Everyone else was eager to do the same, and so was I.
I felt March’s attention on me, but I didn’t dare turn to look at him for fear of what I’d say—or whathe’dsay with his eyes. I just rushed to my room and closed the door behind me, feeling empty and like I weighed a ton at the same time.
Sleep refused to come,even though I was exhausted and my mind was so overwhelmed and crowded with thoughts. Only sleep could put me to rest, yet I lay there, staring at the ceiling as the sun continued to travel east, trying to remember my life before.
Before the curse.
Before the Turning Trials ever began.
Before I came to Neverwhen and didn’t even remember it.
There were memories—of classes, of games, of secrets whispered in my ear. Of my house and that of my uncle which were barely fifty feet apart, and the lake, the forests that seemed to stretch forever, that made me believe when I was little that the Clockrealm was endless. It went on for as long as time did, and it never ran out.
I remembered climbing trees and chasing rabbits,hugging my parents, celebrating birthhours with them. Yes, I remembered, except all the memories seemed to be wrapped up in a flimsy coat that kept everything just out of reach for me. Just cold enough. Just there.
Then I heard movement outside my door.
My heart jumped, but I didn’t sit up. I froze there on the bed instead, unblinking, holding my breath, waiting and waiting and waiting.
A knock came seconds later. My eyes closed.
I knew who it was. I knew what he was doing. I knew he couldn’t sleep either. I knew he was as desperate as I was for a distraction.
It was still wrong.He doesn’t trust me.
I stayed put.
Soon came the second knock, this one a little harder.
All you have to do is not open the door,he’d said.
I sat up on the bed, looked at the door, tried to kick the memories of his mouth and his hands and his body against mine into the deepest, darkest corners of my mind, but those memories were clear. Vibrant.Real.They refused to obey my demands.
That was okay. I was still in control of myself. I would still not open the door.
Slowly, I stood from the bed and tiptoed my way to it, half thinking March had already left. It had been forty seconds—I was counting—and he hadn’t knocked a third time.
The polished wood was under the palms of my hands. I closed my eyes, strained my ears—he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone,my mind told me.
Sixty-seven seconds.
“Aren’t you going to open the door for me?”
I sucked in a deep breath and held it there, trying to see if I could convince myself that I’d only imagined it.
A chuckle.
“After I spent all that time sitting next to you.So ungrateful.”
Something pressed against the door from the other side and slid down all the way to the floor slowly. I was twelve-hours certain that March was sitting on the floor.
Pulling my lip inside my mouth, I bit hard until the urge to turn the lock and pull it open faded somewhat. Then I sat, too, with my back against the door, staring at the bed, sometimes at the sun outside the windows, minutes away from unrising now.
“That’s okay, I didn’t expect you’d open it, to be honest. Maybe I was even counting on it.”
My eyes closed and I rested my head against the door. It was getting harder and harder to hold onto my own reasons. To keep myself seated there. To not get up.
“I’d rather just hear your silence,” March said after a moment, his whisper loud enough for me to hear clearly. “It’s very loud. Quite possibly the loudest silence I’ve ever heard. Louder than most voices people scream with.”
