Sydney
It’s 4:00 AM when I finally roll off my bed, wondering where the hell I am and how I lost an entire day. My body feels light as air as I walk downstairs in the dark in search of a drink of water, maybe even a cup of coffee, and find that I’m not alone.
Cosette sits at the kitchen table–an informal setting with four chairs–and looks up at me as I shield my eyes from the sudden onslaught of light.
“You survived,” she smirks, straightening up and shifting her weight to face me.
“You should have woken me up yesterday afternoon,” I grumble, leaning against the kitchen island. I run my hand over my face, pinching the bridge of my nose as my body slowly comes back to reality.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says, clicking her tongue. “There’s a bag of potato chips and some fresh cof
