I woke up this morning on the living room sofa. It was cold last night. I crawled beneath the covers in a sweatshirt and my flannel pants. But when I woke up, I was sleeping in my t-shirt and shorts.
I don’t remember straying down the hall. I don’t remember tip-toeing past my sleeping sisters to reach the bedroom door. I don’t remember dreaming.
I’m afraid Belle keeps getting closer.
Belle’s not afraid to sleep on the sofa. Belle bites back at whatever monsters come to her in the night.
I envy Belle’s courage. I can’t close my eyes unless I curl on the bedding on the corner furthest from the bedroom door. I can’t sleep unless there are layers of blankets hiding my breath. I can’t face the monsters, and so I sleep with nightmares when Belle sleeps with dreams.
Queenie chokes me with fear.
She’s started playing Belle’s music. I hear the guitars and the drums through the walls. Mr. Cristensen yells at her to turn the volume down, but Queenie pays no attention. It’s Belle’s music she’s playing, and she’ll turn the speakers up however loud they need to go for Belle to hear.
I can’t show Queenie any more fear. She thinks only Belle can protect us from monsters, and Queenie would give me to the wind if she knew it would bring back Belle.