I cannot sleep, and perhaps, after the day I have had, that should be expected.
The bed is comfortable, the room is warm, and the borrowed clothes Ella gave me are soft enough that nothing should be keeping me awake.
Except, apparently, everything.
The day loops in pieces whenever I close my eyes, returning in fragments I cannot seem to file away neatly enough to rest.
Then there is what happened in the doorway.
Landry stepping away from me, his expression so torn, uttering, "Not like this."
It is as if saying his forename broke through my very last defence, and those three words made sure I could not misunderstand what stood on the other side of it.
I turn onto my back and stare at the ceiling, exhaling slowly.
This is probably delayed shock. Or at least, that is what I tell mysel
