Remember That One Novel I wrote? Draft Three Beginning

<I wrote this thing for a thing that I'm entering into... yeah...>

Understanding

Mona Carter didn’t have nightmares. Not ones she remembered, anyway. Besides, if a dream was better than reality, it couldn’t count as a nightmare. Nightmares were supposed to be worse.

The glass of the window was cool, but then again, windows usually were. Mona’s forehead felt relatively hot against the glass. She very much preferred to be outside at night, but that would require traversing one squeaky bedroom door, one long hallway, one flight of stairs, one living room, and one locked back door. Not only would she have to do so silently, but in the dark in a house that she’d been living in for less than two days. She supposed that she could climb out the window, but she didn’t feel like jumping from the second floor of a building and the window was probably squeaky anyway.

Goodness. Two days past and she was already going insane. She shivered.
Mona turned away from the window to the lonely room. It wasn’t really lonely perse, but it was different. Different, strange, and not hers. She sat down on the bed, the blankets a little ruffled in the middle where Mona had fallen asleep on top.. The walls of the room were plain white and incredibly monotonous. For a moment, Mona imagined herself taking a black marker to those terrible, white walls.
The scene outside the window wasn’t likely to have changed, but she couldn’t help go to it again, wanting to see the thin lawn that separated her old home from their neighbor. Instead, the expanse of grass, the tall trees at the edges, the fields beyond that; all mocked her. She wasn’t at home, comfortable, and wasn’t even allowed the familiar, close, red-brick wall of the next house over.
“Gosh.” Mona whispered. “Nostalgic for a brick wall.” She rolled her eyes at herself.