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He glared at her for a long minute, then sat wearily, like even that took some effort.
Satisfied that he was going to cooperate, at least for the near future, she found the broom and dustpan tucked into the gap beside the refrigerator. She finished rinsing out the trash can and then cleaned all the broken glass off the sink and vanity into it.
“I hate that you’re doing that,” he said from the other room, his tone full of frustration.
“I know,” she called back. What had made him punch the mirror? Between this, the weight loss, and getting sick, something bad had been happening to him the past few days. That much was clear.
The tile in the bathroom and the hardwoods in the hall made sweeping what had fallen to the floor fairly easy, but it took it a few minutes to wipe up all the little tiny slivers. When she was done, she spread out a big towel on the floor of the bathroom just in case she’d missed anything.
“Bathroom’s all yours,” she said.
Then she went on a hunting and gathering mission in his kitchen, where she was hoping to find— Yup. At least some things didn’t change. Among the boxes of cereal and protein bars, he had a whole stack of instant cup of noodles soup. For some reason, he’d always loved the stuff.
Down the hall, the bathroom door clicked shut. A moment later, the beat of the shower water sounded out.
She nuked a big cup of water, spending the time wondering what had happened to him while she’d been fretting about him not calling. Guilt settled on her shoulders like a wet woolen blanket. She should’ve come sooner.
The microwave dinged and she poured the near-boiling water into the soup’s Styrofoam container. By the time the noodles were soft, the shower water was off again.
She set everything on the table and sat down to wait.
A few minutes later, Noah emerged wearing a pair of old black sweat pants and a gray T-shirt with water droplets showing through the cotton where he hadn’t bothered to dry off. And, God, he was beautiful to her even when he was so torn apart. He sat heavily in the chair beside her. “Kristina—”
“Eat first, talk second.”
He grumbled under his breath but picked up his spoon and dug into the broth. Noah ate slowly at first, but then much quicker, like he was so hungry he couldn’t get the food in fast enough. Band-Aids covered four places on his knuckles and fingers, and the bruising looked worse this time than when he’d gone head-to-head with the shower tiles. Without asking, she made him a second container of soup. He ate that one slower, but finished every last bit of it.
“When did you last eat?” she asked.
“I can talk now?” He gave her a look.
She gave him one right back.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “What, uh, what day is it?”
The question was like a sucker punch to the gut. She nearly gasped. “It’s Friday afternoon,” she managed.
“Uh, then, yesterday morning. I think. I had some cereal.”
And she’d seen what had become of t
hat.
“What’s going on with you?” Everything inside her wanted to reach out to him, touch him, comfort him, but he was radiating a desire for space so loudly that it nearly hurt her ears.
Staring down at the table, he shook his head. “Not in a good place right now. Had another flashback. Flipped out over it, and then I felt so drained all I wanted to do was sleep. So that’s what I did.”
An ache bloomed inside her chest. “What made you get sick?”
“My equilibrium was all fucked up and it made me nauseous.” God, his voice sounded so flat.
“Is it better now? Do you need me to drive you to your doctor?”
He lifted his eyes to her, and they were flat, too. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why am I—” She shook her head and bit her tongue, taking a moment to rein in the anger his question caused. “You know why I’m doing this, Noah.”
He didn’t say anything for a long minute.
