Waindale

twenty-seven. the rogue under my bed

I wake suddenly with a dry throat. My blankets lay heavily on me, suffocating me, so I shove them off, feeling the air cool down my hot limbs. The clock reads 12:04 p.m.; how did I sleep for so long?

The smell from my nightmare lingers in my bedroom, making me sick. I can still feel its teeth grazing against my shoulder before chomping down and startling me awake. I knew I wouldn't be able to let go of the rogue. No matter what Adam tells me, nothing will calm my nerves. It's in my dreams now. It won't leave me alone.

My stomach aches and I know it's because I miss him. It took me hours just to fall asleep last night, having to ignore the longing that's like a stone in my chest. How long has it been since I stayed the night at his house? Almost two days. I used to last longer than this, but things are different now. I feel different—more attached yet more distant at the same time. Whenever I close my eyes I see him knelt before me, regretting having kissed my lips and my neck. God, I still feel that too. All the warm kisses splayed across my skin as if the had left burn marks. When I got home that morning, I swear my mother looked at me and saw a change as well. She looked at me as if I had lost my virginity. I'm sure she didn't buy my bit about being at Vivianne's for the night, but she didn't question me. I wandered to my bedroom and stayed there.

Finding my phone in the blankets, I see text messages from Vivianne about meeting at the diner. I told her that I would explain everything since I dodged her all yesterday. As my best friend, I'm supposed to want to spill all my drama to her, but this feels different. It isn't like all the other times we've talked about Adam.

I left his house yesterday morning and haven't heard from him since then, and even though I'm aching, a part of me is addicted to the silence. It was all so loud Friday night.

Getting up, I wander to the bathroom. Grandma can be heard in the kitchen. She talked yesterday about baking some Christmas-themed goods for the neighbors. She told me she would bake some for my friends.

While showering, my legs grow tired so I sit down for a moment. A moment lingers on until Grandma is knocking on the door to make sure I didn't slip and fall and knock myself out. "You've been in there for thirty minutes, dear," she calls through the door.

It felt like a few minutes at most. It's the ghost sensations—the biting and kissing and dying—that's making me lose focus. I finish my shower and dress myself to go out and meet Vivianne at the diner. When I walk into the kitchen, Grandma stops me.

"Here, Wrenley. Bring this with you." She hands me a large tupperware container of Christmas cookies. "I made too many again."

The stovetop is covered in small cookies in a plethora of holiday shapes. Green icing, red icing, white sprinkles, red sprinkles, the list goes on and on. "Okay," I tell her, "I'll give them to Vivianne. I'll be back later."

Mom is at her new yoga class at the Waindale community center; it's all she could talk about at dinner last night. Grandma is glad that she's getting out of the house. Apparently, a woman she met at the grocery store told her about it, and now she has a new friend. I wonder if her friend is one of them or one of us.

My walk to the diner is fast-paced and anxious. The cookies shuffle around in their container as I hurry down the street. I won't even glance at the trees. If I see something, I won't know what to do, but if I don't look, I won't see something. It's been almost two days since Adam scared the rogue north—what if it's made its way back to town by now?

I slide along the iced sidewalk countless times but manage not to fall. Eventually I'm sliding through the diner door and finding peace in the warm, french-fry smelling place. I hear my name immediately. My eyes turn to the back corner. Vivianne is sat in a booth with Imogen beside her, and when I walk over, I make out Eli and Elara as well.