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I don’t think I could handle another sleepover.
I do my checks again and decide to call it a night. Casper’s car is still in my drive. I should start charging him rent. Our landlord is never going to fix the loose bricks on his drive.
I’m not sure how that affects his car, anyway. He’ssoprecious about it.
Once I’ve had a shower and brushed my teeth, I get into bed and pull the quilt up to my chin again. It’s something I’ve done since he slept over, as if once that’s covered me, I can’t get out of bed and make any stupid decisions.
The street is quiet without drunk, rowdy students stumbling home. I’ve become accustomed to the noise, and I’m not sure how I’ll get to sleep in this silence.
Casper hasn’t had anyone in his bed so far this week, either. I can usually count on the not-so-subtle banging of his headboard on my wall, which drives me insane since I know for a fact that there are other walls his bed could be pushed up against. His room is a mirrored version of mine.
I haven’t ever brought it up because then he would know that it bothers me. I’m sure he’s already aware but admitting it will give him the edge.
Eventually, with the help of a good playlist and a belly full of chocolate, I drift off to sleep, but it doesn’t last because I’m woken in the middle of the night by a clash. My eyes fly open to be met with a pitch-black room.
My music has turned off. I claw my quilt higher up my body as my heart tries to escape my chest.
What the hell was that?
Grabbing my phone from my bedside table, I check the time.
3:23 a.m.
It could have been another animal or Casper rolling in drunk. Sometimes, if he slams his front door it rattles through our house, too. Maybe I left something balancing on the counter edge in the kitchen and it fell. My washing up was piled like Jenga; plates on top of mugs on top of bowls.
I throw my quilt down and swing my legs off the bed. There’s no way I’ll be able to relax and go back to sleep until I find out what it is.
A really stupid part of me wants to call outhello. No one can be in the house. I locked up and checked every door and window in it twice.
The robberies only happen when the residents are out.
You are fine.
I gently push my door open so that it doesn’t creak. The house is dead silent, the only thing I hear being my pulse whooshing in my ears. I should go back to bed, but I know there is no way I will sleep now. My mind will conjure up all sorts of horrible scenarios where I’m kidnapped and sold into a human trafficking ring or murdered.
I tiptoe towards the stairs with my heart in my mouth.
There is no one there.
I raise my hand and place it on the banister. At the same time, I hear a quiet thud downstairs.
Fuck.
My throat seizes shut.
I’m not alone.
Someone isinthe house.
It could be Imani or Freya, but why would they cut their holiday short and come home at 3:00 a.m.?
There’s a voice, faint and gruff, but I hear it clear as day.
“Check the living room.”
Casper was right; there is more than one of them.
Fear claws at my throat. I back up, my hands shaking and stomach dragging along the floor as if they’ve disembowelled me.
