She looks down at it.
I look at the door.
I don’t laugh.
She shifts.
The bed squeaks again.
Longer.
I close my eyes.
“Don’t,” she says.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You breathed judgmentally.”
“I’m silent.”
“Your silence is smug.”
A rough sound leaves me before I can stop it.
Her mouth drops open. “Are you laughing?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Barely.”
“That bed is haunted.”
“It’s old.”
“It has a vendetta.”
“Sleep.”
She lies back.
The bed makes a noise like a dying animal.
Talia shoots upright. “Absolutely not.”
I press my lips together.
She grabs the pillow and drags the top blanket off the mattress. The bed squeals like it’s losing a fight.
“No,” I say.
“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“I do.”
She drops her pillow on the floor beside me. “I can’t sleep on that thing. Every move sounds illegal.”