I wasn’t ready to start my day. I wanted to stay in bed, wrapped up in Peter, and watch the rise and fall of white cotton sheets for a little while longer. Or close my eyes and go back to dreaming. In my sweet sleep, you were sat on the beach, building sandcastles and exhaling gusts of wind so strong, you sent the clouds sailing across the sky. You were wearing that ugly hand-me-down bathing suit. The pink one with daisies printed all over.
Rising orange-pink sunlight penetrated my eyelids, and I turned away from the window. The birds sang, and their songs filled me with dread. I thought of the entity—the sentinel thing. A shadow hovered above me, and I was afraid to open my eyes again. I wasn’t afraid I’d see the black naught’s non-eyes nodding off—it had abandoned me years ago—but afraid of your accusatory milky ones, staring down at me from your waterlogged face. Of course, I have no real idea what you’d looked like after you were recovered from the lake.