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“Bad.”
“Do you need something for it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, I already t-took something.”
“Yeah, what’d you take?”
“Medicine.”
“What kind of medicine?”
“Um.”
Damn it. I know the answer.
I know it.
But for the life of me I can’t remember medication names.
Probably because he’s shrinking my room with every second that passes. He’s dwarfing it with his large presence. He’s making the walls inch closer. He’s bringing the ceiling down too. And I’m suffocating.
And what’s more: I like being suffocated.
Slowly, he shakes his head. “That’s not an answer.”
“I’m trying to think,” I say truthfully.
“Because it’s hard to think,” he murmurs almost sympathetically.
“Yes.”
“Because you have a headache.”
“Right. Yes, I just said that.”
“And it’s bad.” I nod and he keeps going, “In fact it’s so bad that you had to run out of my house with tears in your eyes.”
My eyes are wide. “I had tears in my eyes?”
His stubbled jaw hardens. “Yeah.”
“But I thought I…”
“You thought what?”
“I thought I had it under control.”
I truly did.
I thought I got out of there before I lost it. Which was the majority of the point. I didn’t want to start crying in front of him and show him that I couldn’t handle this thing between us. That I couldn’t handle going back to just being his employee after the night we spent.
The other part of the point was that I wouldn’t want to cry in front of him even if he wasn’t my boss.
I didn’t want to cry in front of him, period.
No man wants his one-night-stand — which is essentially what I am — to get hysterical in front of him.
“You didn’t.”
