Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(55)
Cami’s door opens and she looks like a deer in headlights. Her red hair is braided over her shoulder and she’s wearing her pajamas. There’s been something off about her recently at work and I haven’t been able to put my finger on why. She’s quieter, I think. Her normal confident demeanor almost feels like it’s been muted.
My biggest sign that something is up with her is that she’s started being on time for work. She’s never on time for anything. And when a guest yelled at her, she didn’t argue back even a little bit. I hold up the paper bag. “I brought you chicken noodle soup and some other healthy-looking things.”
“Oh, Halle,” she says gently. “Come in and sit down.”
I know her roommates are all out because I was just with them, and it was Ava who told me she was sick. Ava agreed with me that she doesn’t seem herself recently, but when I asked if she knew why, she changed the subject. I think there’s a small part of me that’s worried I’ve done something and nobody wants to tell me.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, taking a spot on the couch.
She sits across from me and pulls her legs up against her chest, hugging them. “I’ve been better. Thank you for bringing me food.”
“Have I done something to upset you?” I ask. I hate how desperate it sounds as it leaves my lips. I hate how desperate it makes me feel. “I want to apologize if I have.”
There’s a visible change to shock on Cami’s face. “What? No, oh my God. Of course you haven’t done something to upset me.”
“I can take it if I have. I’m kind of inexperienced in the whole friend department, as you know. And, well, I just don’t want to be that friend that doesn’t apologize when they need to apologize.”
“Halle, you have nothing to apologize for. It’s me. It’s my head. It’s all fucked up. I, ugh.” She wipes her hands against her face. “Someone put something in my drink at the Take Back December gig, and, no, no, don’t look panicked, nothing happened. Poppy was spiked, too, and Ava realized something was up immediately and took us to the ER. We were lucky.”
“There’s nothing lucky about having your drink spiked. I’m so, so sorry that happened to you. I swear I didn’t know or I wouldn’t have come here and made it about me.”
“You haven’t! And I didn’t want anyone to know because, well, I’ve been roofied before. Senior year of high school. I wasn’t as lucky that time,” she says, and my stomach sinks. “I really don’t want to talk about it if I’m being honest. It’s just shaken me a little and I’ll get through it. I just don’t want you thinking you’ve done something, Hals. You haven’t. I just need to be by myself to process and then I’ll be back to normal, I swear. I’m going to skip tomorrow, though. I don’t think a Halloween party is where I should be with the way I’m feeling, but I swear I’ll be back to normal soon.”
There’s a million different emotions I’m experiencing finding out something like this happened. Not one of them is bigger than rage for my friend. “You don’t need to be back to normal; I just want you to be okay. Is there anything I can do to help you? I can hang out with you tomorrow night so you’re not alone.”
She shakes her head. “I really do process better alone, but thank you. I’m a good compartmentalizer.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
She laughs, but I still see the pain in her eyes. “I dunno, but we’ll find out.”
“Do you want to hang out on Sunday? We could go for breakfast or go shopping, maybe? I hear what you’re saying about processing better alone, I really do, but I also feel like you shouldn’t do this alone, and I know your best friends don’t live around here anymore, and I’m not them but—” I’m rambling. I’m rambling so bad. She lived with Summer and Briar for four years before they graduated, and I don’t want her to think I think I’m equal to that level of trust and friendship. “I just feel like—”
“Halle,” she says, laughing as she interrupts me. “Breakfast would be fun. Blaise’s diner? What time is too early for you if you’re going to The Honeypot? I sleep through my alarm when I’m hungover.”
“Anytime works for me. I’m not going to get drunk.” She doesn’t gasp in horror or do anything other than look through the grocery bag I gave her, pulling out snacks. “I’ve learned I’m a really anxious and emotional hungover person. Hopefully I won’t be boring and people will still want to hang out with me.”
She stops rummaging through the bag and looks at me. “Summer didn’t get drunk for the exact same reason. Me and Briar actually convinced her to stop because we couldn’t deal with her thinking the world was going to end every time she had more than two glasses of wine. It doesn’t make you boring.”
“I know that logically. Like, seriously, I know I’m being ridiculous and peer pressure should not be something I’m thinking about when I’m a literal adult. But—”
“But you’re worried that if you don’t want to do what everyone else does, that they won’t invite you and you’ll be alone,” she says, plucking the words from my head. “I get it. That ex and his friends really did a number on your self-worth, huh?”