The next morning I find myself alone in bed, my arms wrapped around a pillow as a poor substitute for Aamon. His absence gnaws at me, a yearning I've never felt so intensely before. This addiction I've developed for him has to be unhealthy, yet I can't help but crave more.
Bleary-eyed, I reach for my phone, the flashing screen pulling me back from my musings. I assume Aamon must have brought it to me while I slept, knowing I usually call Becca in the mornings. Squinting against the harsh light, my blood runs cold. Five missed calls from Becca.
My hands tremble as I fumble to hit Redial, my mind racing with terrifying possibilities. Becca wouldn't call repeatedly without a grave reason.
Anxiety gnaws at me as the call goes to voicemail. My heart slams against my rib cage, an erratic drum
