She barely slept more than ten minutes all night long, tossing and turning, trying to figure out what to do about Paul and his impending visit, alternately worried then depressed and always desperate. For the first time since meeting Paul, she didn’t start her morning by sending him a “Good Morning” message. She simply didn’t know what to say. She rolled back over, the sun making it impossible to go back to sleep, listening to the sounds of morning in suburbia: a sprinkler starting, cars pulling out of driveways, neighbors greeting one another. It all sounded so normal, when the space in Zoë’s head felt anything but normal. It felt chaotic. It felt despairing. She wished it was raining and gray to match her mood. Her plan had been to be “Holly” again by Christmas, and then tell him all about the crazy way she’d been Zoë for a while…the accident, the way she grieved it by drinking too much and getting her two tattoos—one with the date of the accident and the other for Brandon—how she’d changed her appearance and quit her job…only to have him pull her out of the darkness and into his arms, into the light again.
