“That’s good,” I nod, flopping into the bed ungracefully. The room is spinning, and I would like it to stop now.
“Maybe I will stay here forever,” I sigh whimsically. “Live on in the cave with the glowworms and Sylvester as my neighbor. At least then I won’t have to hurt people anymore.”
Whatever Enzo says—if he says anything at all—is lost to me. Darkness already has a hold of my brain, and I’m more than happy to let it take over.
Someone is crying.
My brows pinch, the odd noise filtering past the fog in my ears and the dream that clutches onto my subconscious like a frightened cat.
I stir, my body jerking, finally plunging me back into reality. The muffled crying becomes clearer, though I can’t place where it’s coming from exactly.
“Do you hear that?” Enzo asks quietly.
Turns out, my world is still spinning on its axis just as much as it was when I passed out. I’m not sure I slept off even half of the alcohol.
“What is that?” I mutter, sitting upright and attempting to gain clarity over my surroundings.
Almost as if they could hear my question, the sobbing quietens, and the silence that ensues is loud.
“Non lo so,” he mutters.
“Another ghost?”
Enzo doesn’t answer, prompting me to turn and look at him. The moonlight spears through the glass at a sharp enough angle to highlight his face. He’s staring straight up at the ceiling, the muscle in his jaw pulsing.
I don’t know what possesses me—maybe the ghosts in this place—but I reach out and poke his forehead.
He blinks rapidly at me for a moment, turning his stunned gaze to me.
“Are you noticing similarities between the wood on the ceiling and the stick up your ass? I’m sure they have comparable textures.”
“What is wrong with you?” he mutters, turning his glare back to said wood.
I shrug, then flop back down on the mattress, rolling to the side and facing the window. It's still storming, the rain pattering against the glass. “You now have extensive knowledge of that question, I believe.” That reminder positively causes the toxic chemicals in my stomach to churn. “Anyway, whatever it was, it’s gone now, and I have a lot more alcohol to sleep off.”
“Then shut up and go back to bed,” he says stiffly.
I’m too drunk to let his attitude bother me at this very moment. Tomorrow, I’ll be contrite again.
But when I lay back down and close my eyes, sleep doesn’t come for me. I beg and plea with it to take me away to some neverland, even if it’s riddled with fairytale monsters, but it persists in its absence.
“Enzo?” I ask.
He’s quiet for so long I’ve convinced myself he’s fallen asleep. But then he sighs, “What, Sawyer?”
“Did you ever see your mom again?”
Again, with the weighted silence.
“No.”
“Did you ever look for her?” I ask, feeling the thickening tension radiating off him.
“Why are you asking?” he deflects.
I struggle for words, feeling the familiar tide of fear rise up my throat anytime I think of my dearest twin brother. Rolling toward Enzo, I tuck my hands under my head. He's still staring up at the ceiling.
“I guess I just want to know if it’s possible to let someone go that doesn’t want to be found.”