But she doesn't turn the light on. Instead, she shoves the covers aside and crawls into bed next to me. I don't move because she's not here for anything more. I'm on top of the comforter, and she's underneath it. There's a barrier separating us from doing something I'd later regret. Not that I don't want to be with her again. It's just that I feel so unworthy of even touching her right now.

She rolls over onto her side, and I'm still sprawled out on my stomach. We're facing each other, but we don't say anything. We just lie here together in the silence, her hair spread out across my pillow. My bandaged arm is between us, a reminder of the tragic turn of events of the last few days. We stare into each other's eyes until I see the worry lines around her mouth begin to relax.

"Will you go somewhere with me tomorrow?" she asks on the verge of sleep, her eyes half closed.

"Where?" I mumble.

"Somewhere that feels like home."

Coming July 10, 2015