“It’s your turn to watch him,” Maria said when I got home from work. The room was about 95 degrees Fahrenheit—just the way Trevon needed—and I almost immediately broke a sweat. She hopped onto the stool at the counter and rubbed her tired eyes.
neededFor the past two days, we’d been watching Trevon non-stop. During the day, throughout all hours of the night, he hadn’t left the apartment. He also hadn’t shifted into that monster again, but one wrong move and he would snap.
Trevon was sitting on the couch, clenching and relaxing his fists. “I need to go out. I hate being cooped up here.”
I placed takeout from Ollie’s on the coffee table. “Eat.”
He ripped it open and clenched his jaw. “I need real food.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” I said—snapping. All I wanted to do was fall into a deep sle
