Page 27

“You’re the one who was so repulsed by me that you—”

His face falls and it throws me.

“I had to smother that piece down. Because it hurt too much to leave that wound open.”

He drops his hands beside him, almost like he’s restraining himself from reaching for me. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. It was all so much more complicated than you know, Norah, than I can even get into.”

“Yeah?” I ask, eyes pressing him further for an explanation he doesn’t provide.

“Yeah,” he repeats, sounding so weary I almost feel bad for him, but he doesn’t say anything else for a while, and it just hangs in the air.

Without knowing where to go from here, I grab some things from my bag and shut myself up in the bathroom.

I splash cold water on my face, hoping to bring down my body temperature, which is blazing. It doesn’t help. I go through the motions of brushing my teeth, moisturizing, my whole multi-step routine, but I can barely keep track of what I’ve done in the last ten seconds. I sink down onto the cold tile floor, hugging my knees into my chest. How can we survive the rest of the night after that?

When I finally go back into the room, Henry is still frozen at the edge of the bed. I slide onto the Victorian chair I placed a pillow and blanket on.

“I have to go to sleep,” I say.

He nods and silently makes his way into the bathroom.

I wait until he comes back, then pull a string switch on the lamp next to the chair, killing the only remaining light in the room.

I try to get comfortable, swiveling from side to side, hoping there’s a sliver of cushioning I can force out of this awful piece of furniture. I drag over a small ottoman, which squeaks miserably upon being moved. I hoped that stretching out on it would help, but it’s just as stiff as the chair, which rustles every time I shift.

“You okay over there?” Henry asks.

“It’s just this upright back. It’s not the most conducive to sleep.”

I look over, and in the shadows of the now-dark room, I can see that he’s lying down, hands folded at his sternum.

“You can sleep in the bed, you know.” It comes out as a low grumble caught in his throat. “You can’t possibly be warm enough over there.”

He’s right. The blanket I grabbed is doing practically nothing to cut the bite of the cold that is seeping into this room.

“We can make a pillow wall,” he continues when I don’t answer. “There’s plenty of space.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t.

“Nothing will happen, Scout’s honor,” he adds.

“You were never a Boy Scout.”

“I hate that you know that,” he says, and even though I can’t see it, I know I’ve gotten at least a quarter smirk out of him.

“I thought you didn’t hate me.”

He’s quiet for a moment. I hear him shift on the bed. I don’t dare move.

“Stop being ridiculous and come lie down,” he says finally, in the same stern tone he used to tell me to pull the car over.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

I drag my pillow back to the empty side of the bed, which happens to be the one I sleep on normally, and slip under the covers. Without a word, I turn onto my side, so my back is to him.

There is decidedly no pillow wall.