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For fuck’s sake.
“Right.”
My phone rang again, and I followed the sound to Jenna’s bedside table. The white pillow was caked in blood, and I cursed myself for losing my shit.
“What?” I answered, not bothering to look at the caller ID.
“Finally,” Raff sighed. “Seriously, man, I thought you were dead. Where are you?”
“I’m at Jenna’s,” I said, taking my blood-soaked jeans from her outstretched hand. “Mate, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you.”
I hung up and dragged my jeans on, wincing when I had to stand up. The back of my head throbbed, and nausea swept over me.
Fuck.
“Youcannotgo out in those jeans,” Jenna exclaimed her hands on her hips. “I’ll see if my dad has a spare pair.”
I nodded, knowing she was probably right. Her dad was similar in size to me, so when she threw me a pair of jeans, I thought nothing of pulling them on. She handed me a thick sweater with the image of a lighthouse on the front.
I’m spinning out.
“Want me to drop you home?” Jenna offered, her nails dancing on my fingers as I hissed in agony. “Oops, sorry.”
“Please.” I swallowed, my throat parched. “Are your folks home?”
“No. Daddy’s at work and Mum is shopping.”
Wonderful.
“I’m gonna need some water, Jen.”
Twenty minutes later, I was hanging out of the car, doubled over in pain. I retched, but nothing came up.
It’s never been this bad before.
“Jenna…” I said, inhaling through my nose and out through my mouth. “You said I’ve been at yours for two days?”
“Yeah, you passed out. You woke up to drink and use the toilet, but you could barely walk. I didn’t know whether to call you an ambulance or not.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I muttered. “Thanks for everything, Jen.”
I steadied myself on the car door, heaving when I stood.
“Will you be okay?” Jenna asked, worry lacing her words.
“Yep. Just need a shower and some sleep. Then, I’ll be good.”
I closed the car door, swaying on my feet. Somehow I made my way to my house, finding it empty. The door was open. The door wasconstantlyfucking open. It seemed like my mum and sister didn’t give a shit about burglars.
To be fair, we don’t have anything they’d want.
I found some painkillers in the kitchen drawer, and I choked down three of each with some orange juice. The sides were littered with dishes from the morning rush, but I was in no state to do anything about it now.
I made my way upstairs, tugging off the hideous jumper and perfectly pressed jeans before standing in the shower.
The shower was more like a dripping tap, but it was better than nothing. I stared into the water at my feet, trying not to focus on the swirls of blood and orange patterns working their way down to the plug hole. I soaped my body, the bruising causing me more issues than the cuts.
My face seemed to be the most battered by the feel of it, and I had no idea if I needed medical help. I stood under the shower until the shitty water turned clear, and I wrapped a towel around my waist. I closed my bedroom door behind me, surveying the room.
