The Duplicate

Chapter Twenty

Something tickles my back.

Warped images—streetlights, a glint of metal, glittering blood—wither away as I rouse from the fog of sleep. Slowly, my eyes drag open.

Weak sunlight teems through the window onto bare walls. The scent of bleach, strong, familiar, floats over the comforter beneath me. On the nightstand an alarm clock, in bright blue numbers, reads 6:24.

Dax's bedroom. How did I...?

More tickling.

Tiny hairs rise on the nape of my neck, and gradually, bit by bit, I come up out of the fog enough to realize that tickling is someone's breathing skimming over my back. Someone is behind me. And someone is touching my arm.

Swiping my mess of hair aside, I lift my head and turn.

Trip is next to me. Asleep, on his side. Breathing, calm and warm. He's taking up most of the bed, so close I can feel the heat radiating from him. Just a few inches closer and he would be pressed against me and I would be in danger of tumbling off the bed.

I blink. When did I fall asleep?

After bandaging Trip's shoulder, I'd convinced him to come into Dax's bedroom and lie down. I remember sitting beside him, watching him fight sleep. Eventually, sleep won, and apparently, it won me over as well.

But I definitely don't remember him being so close. My gaze drops to Trip's arm shoved under my pillow. The edge of his hand rests—hot—against my arm. There's no way I would have fallen asleep with him touching me, or literally breathing down my neck. Scowling, I withdraw my arm, breaking the contact.

And suddenly Trip's breathing stops sharp.

In seconds, he is lifting his head—eyes open, electric, darting towards the bedroom door then quickly down at me.

I stare back at him in surprise. "It's okay. I just moved."

The tension gripping his body eases a bit. Laying his head back down, he inhales deeply, tiredly, bare chest swelling and then falling with a sigh and a curse. His breath tickles my shoulder.

Clearing my throat, I avert my eyes and look down at his arm. "Could you give me some room please?" My voice comes out sourer than I mean it to.

Trip follows my gaze, and something flashes over his expression. Surprise? Annoyance? Embarrassment? I don't know; it vanishes too quickly as he pushes away from me, wincing, and shifts over to the other side of the bed.

Now with his heat gone, I realize just how cold it is in this room. Carefully, I curl up on my side, ribs biting with pain, and draw my legs closer to my body for warmth. Changing clothes hadn't been a priority, I suppose, because I hadn't bothered changing out of my dress last night. It's twisted uncomfortably around my body, and the hem has slipped dangerously up my thighs. I find myself clearing my throat again as I adjust it.

"What time is it?" Trip asks, his voice thick with sleep. His eyes have fallen shut, and I notice the purple half-moons under his eyelids have returned full-force.

"Almost six-thirty."

"How long have I been out?"

"About three hours, I think." Pillowing my hands under my cheek, I inspect him. A small spot of blood has seeped through the bandage on the front of his shoulder, and, no doubt, he's probably bled through the dressing on the back of his shoulder as well. Three hours of sleep is not enough.

Silence hangs over the room once more, lasting long enough for me to wonder if Trip has fallen asleep. But then he opens his eyes to stare down at the comforter, the space between us.