“I didn’t—”
“Kaiden,” I cut him off, “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want you in my room. I don’t want…” I shake my head. “I just don’t want to deal with this right now.”
“This was my room first,” he points out.
I put my hands on my hips. “If you want it back so bad then fine. You can switch our stuff when I’m gone next week.”
His lips twitch. “It’s just a room.” Before I go to reply, he adds, “You’re getting quite the backbone. Maybe I shouldn’t call you Mouse anymore.”
“Mice are courageous,” I argue, not that it really matters. “For something so tiny, they risk a lot around people who want them gone.”
“They usually get killed.”
I think about the one time Lo and I had a mouse in our room. Mama swore putting peanut butter on the trap would lure it in and get rid of it, but the mouse was smart. Somehow, it licked the peanut butter off without getting harmed.
“Not all of them.”
We’re silent.
“I didn’t know you were out there.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t.” He stands, combing his fingers through his hair. “If I’d known, I would have opened the damn door. Rachel and I were listening to music downstairs and—”
I hold my hand up. “I don’t want to know what you two were doing. In fact, I’d like to think about anything but those possibilities. If you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.”
He snorts. “Like what? More homework? Got another book to read? Is this one about a cowboy or army vet?”
Blushing, I throw back my blankets. I remember Mama reading books with guys like that on the cover of them, but not so much me. I don’t feel like correcting him though.
“I’m tired.”
“It’s not even six thirty.”
“The cold does that to me,” I snap, eyeing him as I slide my feet under the comforter.
He’s silent, teeth grinding.
I want to tell him that the cold does a lot more to me. It causes me bone deep pain that leaves me uncomfortable for days, makes me so fatigued I sleep for fourteen hours straight, and irritates my already sensitive skin. Instead of giving him those details, I lay on my side with my back facing him.
It hurts my shoulder and hip, but I don’t care. For once, I want to hurt him. I want to stop feeding into the way he treats me like I deserve it. For once, I just want someone to feel the pain I do so maybe then they’ll truly understand.
“You at least need to eat.”
“Not hungry,” I murmur.
I think he cusses under his breath, but sleep draws me away. I hear the door close behind him and I drift off.
When I wake up a couple hours later, it’s to the smell of something salty. When I sit up and rub my eyes as they adjust to the dim-lit room, I see a plate on the nightstand with a thermos and a post-it.
The thermos has soup.
The post-it has a picture of a mouse.
Chapter Seventeen
Grandma greets me first outside the house. It seems so different to me now. It’s stupid, because nothing has changed. The front door is still painted white, the light blue siding is still chipped, and the walkway leading up to the main door still has moss growing between the stones.