#Chapter8
/"What if I have a bad dream?/" I asked, voice small and weak. /"And I can't get back to sleep?/"
He looked more like my mom than my dad, but the considering expression that tapered his face, the way his brow buckled as he thought on an answer, he reminded me a lot of my dad in that moment. /"Then call me,/" he said at last. /"I don't care about the time, or sleep in my bed and see if it helps./"
I could only stare. He really had no idea how much those little things meant to me. And as if to prove my point, his attention had already strayed, his eyes flickering over to the posters on the walls. They were icky. They were of girls with very little clothes on.
/"You won't be mad?/"
