Constance
Late that night, or early the next morning—however you wished to look at it—I was up working on my Belle costume. My dreams had once again been plagued by Keith and shadows. My avenging angel hadn’t saved me this time and I’d given up on sleep.
Jamie was passed out comfortably in my bed, oblivious to the quite sounds of my sewing. She was so used to sleeping with someone, she refused to sleep alone anymore. I’d been surprised I hadn’t woken her when I’d had my violent nightmare. Then again, she was a bit drunk.
My phone unexpectedly vibrated next to my machine, indicating I had received a text. My brows furrowed when the number that popped up on the screen was one I didn’t recognize. I almost deleted the message when I remembered I had given Gabriel my number.
R u hung
