Two down, four more to go. That I was counting down the wake-ups until I could leave was an indication of just how unwelcome and uncomfortable I felt in the place I’d called home for nearly two decades. When I went to stretch, I moaned when I found my arms restricted from their usual range of motion, along with the rest of my body. “Yeah, me too,” a sleepy-sounding voice answered from the floor. “You also had the best sleep in your life?” I grimaced when I rolled onto my side toward where Boone had camped out on the floor again. My waist, along with my hips, felt either bruised or in danger of losing circulation. I wasn’t sure how, but somehow The Thing seemed to have shrunk another size overnight. “Positively the best,” Boone said, moaning a bit louder than I had. “By the way, Clara, your floor? It’s hard. I know there’s carpet and everything and your parents probably made sure it was the expensive plush shit, and there’s probably just as expensive and plush of a pad below it, but I’ve slept on hardwood floors and woken up with fewer knots in my back.”
