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Then she says something. I lean down to hear. “What?”
“Save me, Daddy,” she murmurs indistinctly. Something inside me jumps.
She's not afraid of me.
Though maybe she should be.
But I did give her a much better night than Lizzie had planned for her, certainly.
And hopefully she never knows that.
Chapter 4
Kita
It feels like somebody's wrung me out, like a wet towel. I feel depleted. Except for my head, which is filled with a nest of caterpillar cocoons or something, trying to burrow their way out through my ears.
Oh my God. What happened last night?
Slowly, I open my eyes just a crack, just the barest sliver that lets in a sharp slice of burning light. No way. I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, blocking out the rest of the light.
Wait a second.
This is not my pillow. It's filled with something else, like gel or something. And the pillowcase is so thick it's almost denim. But soft, really soft. Without opening my eyes, I push my finger along the pillowcase fabric until it ends, and then another pillow begins.
I'm not in a twin bed? So… I'm not in my own bed, definitely.
Some brilliant part of me just wants to go back to sleep and reboot this entire day. I've been awake for all of twenty seconds, and I know I need a do-over. Maybe if I could just fall back to sleep…
But I can't stay on my stomach. I'm going to have to move, because I can feel the cocoons in my head sloshing threateningly back and forth.
I’m going to be sick.
No. I'm definitely not going to be sick.
Slowly I roll over onto my back again, dropping my forearm over my eyes so I can maybe peek out just a little without getting the full spectrum laser light show on my burning eyeballs. What I can see is just glare and white, and I blink over and over again, trying to get everything to work correctly.
After a few minutes of watching the seam between the wall and the ceiling to make sure that it isn't teeter-tottering too dramatically, I convince myself that I might be able to sit up. I mean, if it doesn't work out I can always lay back down.
I roll onto my side and push myself to sitting, still hunched over and gripping the side of the mattress. From under the fringe of my hair, the light is not too intense. I can kind of make out the dove gray sheets, the charcoal gray comforter. Far below my feet, the gunmetal gray plush carpeting, which looks so dense and luxurious I'm rather tempted to go ahead and plunge my toes into it. Just go for it. Just throw caution to the wind.
And when I do, it is everything I hoped. The carpet is so thick and wonderfully springy, part of me is tempted to do a cartwheel right here, just to get a real feel for it. I know that is stupid, but I still want to.
Deliberately, I stand up straight, centering myself and raising my arms over my head in a quick, abbreviated yoga routine known as a sun salutation. It will get my blood pumping, I know. It might even convince my body to just wake up and stop feeling so thoroughly crummy.
But as the fog begins to clear, I only become more curious. Where am I? And why is everything in his room so gray?
The sheets are gray, the blanket is gray, the carpeting… Everything. The simple dresser appears to be weathered beechwood. The walls are a muted silver. Even the doorknobs are basically pewter.
Whoever this owns this house must really love gray.
Or maybe they're colorblind? Yeah. I shouldn't assume.
On shaky legs, I walk carefully over to the first door and tug on the doorknob. It's a closet, and behind the door is a full-length mirror. My reflection startles me. Actually it kind of horrifies me. I stand there for a few minutes and just look at myself. I went out like this? This is barely even a top. It's like tissue paper. How on earth did I let Lizzie talk me into this?
Even the skirt is ridiculous. In the bright light of morning, if it is still morning because who knows how long I slept, this skirt just seems ridiculously inappropriate. I wish I had a bathrobe. I wish I had a caftan
or a muumuu or something.
