The air feels as chilled as it did outside, and the floorboards are freezing beneath my sock-covered feet.
Stopping, I go back to the thermostat by the front door and use my phone to illuminate the unit.
It’s off.
What the fuck?
I push the tab fromofftoheat.
Nothing happens.
I seem to recall some rattling last time I turned this unit on. But maybe I’m misremembering.
Sighing, I turn back toward the bedroom. This is probably why she got sick.
Was it not bad enough that she slept on a damn board already? Now she’s self-sacrificing by sleeping in a damn frozen room.
The form in the bed doesn’t appear to stir as I enter the bedroom, but when I get closer, I can see she’s shivering.
“Courtney?” I whisper.
She doesn’t react.
I stand in indecision for a minute, unsure if it’s the right call to wake her—to see how she’s feeling—or let her sleep to get better.
Her body trembles again.
“Dammit,” I huff.
I’m annoyed with myself for not bringing more than a can offucking stew. But I didn’t know what else to do. And I didn’t count on the heat being off.
Stepping up to the edge of the bunk, I place a hand on the mattress and lean over Courtney’s sleeping body.
She’s curled up on her side, facing away from me, blankets up to her damn nose.
“Court—” I trail off as I place my other hand on the mattress beside the first.
Why does this mattress feel so fucking hard?
I lift and lower my palms, checking the firmness.
Christ.
I grit my teeth.
It’s so cold in here the memory foam has gone hard.
Does she think I wouldn’t allow her to turn the fucking heat on?
She’s the damn maintenance person. I know she knows how to work a thermostat.
I grip her shoulder with one of my hands and give her a gentle shake. “Courtney.”
She groans and tries to shrug me off.
“Cookie.” I raise my voice louder.
“What?” she grumbles, not moving otherwise.
