Red Ribbon
I haven’t even been asleep for thirty minutes when a scream slices through the room like metal tearing through fabric.
My eyes snap open.
For a moment, I don’t recognize the ceiling above me. It’s grey, stained at the corners, blurred by exhaustion. My head feels stuffed with cotton and gravel. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Every muscle in my body protests against the thin mattress beneath me.
Morning light leaks through the half-drawn curtains, pale and weak, as if it’s reluctant to witness the state of this room.
Then I hear it again.
A frustrated groan.
I push myself up slowly, palms dragging over my face, trying to peel sleep from my eyes.
Cody stands in the center of the room like a man surveying a crime scene.
His face twists in disgust.
My heart sink
