Novel Schlafsofa Novels & Stories

The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains of Nadia’s apartment, casting a warm glow over the living room where the two friends sat comfortably on the sofa. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the snacks they had prepared. The atmosphere was casual, but the chatter was lively, full of laughter and playful teasing. “Geez! Some people are so wicked,” Nadia exclaimed, shaking her head with exaggerated disbelief. Her hand flew to her forehead, and her eyes widened as she leaned back into the couch.

he said. I looked away quickly… was it hot in here on something? “Shut the fuck up,” I muttered and turned away. He had the audacity to shrug, “Well, I guess it is your loss then.” Smug son of a bitch. Desmond walked straight to the coffee machine and made himself a coffee, and guess what, it was all black coffee, no milk, no sugar…. It was absolutely disgusting. “You know that only psychopaths drink their coffee like that, don’t you?” I said, and he arched his brows at me, “and you are drinking hot chocolate like you don’t care for diabetes. How even old are you, drinking chocolate like a fucking kid?”

The kind that made the back of your neck tingle. The kind that made you check your locks twice before going to bed. I shook my head and tossed the phone onto my mattress. “You’re being ridiculous, Sofia,” I muttered. The apartment remained silent. Maya was asleep. The refrigerator hummed softly from the kitchen. Outside, the wind rattled the old windows. Everything was normal. Completely normal. So why couldn’t I shake the feeling that something wasn’t? I eventually climbed into bed, but sleep refused to come. Every time I closed my eyes, I thought about the call.

She pulled the thick white quilt over her bare shoulders, her eyes remaining closed as she let out a soft, sleepy sigh. I pulled on a fresh pair of black trousers and a clean black shirt, not bothering to button the top few buttons. I didn't put my shoes on yet. I walked down the quiet hallway and into the kitchen, where the rich smell of dark coffee was already filling the air. Sofia was standing by the stove, stirring a big pot of oatmeal. She didn't look up when I walked in, but she reached over and poured a massive mug of black coffee, sliding it across the counter toward me.

She really hopes that Yulia could be treated well and leave the hospital. “Come over here and sleep. That bed is too small and it will be easy for you to bump into Yulia. I will sleep on the sofa.” Stefan had slept on the bed last night. When he woke up, he saw that Xavia was pressing onto Yulia. Xavia was embarrassed. She troubled him so much and he was here to help her. So how could she possibly let him sleep on the sofa? “I have a smaller stature so it’ll be better for me to sleep on the sofa.”

(Emily's POV) The couch creaked under Sophia, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths, relaxing as the clock ticked 9:00 a.m. Sunday morning. Light poured through the blinds, reflecting off the ring her soda can left on the coffee table. My glass of juice had stayed cold on the counter, the acidity still burning on my tongue, a reminder of last night's blur of wine and laughter thrumming under my skin. I slumped against the wall, watching her stir. Her dark hair was a tangle of knots over the cushions, her black top rolled up as she rolled onto her back, eyes cracking open slowly, heavy with sleep.

ROSA’S POV I didn’t sleep that night. I lay on the couch with Sofia curled against me, her small hand wrapped around my thumb like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world. I stared at the ceiling, at the cracked plaster and faded molding, listening to her soft breaths. The Polaroid sat on the table, face down, but I could still see it: her pale cheeks, her curls matted with sweat, the red scrawl of a threat that made my blood run cold.

A collective time skip of twenty minutes finds me standing in my own bedroom, silently cursing my existence into the depths of hell. I am packing a small duffel bag with a few changes of clothes, while my back remains firmly turned toward the rest of the room. Sofia is lounging across my velvet armchair, her muddy boots propped up on the edge of the mattress as she casually chews on a bowl of grapes, her eyes glued to the small television set blaring a Russian talk show in the corner.

"Duly noted, and no snoring, I like having a peaceful night sleep." Nikolai scoffed and turned off the bedside lamp on his side, but I leaned over to switch on mine. I wasn’t ready to sleep yet. My nerves were still buzzing, and I needed something to distract me. To distract me from all this, from Nikolai and his family and my own thoughts. I reached for one of the books I’d brought with me from home. "The Housemaid" by Freida McFadden. The author that Leo and I had talked about during dinner.

I looked at Hailey with a sense of intrigue. "It's a sofa," she answered and then, in a whisper to me, "It's where you are going to sleep when Justin stays over." The delivery men carried the sofa into our bedroom and placed it against the wall beside our marital bed. I am sure I caught both the men smirking at me before leaving. Hailey told me to remove the wrapping, and she demonstrated how the arms folded down to convert it into a narrow single bed. We didn't discuss it again until later that evening when Hailey and I were again alone in our room.