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When Erica wakes up, she's met with a darkened room, even though it feels like only moments ago that she closed her eyes to a space filled with bright, warm spring sunlight.
It takes her a few moments to get her bearings and clear her mind of the fog brought on by her unexpected nap. The room smells faintly of lavender, but the more dominant scent is intertwined sweat and hormones. It's far quieter here than at her own place, where the streets always seem to be full of squealing brakes and honking horns and people cursing at each other. Here, if she listens faintly, she can hear far off traffic and the quiet murmurs of people in the other homes circling the cul-de-sac, but mainly, there's just the wind and the quiet, steady breathing coming from the other side of the mattress.
From Allison.
Slowly, Erica rolls over, so that her back is to the room. Even though the mattress squeaks and shifts underneath her, Allison doesn't stir. She's lying on her stomach, arms tucked under the pillow, head turned towards the wall, so that Erica can only see the long stretch of her neck and her cheek. She's still naked, and the blanket is draped just above her hips. Her pale back is marked with bruises and scratch marks in varying states of healing, only some of which came from Erica's fingers and nails. The rest of her body is much the same; muscled and strong, but marked-up and marred.
Erica doesn't ask about the training Allison's family constantly puts her through and, in return, Allison doesn't ask about what Derek teaches her and the rest of the pack. Talking about it would mean that they'd have to admit to each other how colossally stupid they're being, how much of a mistake this is turning out to be.
When it was just stress relief, an outlet for their anger and frustration that really wasn't that much different from sparring with the pack or with a punching bag, Erica could justify it to herself. But she's never fallen asleep beside Allison before, never let her guard down so thoroughly, and while she's not too worried about Allison possibly pulling a knife on her in her sleep, the rest of her family is an entirely different story, and they could be home at any moment.
There's a car coming down the street, and while it doesn't have the distinctive brake defect that uniquely identifies Allison's father's car, it still spurs Erica into action.
She slips out of the bed and starts gathering up her clothes as fast and silently as she can. Thankfully, none of them have disappeared behind Allison's dresser or under her bed, and as she leans over to tie up her shoes, she takes one last glance at Allison. At some point, she's turned her head away from the wall and towards Erica, but she's still fast asleep, heartbeat slow and steady, face smooth, free of worry or anger. She looks beautiful when she's at peace, hair framing her face, makeup slightly smeared, and Erica allows herself another moment to simply catalog the moment in her mind before she pulls her hair up and walks over to the window.
This isn't just stress relief anymore, and while she doesn't have a name for what it's turned into, as she carefully lowers herself down the side of Allison's house, she does know one thing.
They can't do it anymore.