BECKETT
Is she asleep?
God. Is she asleep?
I stare at the door like it’s alive. Like maybe it can hear the way my heart’s losing rhythm just being this close to her. My fingers twitch. Curl. Uncurl. It’s pathetic—the way I keep pretending I might knock. I won’t. I never do. I just stand here like some stupid ghost, haunting the only place that ever felt like home.
And I don’t even know if she’s in there.
She probably is. Probably curled up on the left side of the bed, the way she always does when she’s cold. Face turned to the wall. Hair falling in her eyes. Blanket pulled up over that stupid pink sleep shirt I always made fun of but secretly loved, because it meant she was safe. Comfortable. Mine.
Mine.
Matthews is passed out in the dorm. He didn’t even notice me leave—snoring lik
