All day, I try to keep my mind busy.
All day I fail, and my eyes continually drift back to the door, even as I clean the entire kitchen from the mess of baking yesterday. Even as I clear up the entire mess we made of Christian’s room last night and then go on a laundry rampage, washing every single semi-dirty article of cloth that I can find in the house.
Because, I mean, where is he? Where did he go?
Is he mad at me? Did I – did we go too far? Should I have made myself get up in the middle of the night and gone back to my room? But how could I have done that – how can he be mad at me for not doing that?
I scowl, glancing over at the door, thinking that I certainly didn’t make him wrap his arms around me in the middle of the night –
“You need to stop,” Frankie murmurs from his plac
