I set my alarm for early. Early early, since I already have to get up around six for school. Why do they do that? We’re teenagers, we need our sleep. Zara curls up next to me and licks my hand. It’s gross, but it’s a worthy sacrifice to have her here. I feel better, safer, with her next to me. Not because I expect her to bite an intruder—that’s just ignorant to me—but because I’m not alone. Feeling her warmth next to me is comforting. Zara and I are in this together now. I wake up not to my alarm but to the harsh sound of my father’s voice echoing down the hallway. What time is it? The clock says 1:14, and the lack of sunlight tells me it’s most definitely not the afternoon. What in the world is my father doing up—and yelling—in the middle of the night? Zara lets out a little huff and rolls onto her side, and within a few seconds she’s snoring.
