Chapter 8: Locked Rooms

I woke up alone in Ronan's bed with the sun in my face and his side of the quilt already cold.

There was a glass of water on the nightstand and a folded shirt beside it.

It wasn't mine.

I put it on anyway and went down the hall to my own room and locked the door behind me.

Then I stood in the shower for a long time and tried to feel like a person who regretted something.

It didn't work.

I came down to breakfast at nine with wet hair.

The kitchen went quiet.

Abel stared at the toaster, and the aunts stared at the bread.

The boy from the first night looked at me.

"Why are you wearing Ronan's shirt?" he said.

"It was clean," I said.

"Eat your eggs, boy," said the oldest aunt.

Ronan stood at the window with his back to the room and a cup of coffee in his hand.

He was in a black sweater, and he moved his shoulder easily, as if the dart had never been there.

"You look better," I said.

"I'm fine."

"Is the fever gone?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"The room I gave you has a lock," he said, still looking out the window. "Use it."

I felt that one land in my chest and stay there.

"I'm sorry?"

"It was a mistake. You were in my care and I was poisoned. It won't happen again."

"You're calling it a mistake."

"I'm calling it what it was."

"You kept saying my name in the truck."

"I was delirious."

"You said it after the fever broke," I said.

My voice had gone high and hard.

"You said it into my neck."

The aunts looked at each other.

Abel got up and began collecting dishes with great energy.

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