Fate's Return (Twisted Fate, Book 2)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Somehow, even after what I'd seen and Raffy's unannounced visit at my window in the middle of the night, I fell asleep without difficulty and remained dreamless. Perhaps it was exhaustion, that I'd simply pushed until I crashed, and nothing could penetrate the fatigue until it had been cured by rest. In any case, I seemed to be past the shock of it all and knew that I couldn't remain in hiding.

Scruffy scratched at the door first thing Thursday morning, putting his nose on the floor to whine to be let out. How he knew it was time to wake was beyond me—there were no windows—and I didn't remember closing the door. Was it a subconscious attempt to put distance between me and Raffy? A different room wasn't enough?

But if that were true, why wasn't it locked?

Scruffy whined again, his claws tapping against the linoleum floor.

"Fine." I sighed. "Give me a minute, Scruffy. I feel like I've just finished an eight-hour car ride while stuffed in a suitcase."

He trotted to the side of the tub at the sound of his name, looking up with sad brown eyes, and then huffed. Turning in a circle, he huffed again, paused, and then went back to the door, sitting with his back turned to me. One more grunt and then he was silent, waiting, though I knew it wouldn't last long.

One by one, I unfolded my legs, raising them to rest on the faucets until feeling returned. Then, hoping the curve my spine had adopted to allow me to sleep in the tub was reversible, I raised my arms to reach for my toes, forming a V with my body. It sounded like I was cracking my knuckles ten times over, but oh, it felt good. My muscles stretched, and my insides realigned, and after holding for ten seconds, I slowly lowered my legs, bringing my hands down to the sides of the tub to push myself up.

Scruffy's tail started to swish, a low moan beginning in his throat. Pausing, I looked over as he scooted back, and the door burst open. Scruffy danced forward, yipping as he circled my father's feet.

"How'd you get in here?" My father, still in his plaid pyjama bottoms and grey t-shirt, looked down, rubbing his eyes. Shuffling forward, he said, "Okay, okay. Let me go to the bathroom first."

His hand fell to the waist of his pants, and I jumped up, reaching out with one hand. "P-please don't."

"Aly?" His hands dropped to his sides and his voice rose. Looking around, he narrowed his eyes, finally meeting my gaze. "Why are you in the bathtub?" He leaned forward, looking from my blanket to my pillow, and then back to me. "Did you sleep in here?"

"Uh..." I looked up, smiling. "Yes?" Stepping over the side of the tub, I bent at the waist to bundle my blanket and pillow in my arms, and then turned back, edging sideways across the floor so that I could pass without making contact. "I couldn't sleep with the, uh... the wind." I nodded. "There was scratching at my window and it wouldn't stop long enough for me to fall asleep, so I came in here."

"But—"

"I—" I shook my head and juggled the load in my arms so that I could open the door. "I have to get ready for school."

"Aly." My father took a step towards me, but I was already in the hall. He poked his head out, watching me with narrowed eyes.

I scurried back to my bedroom with my head bent to the floor and closed the door as soon as I was through. Dropping the bedding to the floor, I leaned back, rolling my eyes, and sighed. That was too close.

Pushing off the door, I rushed around my room, getting ready in record time, and tried to bypass my parents before leaving for school. But my father had told my mom about my sleeping arrangement and neither believed the wind was what had driven me from my room. When they demanded to know why at the breakfast table, I tried to ignore them. Then, when they kept harping, I tried sleepwalking as an excuse.