20 Days In His Bedroom

Chapter Twenty

"Get up," I laugh, unable to hold it in. "You're drunk, believe me."

"I believe you," he scoffs.

"Great." I grin.

"What did you want? I mean, why did you wake me up?"

"Me?" I almost laugh again. "You're the one who stumbled into the bathroom."

"Oh... right. It was me?" he asks, blinking.

I nod. "Won't you get up and go to your room? I need to sleep. Unless you want to take a shower and sober up. Honestly, I don't even know what you're supposed to do right now."

"I won't be sober, and you won't sleep," he grins.

I sigh. "Then?"

"We can spend time together."

"I don't spend time with drunks," I say firmly.

"Don't worry. I won't touch you. If I wanted to, I would've already done that. I mean, you agreed to stay in the same room with me." His hands motion vaguely between us.

That strikes something in me. How didn't I ever think he might take advantage of that? Was I that naïve?

"I know that. Not because I trust you," I say, straightening my back, "but because I know you can't."

He laughs. "What would you do if I did?"

"I need to sleep." I groan, not answering him. I know I can't do much, but I refuse to let him see that.

"Why are you hiding your eyes from me?" he asks.

"Why are you suddenly acting like you see me differently?" I raise an eyebrow. I'm a mess right now. My eyes must be dull and tired.

"I don't."

"You've always disliked me. Made fun of me. You can't even stand me—and I don't care," I add, quieter this time. I don't need to shout for someone who won't even remember this tomorrow.

"You don't care?" he smirks.

"Of course not," I lie. I've always cared what people thought. Maybe because I've never been confident enough not to.

"We've shared this room for days, and we barely talked," he sighs. "But somehow you know my whole story. I don't know why I told you."

"Neither do I. Why would you trust someone like me?" I scoff.

"I've got no clue. But I'm sure you made me do it. You pushed me."

"Why would I believe your story anyway?" I ask, even though I know I did. "If it's all true, then I should be scared to stay here with you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... if you're really being watched, if they're after you—then I'm in danger too."

He nods. "Don't worry. They just want me. No one will hurt you."

Finally, he stands up.

I close my eyes, shaking my head. This can't be real. I just want to sleep safely and wake up tomorrow to find my parents.

"Good night," he says, walking out of the bathroom.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at 5 AM, in case you wake up and don't find me," I tell him.

"Do you want me to come with you or something?" he asks, his tone oddly disappointed.

"I wish you could... but I don't want to bother you. You're drunk, and I don't know when you'll—"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm coming," he cuts me off, placing a hand over my mouth. Then he leaves.

I immediately lock the door. Twice. This time, I'm sure of it.

His touch lingers. It makes me shiver. He's strange. Heartless, maybe. He brought a girl here, slept with her, and didn't even blink when I caught them. Or maybe I just have too many feelings.

And still, I can't forget what he said to me earlier.

Even if he didn't mean it.

I feel sad for myself—for letting any of it get to me.

Sleep, Twi. Just sleep.

⸻

"Mom! Dad!" I call out, but no one answers. "Mom! Dad! It's me, Twi!"

I run up the stairs of our house, searching every room. Nothing. No one.

"Please answer me. I won't do it again. I had no choice—the guy offered his place... I didn't want to!"

"Mom? Dad?" I run to the bathroom—and find a bed of towels on the floor.

"Why would I make a bed here when I have my own room?" I whisper.

Where are they?

"Playing hide-and-seek?" I laugh nervously. "Seriously? Now?"

"I told you—you won't find them," a voice says behind me.

I turn.

Kyle.

⸻

I wake up, breathless. My chest rises and falls fast.

It was a dream.

A terrible one.

I step out to check the lock again. It's 4:00 AM. I take a quick shower and dress. My hands shake as I make myself a cup of coffee, but it doesn't help much.

It's past 4:30 now. I should wake Kyle if he's still planning to come. I hesitate, worried the alcohol still has a grip on him.

"Kyle," I say softly, touching his forehead. He's sweating. "Kyle."

He stirs. "What?"

He blinks up at me with only one eye, and despite my fear and stress, I laugh.

"Are you okay?" I ask, stepping back.

"I'm still sick," he groans. "But I'll come."

Relief washes over me. Maybe I'm selfish, but I need him to come.

Then he says something that catches me off guard.

"Don't worry. As much as I want you to find them... I'll miss you."

I don't know if he means it. Maybe he just wants to make up for yesterday. Or maybe... he's still drunk.

"Want me to make you a coffee before you shower?" I ask. I shouldn't be mad about last night. I don't have that right. It's his place. I'm just a guest. And I'm not his wife to scold him for anything.

Wife? My mind blanks. He introduced me as his sister.

I sigh.

"Yes," he says, walking toward the bathroom.

My room. No, I meant the bathroom.

I almost laugh at myself.

I'll miss this. In some weird, awful way... I'll miss it.