44. Hunter

I can't sleep. I can barely remember the mechanics of breathing. When I lie flat, my lungs seize like I'm being held underwater. So I'm up. Pacing.

I shouldn't be alone. The self-aware part of me knows that.

My door is locked.

I've checked it once, twice, three times now.

My chest burns with the desire to go to him.

To sneak into his bed like I do during the dark nights.

To silently beg him to hold me, just until the morning.

But I can't.

She's here. She can't know. I can't let her hurt him.

I dig out my Kindle and try to lose myself in a book, but I can't focus.

I stretch, hoping the physical release will calm me, but just end up wandering my room instead.

After pacing like a caged animal for what feels like hours, I find myself seeking a change of scenery.

I grip the bronze handle and curl my fingers around it until my polished pink nails disappear.

Then I'm out on the balcony.

This isn't smart.

I'm far too detached from my own sense of self to be aimlessly wandering the second-floor balcony.

I stay glued to the exterior of the house as I creep away from my bedroom toward the next door, then push my way inside.

"Hunter."

Heart lurching, I zero in on the bed. Levi sits, shirtless, with his jean-clad legs stretched out long in front of him.

I freeze, holding my breath, as if I've been caught. In a way, I have. There's no hiding the tremble of my lip, the physical shaking of my hands.

"Can I stay in here with you?" I plead.