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“No—”

The word is barely out before warmth floods beneath me. I clamp down hard, muscles straining, but it’s too late. There is nothing I can do except sit here while I ruin everything.

My breath catches, then stops entirely.

The sound is tiny and horrifying in the quiet room—a shameful gush against the sheets.

I stare at the wall opposite, seeing nothing, my vision blurring at the edges.

The terrible, grinding pain in my bladder is gone, replaced by a faint ache.

“Oh, God.” The words come out choked.

I drag my knees hard against my chest, pressing my forehead into them until I see spots. The soaked fabric of my shorts clings unpleasantly to my skin.

I can smell it—faintly ammoniac, unmistakable. Maybe barely, but it doesn’t matter. Adrien will smell it the moment he walks in.

He’ll know.

He’ll hate me.

My shoulders start shaking. I cry quietly at first, muffling the sound against my knees because some old instinct tells me crying loudly only makes adults angrier. Then I remember nobody is here to hear me, and a ragged sob tears out of me.

I squeeze myself into the far corner of the mattress as far as the cuff allows, trying to get away from the wet patch even though my own clothes are wet too.

Rabbit gets pulled tight against my chest. I realize, a second later, that part of her foot brushed against the sheet, and my heart jumps into my throat. I check her desperately, turning her small body in my hands. Dry. Thank God. I tuck her beneath my chin and sob into her fur.

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know who I’m apologizing to—Adrien, Rabbit, Dad, the mattress, everybody. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Maybe Adrien isn’t coming back. That would almost be easier now. He could stay gone and never see this. But then I imagine sitting here forever—wet, hungry, locked in this room without a window—and I’m terrified.

I don’t know how long I cry after that.

Long enough for my throat to start hurting.

Long enough that the tears stop being hot and turn cold against my cheeks.

Long enough for my wet shorts to become clammy, cold, and uncomfortable rather than warm.

Eventually there isn’t much left in me except little hiccuping breaths that make my ribs ache.

I sit tucked into the corner, knees still pressed against my chest, Rabbit crushed between them and my chin.

I don’t call for Adrien anymore.

If he is gone, calling won’t bring him back, and if he comes back… I’m not sure I want him to.

Suddenly, I hear a loud sound, followed by heavy, urgent footsteps pounding down the hall. My whole body jerks as the lock clicks and the door flies open, slamming hard against the wall stop.

Adrien fills the doorway, dressed all in black, his hair disheveled as if he’s been running his hands through it. He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling fast.

His eyes find me immediately.

“Kammie?”

My face crumples.

He crosses the room in three long strides, boots loud on the floor. “What happened?”