Page 40 of The Invisible Roommate

“That is a powerful piece of information,” said Emory.

“Most days it doesn’t make me feel powerful. It makes me feel like a liability, or worse, like I’m making it all up,” Gerard said. Finally, he reached forward and shut off the album. If Emory wanted to listen, he’d let him borrow the headphones. He couldn’t handle more noise. “After how I acted, I’m afraid if I tell people, they’re not going to believe me. It’s not the kind of medical diagnosis where blood tests and scans show concrete proof.”

“If your family can believe in God without concrete proof,” said Emory reassuringly, “I think they can find it in themselves to believe you, too.”

The understanding way Emory said this eased a bit of Gerard’s hesitation. Emory had undergone a miraculous transformation. Not just from visible to invisible. But from scared and biting when Gerard first arrived to caring and kind.

Gerard sank his teeth into a fourth cookie—uncaring of the calories—and smiled through the silence at his invisible confidant.

20Emory

“Can I try something?” Gerard asked him the following night after they’d both eaten and cleaned up the dishes. Their roommate duties had begun to bleed into one another, so it was less like a conscious split of chores and more like an ebb and flow of domestic tasks. Gerard’s jacket rubbing arms with Emory’s lab coat on the rack by the door made the space theirs. Not to mention neither of them had made a move to swap out the sheets between sleeping shifts over the last several days, which conjured intimacy that neither of them dared name.

“You are going to need to be more specific than that,” Emory said, even though he’d probably agree to anything Gerard Wells asked of him. His hazel eyes were hypnotic like that.

Gerard fetched a paper bag with the pharmacy name stamped on the side. He pulled out a package of medical bandages. “Would you let me wrap this around your head?”

“Have I suffered an injury I’m unaware of?” Emory asked.

“I want to get a sense of your head,” Gerard said, then quickly added with a blush, “shape! Your head shape! If I wrap you in this, when you smile or cringe or whatever, the bandage will move with your muscles. I can at least attempt to read your expressions. Not that that has ever been a strong suit of mine, but still.”

Emory shrugged because, again, those hazel eyes. “If it would please you.”

“I’m going to have to touch you. Is that all right?” Gerard asked.

Emory gulped as quietly as possible. “Fine.”

Gerard appeared excited as he positioned Emory on the love seat. He crouched down in front of Emory and got close. Really close. Almost straddling Emory’s lap as he unfurled the soft, semisheer bandage. Immediately, he was confronted with the fragrance of grapefruit and aloe vera, a soothing and intoxicating combination wafting up off Gerard’s freshly showered skin, which looked supple, though he didn’t test that assessment. “I might need your help guiding this.”

Shakily, Emory held the end of the bandage at his temple. Gerard first pulled the bandage around like a crown before snaking to the nape of Emory’s neck and around under the chin, creating an unnecessary sling for his jaw. Part of him wanted to complain, but he liked the sensation of Gerard’s fingers so near to his transparent skin. The gauze went over his nose before it got fastened tightly so it wouldn’t fall off. “There.”

“How do I look?” Emory asked.

“Like a mummy,” Gerard said, stepping back and tilting his head to the side. “But in a good way!”

“Because there is a good way to look like a dehydrated corpse without any internal organs?” he asked.

Gerard retrieved a pair of gloves from the depths of the drugstore bag. “Now you can point and gesture.”

Slipping the gloves on, Emory couldn’t help but feel like a dress-up doll. When Gerard stood back, he said, “Much better. Now you at least look like a person and not clothes on a transparent mannequin.”

“I look more like a person?” he asked, growing hot under the wrap already. “Like this?”

“Sure. Like a person who had surgery.”

“At least that’s a step up from mummy.”

“Not a life-threatening surgery. An elective surgery!” Gerard said.

“You’ve spent too much time in LA,” he said, growing self-conscious about his looks, which was ridiculous, given he was the barest hint of a human at that point. “Not everybody can afford to get elective surgery.”

The previous night, he’d snuck out again since he’d finished his Physiology of Music book and needed more literature on the topic, but his true intentions were known as soon as he beelined right for the computer section. After searching for Anderson and coming up empty again, he typed in a new query: Toby Stark.

He should’ve known the image section was only going to hurt his feelings. Toby was Black, athletic, handsome, and supremely talented. From the “LA? Okay!” music video alone, he could tell why Gerard had fallen for him; he had so much charisma and energy. Though through the whole video, Emory’s eyes always pinged right back to Gerard in every frame.

Sitting there now, wrapped in a bandage, hands bound in gloves, he was almost grateful Gerard couldn’t see him. At least this way, he could maintain the illusion that he might be the kind of person Gerard would associate with were their circumstances different.

“Shall we listen to the second half of Overload?” Emory asked.