Page 164 of Built to Fall
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
LINA
Iwake up in a cold sweat.
It’s not necessarily abnormal for me, but I still catch myself breathing a little heavier, reorienting myself with my surroundings.
This hasn’t happened in a long time. Not since I’ve been consistently sleeping in the same bed as Grant.
Since I’ve been working on getting my sleeping habits back to normal, I’ve had to come to terms with the uncomfortable truth that sleeping requires vulnerability.
I might be most aware of it when I’m conscious, but only because I’m aware of what happens when I’m not. Sleep requires an unguarded stillness that makes me entirely too aware of the type of vulnerability I’m forced to hand over.
It was what I had to get over after I ended up in the hospital, finally bending to the will of Grant’s suggestion to sleep in his bed.
Now here I am. For the first time, Grant is sleeping inmybed, and I’m about to launch my body off of my bed and onto the floor.
My heart is still racing, my chest still rising sharply with my shallow breaths, when I feel Grant shift next to me. His armsstretch over his pillow, and a small grunt leaves him before he cracks his eyes open.
He reaches toward me automatically, eyes barely open, brushing a piece of hair off my forehead like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
If I were easily embarrassed, I’m sure this would be one of those moments where I told him I was fine, pleading with him to go back to sleep.
But I’m not. And I know Grant wouldn’t.
“Hey.”God, who knew a groggy voice could be so hot?“What’s going on?”
It’s only now that I realize the position I’m in. With my side of the duvet tangled at my feet and a hand braced over my chest. I look as if a tornado came through only my side of the bed.
My first instinct is to change the subject—talk about something other than my mother or my inability to sleep like a normal person. Grant probably wouldn’t like that, though.
“Did you struggle to sleep after your mom died?” I ask, not completely changing the subject.
I’m sure Grant will find a way to circle the conversation back to where he wants it, anyway.
“I did the first few nights, but then I started sleeping on the floor of Claire’s bedroom. By that point, Abby had moved out, but she was sleeping in Claire’s bed. Sleeping in the same room as them made me feel better.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Because of course he did. Of course he anchored himself to someone else. Of course grief made himgive more, while mine made me shut down entirely.
It’s always been the difference between us.
My mom’s death was a freak accident—completely out of the blue and unexplainable.
No warning. No buildup. Just silence. And the silence made me afraid.
Grant lost his mom to something slower. Something with signs. With warnings and patterns. Somewhere in his brain, that meant he could’ve stopped it.
So now, he tries to stop everything. Before it breaks. Before it slips. Before it dies. Grant obsesses over trying to keep everyonestable.
His grief made him responsible for the world. Mine made me terrified of it.
“You’re good to them,” I tell him.
He hums quietly, like he knows it’s true but doesn’t want to admit it out loud. Knowing him, he probably thinks it would be some kind of bad omen.
“Did I tell you Abby found out the baby’s gender?”
I shake my head, turning to lie on my side so I’m facing him. Grant props himself up on his elbow. “What is it?”
