“I’m glad you find my name as amusing as the rest of your sisters,” he says, locking the last of his cabinets. Then he sits beside me while I shut my eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Spinning,” I murmur.
“Don’t think about it,” he instructs. “You think you can crawl underneath the covers?”
“Hmm?”
Everything starts fading. And I drift into the blackness.
*
I don’t know what time it is. All I know is that there’s a monster rumbling in my stomach, and it wants out. I’m underneath Lo’s comforter. I don’t remember even getting here or putting my head on his pillow. Lo sleeps on the other side, facing towards me, but he keeps his hands to himself.
I debate whether I’m really sick or not. The effort to walk to the bathroom sounds strenuous and painful and way too taxing on my head and body. But I am past nauseous right now. And then my stomach contents start rising.
I have to get up.
Hurriedly, I race to the bathroom and pull open the toilet seat. Everything I drank appears in the bowl like a magic trick.
“Lily?” Lo flips on the bathroom lights. “Shit.” He runs a wash cloth underneath the faucet and then kneels behind me.
I can’t stop vomiting, but each time I do, I start to feel somewhat better.
He rubs my back and pulls strands of hair out of my face. After a few minutes, I start dry heaving, no longer actually puking anymore. He flushes the toilet and wipes my mouth for me with the cloth.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, about to set my cheek on the toilet seat. Instead, he gently leans me into his chest, and I rest my head against him.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, sounding pained.
“Lo?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Please…don’t move, okay?” The thought of standing or shifting my body at all may just send me back to the toilet.
“I won’t.” He wraps his arms around me, keeping me warm on the cold tile. We stay like that for quite some time. And I start to fall back asleep, my eyes heavy. And then I hear his voice, so soft, that I think I’ve made up the words.
“I should have just had sex with you.”
{10}
The morning sunshine burns my vision. I squint and scoot up, trying to right my world. Where am I? is the first, scary thought that I process. I take in the champagne comforter, my two legs underneath it, my hair pulled back into a nice pony, and little flashes of last night course through me.
Lo carried me from the bathroom to the bed, tucking me in and keeping my nasty hair out of my mouth. Last night, I think I snatched a bottle of whiskey right from his hands. Even as he protested, I guzzled the liquor like an idiot. I’m that kind of drunk.
I let out a tired, mortified groan. When an antagonizing voice doesn’t make fun of my bear-like noise, I frown and glance at the right side of the bed. Empty, except for an unmistakable butt print. He has a good ass. I stuff my face in the pillow and groan louder. I hate that I think that.
I try not to dwell on whatever stupid things I said or may have done while intoxicated. I rub my eyes and sit up, but a piece of paper safety-pinned to my shirt, which is actually his shirt, distracts me. He changed my clothes? I think at first. Must have puked on the other tee.
My cheeks rose as I pluck the paper off and scan it. The letter is scrawled so fast it looks half in cursive. My eyes widen in horror.
“What the hell?”
Parents are here. Get the fuck up.
What are my parents doing here? Do they know Lo and I aren’t really together? Do they think Lo’s an alcoholic? Are they going to send him to rehab?
I stand on two quaking feet and find a glass of water and four aspirin on the desk. Gratefully, I pop them and begin to search for clothes I can wear. His closet doesn’t have a wide selection, but I store a few emergency outfits just in case of the worst.
I hop into a lavender day dress that will impress my mother, considering my greasy hair will dock me a couple of points. After brushing my teeth four times, rolling a stick of deodorant on, and pinching my cheeks for natural blush, I gain the courage to leave the sanctuary of Lo’s bedroom.
I take a sharp breath, voices echoing off the hallway walls from the living room.
“Where is she, Loren? The morning is almost gone,” my mother complains. I wish he could use the “she’s ill” excuse, but for the Calloways, ill requires a hospital visit and an extended stay. Otherwise, you’re fit to enter the world of the living.
“I’ll go check on her,” Lo says, voice tight.