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HILL HOUSE, NOW
It was a new day. Luke groaned as he woke up; his head was pounding as if he had gotten drunk the night before (which he obviously hadn't). He rolled over to his left and found Camille. She was wide awake and staring straight up at the ceiling — her face showed no emotion. He draped his arm over her torso and cuddled closer to her.
"Did you sleep at all?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Camille turned to him and smiled tiredly. Her grin didn't did quite reach her eyes. "Take a wild guess," she joked before looking back up at the ceiling.
Silence filled the room, the only sound came from the television that played the news on low volume. Luke stared at her, though Camille wasn't paying him any mind. He was studying her face like it was the last time he'd ever look at her. His eyes traced over every blemish and every freckle, mapping out her features.
But Camille kept looking up. She didn't even blink. She was so zoned into to the blank, white ceiling. But she saw something: she'd seen it in her dreams a few times before, but it seemed to follow her now. It was Luke. He laid in an awkward position and his body was pale and covered in dirt. There was a needle in his arm and he was foaming at the mouth — an obvious overdose.
No matter how much she blinked or looked away, the vision never left, so she just kept staring at it. Surprisingly, it didn't scare her. Camille laid in bed, numb. She felt almost paralysed. She wanted to scream and she wanted to be scared and she wanted to be sad, but those feelings weren't connecting — it was like her brain had completely shut down.
Luke pulled her closer. His face was next to hers; if he moved just an inch or two closer, his nose would touch her cheek.
"You know," he started, before clearing his throat. "I've never really talked to you about the whole... situation."
Camille doesn't saying anything. She practically hasn't acknowledged his present. Luke assumed she was tired from not sleeping all night. "How are you?" he asked timidly.
"I'm fine," she responded, her voice sounding far away. "Well, as fine as someone can be in these situations, I guess."
"If you're not fine, though, you can tell me. You know that right?"
Camille nodded but her expression hadn't changed. She looked like she hadn't even heard him at all. With a deep breath, she glanced to her right at the alarm clock that sat on the nightstand.
"It's 8:30," she said simply, flipping the comforter off of her. "We should start getting ready. We have to be at Shirley's at 10."
With that, the girl got up. She walked to the bathroom and shut the door. Luke rolled over to her side of the bed and cuddled into her pillow. Even in a foreign hotel room, it still smelled just like her.
