. They make my vision blurry and my face hot as I glance across at my closed door. Then I peek at the small clock on the set of drawers and groan when I read the time.
One-fifteen.
It’sonlyone fifteen!
I want to scream.
I don’t feel the pangs of hunger from my dream anymore. If anything, I’m still full from the dessert Ollie and I made after we got back from the police station. I don’t feel the cold from my dream, but I shiver all over. I sniffle and watch as lightning illuminates the sky outside, the shadows of dancing trees playing across my wall. But it’s not a dancing tree in my mind. It’s a monster in the woods. It’s a convenience store clerk chasing me with a gun. It’s a friend dying… because I shot him.
Loneliness creeps into my veins, crippling me until minutes pass.Maybe two or three. Could be twenty or thirty. Nerves make me sick, and with every clap of thunder, I jump and catch the shadows of Liam’s dying face on the wall. His glasses, sitting askew. His eyes open… but not seeing.
I’m a bad person. I steal from stores and run away instead of paying, even when dream-Liam said I had money. I sneak through yards and hide in the forest in a jacket that doesn’t belong to me. Nibbling on food I never earned. Hugging a man I would eventually betray.
Groaning, I startle at the next thunderclap and growl as my fear turns to anger. As my anxiety turns to impatience.
It’s one in the freakin morning! And I went to bed at eleven.
I furiously toss my blankets aside and tear my legs out from beneath the covers, twisting on the mattress and setting my feet on the floor. And then I… what? I could go to the kitchen and draw, I suppose. Or to the living room, where I could watch TV. I could go outside holding metal coat hangers—being struck by lightning would be a fun alternative to the bullshit I’m already dealing with.
Who knows, maybe it’ll jumpstart my memories.
But I do none of those things. Instead, I swipe my nose with the long sleeve of my sleep shirt, and, pushing to my feet, I rip the top blanket off my bed and bundle it in my arms. I can’t disturb Ollie. I refuse. But I don’t want to be alone either, not while I still feel Liam against my side, so I tiptoe across my room and open my door to reveal the dark hallway. I grit my teeth and pray the storm outside hides the squeak of the hinges, then I cross the threshold, shivering and jittery. Aching and alone.
My throat burns, adrenaline zinging through my veins like this is a trek up a steep mountain and not a simple walk into the hall. I inch along in perfect silence and slow to study Ollie’s open door. The darkness within his room. I hold my breath and lean closer until the soft, constant breathing of a man whoneedshis sleep becomes a soothing, centering sound I hold onto.
I time my inhale to match his. I time my exhale to do the same. I press my back to the wall and slide down until my butt touches the floor, then, dragging the excess fabric of my shirt over my knees, I open the blanket and drape it over me as well.
To stave off the shivers. To calm my nerves and soften the harshness of the hardwood floor.
Finally, I tilt my head back and carefully rest it against the wall, closing my eyes and opening my airway so the tears drain along my throat instead.
Why did I shoot Liam?
Why was I stealing food?
Why am I such a freak, crashing into a good man’s life, into his homeand gym, and taking over until my presence becomes nothing more than a hassle?
Doctorsneedmore than six hours of sleep in a night. They need to focus on their work, not on the transient back home. And God knows, maybe somewhere buried deep in his subconscious, where he’ll never admit, exists a fear I’ll rob him in broad daylight and make away with my spoils… all while he’s busy saving Plainview lives.
Or maybe he’s never thought that at all. ButI’mthinking it, becauseI’ma thief.
A killer.
Oh God.I’m a killer.
“Rose?”
