I wake up early in the morning—after a brief dream about Jeremy—to the sound of rain beating against the cabin. I try to recall if it started last night but the details are fuzzy. The sky is currently a shade or two paler than indigo. Now that it's raining I can feel the tension ease within me. Something about nimbostratus clouds refusing to drain is deeply unsettling to me...it must be the way they linger, so ominous and gray and purposeless, until their purpose becomes clear.
My headache is gone and there is a faint taste of mint on my breath, but my skin is oily and sweaty and overall I feel gross. Regardless, I don't have the willpower to pull myself out of bed so instead I roll onto my side, turning to Seth who is already turned to me—he's already awake and staring at me, too. I pull
