Lila
In the end, she didn't eat. But she did sleep. For almost twelve hours. Her sleep was deep, but peppered with dreams of Dane, alone and broken, calling for her. And she could hear him, but she couldn't find him. In the way of dreams, she could see him, but couldn't tell where he was—and he couldn't see her. Didn't know she was right there, trying so hard to get to him. He thought she'd given up on him. Left.
Her heart broke a thousand times before midnight, but she still slept on.
She woke up well before six, her stomach churning, and laid there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, reminding herself they were just dreams. That Douglas—sick as he was—had some kind of feeling for Dane. That as long as Dane was smart, Doug probably wouldn't hurt him. At least, not physically.
