Rose jackknifed in bed. She was clammy against the rough sheets of her small cot. A soft light filtered in from the street lights on the city streets outside. Her small closet of an apartment was dark and smelled strongly of mildew. She felt closed in, but still so exposed to the entire city around her. Most of the time she felt eyes on the back of her neck, watching her every move, her every action, no matter where she went, nor how had she tried to escape. She had traveled clear across country since she had come back to America, trying to escape him, to escape his ever watchful eyes. Now she realized that he had moved on, that he had found another girl to enslave. It made her sick to her stomach in a way she never knew. Her heart broke into pieces for the girl now doomed to her past fate. Her paranoia still ensnared her as it had since the day Cal Hockley had claimed her as his future bride.
Now as she relinquished all thoughts of sleep over three thousand miles from where she laid her head, she sat up and picked up a book borrowed from her landlord. It was an old hardbound book, somewhat tattered and worn, but still had the same substance as if it were new. She picked up the book slowly, feeling its weight in her hands, feeling it anchor her to the reality of her life. As she sat at the foot of her bed and read by the filtered light, she realized in the back of her mind that she would be exhausted the next day. She knew that she would spend an entire day trying to act as charming and beautiful as possible for emotionless casting directors. She also knew that tomorrow night would be no different, that she'd most likely be unable to sleep for the rest of her life. So instead she read, and tried to let her mind relax and escape the dreams and thought that had so often haunted her.