Page 34 of Challenge Me

“Sure am.”

“Must be hard to adjust.”

I stared out the window and watched the buildings go by.

“I hear you walking around at night,” he said when I didn’t respond.

“Cool story. I suggest headphones.”

“Or you could just sleep.”

I made a thoughtful sound. “Or not.”

“Maybe you’ll tell me why.”

Stretching my fingers, I considered how to answer. “My gun’s at home.”

He laughed, as if it was a joke. “Good thing we’re in a secure building, huh? No burglars.”

“Right.”

If only I was concerned about a burglar. There were worse things people liked to steal. Things that could never be recovered.

When he parked in the garage, I jumped out of the car and used my keycard on the elevator. It was already closing when he made it. I leaned back and lifted a brow as he shoved his hand between the doors to make them open again.

“Have you heard of manners?” he grumbled.

“Is that one of the assigned questions?”

“No.”

I dipped my head without answering. When we reached our floor, I stepped out before him and made it to the door first. I was nearly to my room when he grabbed my arm to stop me. Like the last time he’d done it, I shoved him backward.

“Don’t touch me.”

“What’s your deal today?” he asked. “You’re being an ass.”

“Aren’t I always?”

He threw his arms in the air. “I don’t know. I’m never sure who I’m getting when I talk to you.”

“Then don’t talk to me.”

I slammed the door behind me and headed for the bathroom. Curling my fingers over the counter edge, I took a breath.

I wasn’t one to lie, except by omission, but the truth was that exhaustion was catching up with me. I hadn’t realized they would practice every day, even on the weekend, and the caffeine could only do so much when I had barely slept in days. Ever since I hit double digits, I hadn’t slept without a weapon. Call it childish or paranoid; I had severely underestimated how it would affect me. It was like having no nightlight while plagued by a fear of the dark.

When I became aware of someone in the room, I slowly turned around. Amir was looking down at the notebook on my bed while he touched the edge of the paper.

“You like poetry?” I asked.

He looked at me, clearly not ashamed of sticking his nose where it wasn’t invited. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the book. “So, you’re tired.”

“I told you I’m not.”

“‘The night is deep, yet deeper still the dread, where dreams may rise like phantoms from the dead. The hush of dark unseals the voiceless scream; a shadowed gate that guards the hollow dream.’”

“It’s called symbolic imagery. Interpret it as you will.”