I brave a glance up and spot his reflection in the mirror. His face is etched with concern.
“How much did you drink, Kate?” His voice is soft, unaccusing. I’m so mortified I can barely bring myself to answer.
“A few glasses of wine, then some martinis. I don’t really remember how many.”
“You mixed your alcohol.”
I think he’s talking more to himself than to me. I don’t respond.
“When you’re done... getting sick, I’ll get you some Advil.”
“Okay,” I whisper weakly. “Actually, you should go. I’m—you don’t need to—”
“Kate, I’m not leaving.” He is firm.
“You should.” I slither to the floor, the cool tile a welcome pit stop for my throbbing head, and close my eyes.
Chapter 12
Kate. Wake up, let’s get you into bed.”
Someone’s prying me off the floor. I look around, groggy and disoriented. I’m on my bathroom floor. The room is spinning. Ben looms in my vision.
Ben?
“Come on.” He’s lifting me up, his voice cajoling. All at once I come to, remembering with a jolt.
I manage to brush my teeth before he guides me out of the bathroom, and what I see in the mirror nearly makes me keel over: My face is patchy and pale, my hair matted on one side, with smeared mascara-ringed eyes. I’m basically a panda. My degradation is complete.
He leads me into my bedroom and I collapse on the bed in exhaustion.
“Where are your pajamas?”
I eye him warily from my prone position. “Um, I can handle that. Can you leave the room, please?”
He gives me a look. “I wasn’t going towatchyou change. I’ll go get you more water and some Advil.” I mutter a thank-you as he pulls the door shut behind him.
I undress and change at warp speed, throwing my defiled work clothes in the corner of my closet and burrowing into my cool sheets. I swipe my fingers under my eyes in a fruitless attempt to make myself look more like a human and less like an endangered species. I’m saying a grateful prayer to the creator of heavenly beds when I hear a soft knock on my door.
“You can come in,” I call, then tunnel deeper into my sheets. Like if I just hide, then none of this ever happened.
Ben walks in holding a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of Advil in the other. He’s also holding the bucket, empty and washed out.
I groan. “You cleaned my vomit.”
“It’s fine.” He sets the water and pills down on the nightstand and the bucket on the floor, and I watch him hesitate for a moment before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
“It’s not fine. I should probably have a roommate for times like this, huh?” I let out a self-conscious laugh.
“Fine, it was gross. But that’s what friends are for.”
“Friends.” I roll the word around in my mouth like a marble, testing it out. “Is that what we are?”
A shadow skims over his eyes, but he says nothing. He looks resigned.
“You’ll never let me forget this.”
He makes a face, a little V forming between his eyebrows. I’ve started to recognize his expressions, and this one reads: pained.
