"Leila?" Aunt Clara says, furrowing her eyebrows. "Are you okay, sweetie? You look kind of pale."

"I, uh, yeah I'm okay," I try to recover, my eyes still not leaving the white envelope in her hand. "I think I'm still just not feeling right from lunch."

"Oh yes, the nurse called and said you weren't feeling well and that Tristan was going to give you a ride home. I honestly thought you two were just trying to ditch, but now that I see you I think I'll go make you some tea. And crackers? Do you want a snack?"

"Tea and crackers sound good, thanks," I say, finally pulling my gaze away from the letter in her hand. Aunt Clara gives me a comforting smile, places the mail on the table in the front hall, and goes to the kitchen. I snatch the letter and shove it into my pocket. There's no need to worry Aunt Clara about the possible return of my addict ex-best friend.

After attempting to force my snack past the growing anxiety-induced lump in my throat, I retreat to my bedroom to lay down and think. Tomorrow is the carnival and I am going. One of two things will happen there and neither really sound that great...

One. I go with my friend and Carter never shows up. I try to have a good time, but the empty threat of a visit haunts me until he does eventually come for me. Or the psychological torture of waiting for the next note and/or his actual appearance takes me down before he does.

Two. Carter does show up and makes a huge scene in front of everyone about God knows what. He reveals to the entire town my previous addiction to drugs and partying on top of whatever other agenda he has just to ruin the rest of my life. With the new information I now know about him and how he is willing to go to any lengths to make a point, I wouldn't put it past him to hurt several people while he is here.

Staying home is, of course, a non-option. My friends will either come drag me out with the fact that I am safer in public than in my house or will stay behind with me and potentially put themselves at risk.

Frustrated and already feeling defeated, I turn over on my bed and scream into my pillow. All these hypothetical scenarios are exhausting. I just need to sleep...

~~~

I open my eyes and see that my room is shrouded in darkness, faint light streaming in through the open door from the hallway. I also see that Tristan is sitting at the edge of my bed. Startled, I sit up straight.

"Before you ask, I came over to talk to Luke about my father," he says, twiddling his thumbs. That's a new habit. "He called again, basically trying to convince me to drop the whole thing about The Underground because there's no way I'm going to get my shit together before my birthday."

"You shouldn't doubt yourself," I groggily say, trying to sound reassuring through the remnants of my half-a-day nap. "We are all going to help you figure out a away to take down Brian. Legally," I add at the end for good measure. I know Tristan isn't a bad guy, but since his father has been back in town, for a short time at that, it's starting to bring out another side of him. Others may not be noticing it, but I am. And he knows that I am.

"I know, but my ownership solely depends on him keeping up this facade of being a law-abiding, hard-working citizen. He hid all his demons from the rest of the world for years until I finally grew a pair and stood up to him. I have zero control over this situation, so who's to say he won't get away with it again." Tristan falls back onto my bed and crosses his arms over his eyes. He takes a deep breath and exhales audibly. I slide closer to him and place my hand on his elbow.

"You do have control and I'm going to make sure you don't lose it. I promise," I whisper and squeeze his elbow. He nods once to acknowledge my promise, but doesn't uncover his face. "So... if you came over to talk to Uncle Luke, what are you doing in my room?" I ask to change the subject.

Finally he reveals his face, which has softened a bit. "Clara said you still weren't feeling well so i came to check on you. I stayed because, well, you're cute when you sleep. Even when you look a bit troubled."

"I can't stop thinking about tomorrow," I say, flopping down next to him. "I'm just worried what might happen. Or won't happen." I turn to look at Tristan and he's already laying on his side to face me.

"We can think about what will or won't happen tomorrow in the morning," he states. "You need to rest up. We all do." He leans in to plant a soft, lingering kiss on my lips before getting up to leave. Tristan closes the door behind him, plunging my room back into darkness.