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A wave of nausea has me clutching the back of the chair.
“Hey, are you okay?” Megs asks, wrapping an arm around me.
“Yeah, fine. I’m just going to run to the bathroom.” I go before she can say anything else. I can feel the cake making its way back up as I push through the bathroom door. I’m grateful no one’s in the stalls and drag my hair back as I reach the first one. I just make it to the toilet before the cake makes an unwelcome reappearance.
Throwing up is gross.
Throwing up at a public bathroom? It takes that gross factor up several notches.
I heave and feel a hand at my back. Feel my hair lifted as the next wave passes. I’m left empty, drained, my eyes watery. I stay where I am and reach up to flush the toilet.
“Okay?” Jericho asks.
I get to my feet, shoving past him to the sink, remembering my hope in the bookstore. That he’d allow me to go back to my lessons. That he’d pay me to teach Angelique which is the closest thing to a real job I’m going to get. I remember that hope. That stupid, idiotic hope.
“No, not really,” I tell him as I rinse my mouth and splash my face with cold water. I reach for paper towels, but he’s already got them. He cups the back of my head to wipe my face.
“It’ll pass,” he says. “Stick to soup for a few more days.”
“Are you a doctor now? It’s because of you I’m sick. Get away from me.”
He grits his teeth but allows me to take the paper towels from him, while standing there as I finish wiping my face. I try to ignore him, throwing the paper towels away and exiting the bathroom. Jericho stays on my heels.
“Isabelle,” he says as I walk through the café. Everyone’s already left. I give Megs a wave and hope she can’t see the tears I’m trying hard not to shed. She’s busy, so I’m glad I don’t have to talk to her although I see the questions in her eyes. I get to the door and open it, grateful for the cooler air outside. Feeling better for it.
“Belle!” Angelique calls out from across the street. The sports car Ezekiel is driving is pulling away as she waves from the window. We came in two cars since we all couldn’t fit in one. I was hoping to ride back with her, but I guess that’s not happening.
I force a smile and wave. I take a step, but Jericho’s hand falls heavy on my shoulder.
“Dex is pulling the car around.”
“I don’t want to be with you right now,” I tell him, shrugging him off. “I’ll walk. I need some air.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he starts but I walk away. The traffic light changes and someone honks their horn. I glance left and feel Jericho’s presence at my back like a great, hulking shadow. I don’t know why it matters that I get away from him right now, but it does. As traffic clears, I take a step toward the street. Just as I do, my heel catches in a crack in the sidewalk. I stumble forward, simultaneously hearing the screech of tires and someone shouting my name as a van takes the turn too fast and too tight, bouncing over the curb. It’s the last thing I see because it comes too fast for me to even scream.
8
Jericho
I call out her name, grabbing her arm. I’m pulling her back into my chest and out of the way of the van half on the sidewalk, half off. It runs the red light and speeds away. I’m not sure if that’s my heart or hers thudding between us as I hold her to me. I smell her shampoo as I stare over her head, searching for the beaten-up vehicle with its windows blacked out by garbage bags taped to them. It’s moving too fast for me to get more than a couple digits of the license plate. When I feel Isabelle begin to shake in my arms, I turn my attention to her.
She looks up at me, deep sapphire eyes wide with panic, the whites, pink, the skin around them wet.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She stares up at me.
“Isabelle.” I squeeze her arms.
She blinks, her eyes coming into focus. And a moment later, her knees give out. I wrap my arms around her as she grabs hold of me.
“It’s all right. You’re safe,” I tell her, pulling her to me again and looking for Dex. He comes to a screeching halt at the curb seconds later.
“Fuck!” he says, jumping out of the car. “Is she all right?”
I shake my head, not sure she’s quite all right.
“Fuck.”
“Did you get the license plate?” I ask.
“Just the first few digits.” He looks down at Isabelle, then up at me.
