Paper Flowers (Pretty Plastic People) ★

048. Ghosts

048. Ghosts

That night, I can't sleep.

It's not that Taylor's in the house. I know he won't do anything to try to hurt me. He's downstairs on the couch and I'm up here, curled up next to Brynn in our queen size bed. She keeps rolling over and kicking—maybe she's in a nightmare—but at least she's asleep. Not me.

I can't stop worrying. That's not uncommon—worry is one of my most glaring qualities. It's integrated into my DNA. But tonight I'm worrying more than usual. About waking up in the morning and having to talk to Taylor—will he expect me to forgive him?—and about what having him here means for me and Spencer.

I know I won't go back to Taylor. Those days are far behind me; I can't even look at him that way anymore. But on top of Spencer's and my crumbling relationship, is Taylor the added dynamite to make it all explode? To ruin once and for all what I really, really wanted to fix?

Then there's Allison. I'm afraid she'll get hurt. Either Taylor will do something to destroy her chances of meeting her birth parents, or they won't be who she thinks they are. And Cassidy—she looked stressed today. Uneasy. And on top of anything, pesky Celia is still here. I'm more afraid of her than anyone.

I flip over and reach for my phone on the nightstand. 3:04 AM. I'm going to be exhausted in the morning.

There's a crash downstairs. Is someone else awake? I sit up and look over at Brynn—still asleep—before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My toes curl at the cold hardwood. After another bang, I head for the door.

It's dead silent in the upstairs hallways. I creep past Cassidy and Nathan's room, then turn the corner and pass Spencer and Liam's on my way to the stairs. Down the steps on at a time. The microwave in the kitchen beeps and someone opens it.

I reach the bottom step and peek into the kitchen at the same time as the person at the microwave turns around. Then it's too late to go back upstairs because Taylor has already seen me. If I run away I'll look like a coward.

"Isn't it a little too late for food?" I ask, leaning against the wall and crossing my arms.

He digs a spoon into the cup of mac and cheese. "Isn't that why you're here? Why else would you be in the kitchen at three in the morning?"

"You were being really loud."

"So you came down here to tell me to keep it down? Noted. You can go back to sleep."

His tone is dismissive—infuriating. Like he wants nothing to do with me. He has no right to hate me—he's the one who hurt me. I should be the one getting on his last nerve.

"Is there a reason you're being so snappy?" I ask. I take two steps further into the kitchen, a daring move.

But he doesn't spook. "Like I said, it's three AM. I think we're both a little tired and cranky."

"Well, I'm glad you have an excuse."

Why am I provoking him? This is why he's here: to cause trouble. To shake up our vacation, turn it upside-down. I'm only giving him what he wants. He's probably smiling on the inside, white teeth flashing, broody eyes sparking. I need to just get away.

I turn around, intending on going back up to bed. There's no way I'll be able to sleep right now, but at least I can sit in the dark and avoid confrontation. But before I can take a single step, Taylor calls out, "I'm being snappy because I hate looking at you."

"Excuse me?" I spin back towards him. "You're that disgusted by me? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"I'm not disgusted by you. I'm disgusted by me."