CHAPTER 31
VIOLET
The new normal was anything but. Dawson was the perfect housemate—quiet, tidy, quick in the bathroom—and last night when I’d gotten sick of salad, he’d headed out and bought a pizza. But days of spending almost every minute with him had left me permanently on edge. In the battle of oestrogen versus testosterone, I was the loser.
Sure, I got some sleep, like five hours a night, but during the moments when I lay still in the dark, I heard Dawson tossing and turning. Occasionally, he’d mumble something, but I could never make out the words. Other times, when he was quiet, I suspected he was awake too, but he never spoke and neither did I.
Until the fifth night.
On the fifth night, I heard him calling out for a woman. Who was Bryony? And why did he sound so anguished? He
