It’s half-past three, and she’s still wide awake. An hour has already elapsed since she got on her bed, but sleep still hasn’t claimed her tired body. Everything is deathly still; and save for the chirping of the crickets in the yard, it is really quiet.
In the past hour, she’s peered through the door three times. Those three times, Trae never moved an inch in his sleep, cramped in the couch. She keeps wondering if he’ll suffer body aches in the morning, stuffed like that in their double-seater. His size needs a four-seater at least. He’ll probably notice his misaligned jaw first from the multiverse-transcending slap she gave him. The hangover could be much, much worse. She debated in her mind whether to just leave the door ajar, but good sense took over, and she locked it for good measu
