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I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I glance toward the curtain, which is still closed. “Would you mind getting me a soda? I’m sure there’s a vending machine around here somewhere.”
“Yeah, of course.” Michael pushes off the counter he was leaning against. “I’ll be right back.”
I nod and smile. “Thanks.”
As soon as the curtain closes, I slump.
My head is spinning so fast that I feel dizzy. There’s no shortage of sound outside the flimsy wall. I can hear shouts and a din of commotion.
But all of it is muffled by the reminder that Nick exists. Right after he left, I tried to preserve the memories I had of him. I’d run through them in my mind like a favorite movie, pausing on the best parts. Looking for some warning, some clue, that we weren’t headed toward the happy ending I hoped for. Eventually, reliving it all just hurt too much. I’m surprised to realize I can still recall it all perfectly, years after I stopped playing them.
The noise surrounding me dulls the sound of his approach. I’m startled when Alex suddenly appears in front of me again. He settles back on the stool, dropping more gauze and a bottle of solution on the tray.
There’s a different energy between us now that we’re alone.
“Michael went to get me a soda.” I offer an explanation he didn’t ask for.
“He squeamish?”
“A little. He’s a lawyer.”
Alex’s lips twitch as he dabs my hand with something that makes the exposed skin sting. “The fuck does that have to do with a weak stomach?”
“Nothing, I guess. Just…he mostly looks at paperwork.”
“If you say so.”
“So…you’ve been good?” I ask awkwardly.
I’m in that uncomfortable stretch of space where too much time has passed to blurt something out with shock as my reasoning. But I’ve had too little time to fully come to terms with Alex’s appearance. To think through what I should say—what I shouldn’t.
All the amusement has been erased from Alex’s face. He seems tense and on edge, and it’s obvious why.
We have one person in common.
He’s waiting for me to ask about Nick, and I’m not sure if I should. Which will haunt me more—a happy update that he’s married with kids or never knowing what happened to him after he left?
“I’ve been good.”
“Did you really transfer to Harvard?”
“No.”
Everything about his answer surprises me. If it was a lie, I expected him to stick to it. Now, I’m wonderingwhyhe lied. Why headmittedit was a lie.
My hand is numb. I barely notice the tug as Alex sews up my skin, more focused on analyzing any small shift in his expression. On waiting for some further explanation.
A tiny line forms between his eyes as he snips the thread and spreads some ointment over the three stitches. “Was this an accident, Lyla?”
I blink. It takes a minute for his words to settle and make sense. “You think I cut myselfon purpose?”
“I’m asking if you cut yourself on purpose.”
I forgot how blunt Alex is. Just like—
Again, I cut myself off.
“Ididn’t. I was chopping, and the knife slipped. I’m tired, and I haven’t been sleeping well, and I just…everything is fine.”
