At first, I thanked her. But soon, I noticed something strange.
Rebecca never left until I had finished the entire glass.
One evening, I told her I wasn’t thirsty.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Please, drink it. I can’t let that happen again.”
Those last words made me uneasy.
What couldn’t she let happen again?
I asked her, but she simply smiled and walked out.
The next morning, I woke up later than usual. My head felt heavy, and there was a thick white bandage covering the palm of my right hand.
I couldn’t remember how I had injured myself.
Rebecca hurried into my room.
“You accidentally hurt your hand during the night. I cleaned and dressed the wound.”
“But why can’t I remember anything?”
She remained silent for a moment.
“Maybe you were sleeping very deeply.”
From that day on, I began to fear the nights.
