The wind rattled the window, glass shivering in the pane. I laid on the mattress, covers twisted around my legs. Across the space, Amelia’s outline rose and fell, a shadow breathing in the half-dark.
My thoughts shuddered inside my skull. Every muscle in my body wanted to get up, cross those three feet, and touch her hair, her back, the place where her shoulder curled delicate against the pillow.
My hand ached with the need. But I didn’t do it, not yet.
I stared at the ceiling. Water stains ran in slow lines above me. The silence between us thickened, a rope getting tighter.
I tried to force my head empty. I counted the seconds between thunderclaps, listened to the ticking of the broken alarm clock, tried to remember how it used to feel to sleep alone.
But it was no good. She was there, inches away, a ghost inside my brain.
“Are you awake?” Her voice was small. I could barely hear it over the beating of my own heart.
“I never sleep much,” I said. My throat was sore. The words sounded scratchy, not real.
“I don’t want to go home,” she said. The confession hung there. It was cold and blue and true.
“I know.”
Her voice trembled. “What if it’s all worse than I remember?”
I wanted to promise her something, but the words got lost before they left my teeth. I could barely breathe. My chest burned.
“It can't hurt you anymore,” I said.
Another silence. Rain clanged on the metal roof overhead. I imagined her skin under my hand, soft and breakable as tissue. I remembered the taste of her mouth, adrenaline, and longing. My stomach collapsed in on itself.
She moved then. The sheet rustled. For a second, I thought she’d reach for me, but she didn’t. She just curled tighter in on herself, shrinking like she wanted to disappear.
I hated this, not being able to fix anything, only watch.
“Why does it always rain when we’re together?” she whispered.
I tried to find the humor in it, but my mouth barely moved. “Maybe the universe is warning people to stay away from us.”
A sound escaped her, not laughter, not really. “Or maybe the universe is crying. For both of us.”
Pain flickered down my spine. My hands gripped the edge of the blanket. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d failed her, in every possible way, over and over again, and now she was stuck with me in a dark room full of ghosts.
Daybreak had crept through the thin curtains, painting Amelia’s face in soft gold, and my chest had ached so badly I thought it might split. I’d thrown aside the blankets and shaken her gently.
“Amelia, it’s morning. We’ve got to go.”
Her lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes rimmed with sleep and something tender I craved to hold forever. I swallowedhard, longing to brush a strand of her hair from her cheek, to lean in and taste her lips.
Come on, fucking focus.
We dressed in yesterday’s clothes, now dry, and stepped quietly down the narrow hallway into the main room. The innkeeper stood behind a battered counter. Her smile too wide, her eyes too bright.
“Good morning, dears! I trust you slept well?” Her voice was syrupy, but a tremor of steel lurked beneath it. It prickled at my spine.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing neutrality. “We’re just working out our next move. Our car’s still fucked.”
“Oh, you’re in luck!” She clapped her hands, and I heard the echo of it across the empty room. “There’s a mechanic in town—turn right as you leave, about a twenty or thirty-minute walk. He’s…eccentric, but reliable.”
“Eccentric?” My guard snapped up. “What does that mean?”
She waved a manicured hand as if dismissing a fly. “He has his own methods. But he’ll fix you up in no time.” Her smile widened, but it didn’t reach her cold eyes.
