Corey was lying on her back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She wanted to go back to sleep, but sleep brought the nightmares. The memories. She wondered if she woke up her neighbors screaming, and she couldn't be bothered to care. She wanted to care. She would have tried to care. But she was dealing with her own issues.
When she heard the knock, she wondered if it was that guy who'd ... helped get the guy she'd stabbed upstairs. But then ... it sounded like Roland. Because she wanted it to sound like Roland, or because it was?
Corey eased out of bed, slipping on the robe before she moved hesitantly to the door. She rested her hand on the handle and hesitated. "Roland?" she called through the door. "Roly, is that you?"