28. a sleepwalker and a control freak

                                    

                                          




NATALIE LOOKS BACK AT THE YOUNGER GIRL WHO'S STANDING BEHIND THE WINDOW, sending her one last assuring smile before she and Travis disappear to the woods. Bunny stares at the snowflakes that fall behind the window. Some get stuck on the frozen glass, blurring the already poor sight from the attic's window. As Natalie's figure is finally out of sight, Bunny lets out a small sigh, her breath fogging the window as she blinks softly.
She hears the floor creak. 
"Are you ready?", Lottie's voice is soft as she pulls herself into the attic, her presence comforting Bunny warmly as the girl nods. She hates lying to Natalie, but she is truly terrified she'll go crazy. Bunny has always been paranoid, she's always known there is something wrong with her. But here, in this silence, the beating war drum that is the compulsive voice in her head bangs louder than ever. Even though she doesn't know what exactly Lottie's help is doing for her, at least she feels like her pain isn't in vain.
Lottie and Bunny had to continue their meetings in secret, using the attic as a sanctuary for their ritualistic acts, shielding the judgment and fear away that the others still held onto. 
As Bunny lays down, her head in Lottie's lap and her eyes wrapped in that blindfold, Bunny starts counting. It didn't take long for her to pass out, the tiredness claiming her limbs like a plague as her mind drifted off. Lottie breathes deeply as she watches over the girl.



The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the Upper West Side apartment, casting golden patterns on the floor. The air was filled with the sounds of the city—distant car horns, the hum of life beyond the walls. She stirred on the sofa, the soft creak of leather accompanying her slow return to consciousness.
"Mommy, wake up! We gotta go see the dinosaurs!" His voice was a mix of urgency and excitement, a small hand tugging insistently at hers.
She opened her eyes to find her son's face inches from hers, his eyes wide and eager. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite the grogginess clinging to her, she couldn't help but smile. "Alright, alright, I'm up," she said, sitting up and stretching.
From the bedroom, her husband's voice drifted out, humming a tune as he buttoned his shirt. He appeared in the doorway, adjusting his tie, a warm smile spreading across his face as he saw them. "You two ready for some dinosaurs?" he asked, a playful gleam in his eye.
She nodded, running a hand through her copper hair, still tousled from sleep. "Give me five minutes to get dressed," she said, ruffling her son's hair as she stood. He bounced on his toes, barely containing his excitement.
As she returned her husband had their son's tiny sneakers in hand, crouching to help him lace them up. She watched them for a moment, her heart swelling with a mixture of affection and something more complicated. She wasn't in love with him—not in the way people spoke of love—but he was her best friend, her rock. He adored her and was an incredible father. It was enough.
"Ready?" he asked, standing and offering her a hand. She took it, squeezing gently.
"Ready," she replied.
The walk to the American Museum of Natural History was filled with their son's excited chatter about the dinosaurs he hoped to see. He darted ahead, pulling them along like a small, determined force of nature. Her husband laughed, his rich, warm voice carrying on the breeze, and she was reminded of the first time she heard it in the echoing halls of the Paris Catacombs.
Inside the museum, their son's eyes grew wide with wonder as they entered the dinosaur exhibit. He darted from display to display, his small fingers pressed against the glass, breathless with excitement. Her husband watched him with a proud, tender expression, and she felt a pang of gratitude for this man who had become her family.