“It’s nothing,” Carrson says, though the words are swallowed by a yawn so wide I hear his jaw pop. He blinks, pulling a hand down his face.
I glance toward the clock on the nightstand. “Is it really one a.m.?”
“Yeah.” Another yawn. He stands and comes to the side of the bed, arranging a pillow and blanket that lay on the floor.
I push myself up slightly, peering over the edge. “What’re you doing?”
“Going to sleep.” He smooths the blanket out with efficient, practiced movements. “It’s late.”
I blink at him. “You’ve been sleeping down there?”
“All three days. Close enough to hear if you stopped breathing.”
“Three days?” My voice comes out high. Panic flares to life. “What about my classes? My parents?”
“I took care of it.” He tucks his legs under the blanket. “Your teachers know. Your parents too.”
“How?”
“I called them.”
I try to picture Carrson, of all people, speaking to my timid, soft-spoken parents, and fail completely.
“They asked if they should come,” he adds, reaching up to adjust the lamp. “I told them you’d be fine. You were past the worst of it.”
The light changes as he pulls it closer, the glow dimming.
“We can talk about it tomorrow,” he says. “I’m tired, and you need to rest.”
He twists the knob, and the room falls into darkness. Silence sets in around us. I lie there for a few minutes, staring up at nothing, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his breathing.
Guilt creeps in. I turn onto my side and lean over the edge. “I feel bad you’re sleeping down there,” I whisper. “You can come up here. I’ll stay on my side.”
“No thanks.” His response is immediate, muffled slightly by the pillow.
I wait. Then wait a little longer. “Carrson?” No answer. “Are you sure?”
Still nothing. I frown, irritation rising, and then I hear it.
A soft, steady snore.
He’s already asleep.
Chapter twelve
Questions
Becky
January 26, 1995
My dearest Remi,
I made it. I’m here. In Ashford House.
I didn’t even have to break in. He brought me.
Now he’s asleep next to me. No, not like that. On the floor. I keep staring at him like some kind of creep, even though I told myself I wouldn’t.
