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Chapter10
Bodhi must have dozedoff because he snapped awake when someone shook his shoulder. He’d momentarily forgotten where he was and how he’d gotten there, but the heaviness in his limbs and the sour taste in his mouth were stark reminders.
God.
What had he done?
He’d thrown up on a stranger, thrown up out the side of Caleb’s car, cried in front of him, and begged the man to take him home. He was a goddamn disaster sit-com waiting to be written and showed to the world so millions of people could laugh at him.
His chest felt tight, and his face was hot, but when he found the courage to look over at Caleb, the older man didn’t look upset. He didn’t look like much of anything.
“Were you asleep when I texted?”
Caleb blinked, then laughed. “No. I was sitting in front of the TV trying to do some accounting.”
Bodhi pulled a face. “I hate math. Everyone thinks I’m good at math because,” he stopped and waved his hand up and down his body. “I’m bad at math.”
Caleb’s lips twitched. “Let’s go inside. I’ll get you some coffee.”
Bodhi recoiled and shook his head.
“Water,” Caleb amended. “And some clean clothes.”
Oh hell. Had he gotten sick on himself? He shifted in his seat and realized his ass was wet with dirty alley water. Okay maybe not sick, but covered in something unpleasant. When he was sober and less likely to fall apart, he should probably offer to clean Caleb’s car.
His legs were a bit steadier when he stood up, though the world was still a little spinny, and he clung to Caleb’s arm when the guy offered it. He made his way up the familiar path he wasn’t sure he’d see again, and while the stairs were murder on him, he was only slightly winded at the top.
Caleb unlocked the door and gestured for him to go inside, but instead of sending him to the living room like before, he tugged Bodhi along a short hallway and through a door.
Bodhi only had a second to register that he was in Caleb’s bedroom before he was taken into a large en suite. The lights were very bright, but not nearly as bad as the ones in the bar bathroom. He could see his reflection and he felt instantly humiliated.
There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was a mess, and there was a stain on the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
Caleb looked at him for a long time before he answered. “I’d like you to tell me what happened, but get cleaned up first. I’ll grab you some sweats.”
Bodhi found he was following Caleb’s signs almost perfectly. Maybe because they were slower, or maybe because he was less shit-scared and somewhat less drunk. Either way, it was like a balm on his overly abused nerves, and he found himself breathing a little deeper by the time Caleb came back with grey sweatpants and a black pull-over.
“Will these be okay? There aren’t any tags.”
Bodhi’s chest tightened because no one in his life—not even his brother—ever took that into consideration. He could deal with the feeling if he had to, but this was…
“Bodhi?”
He realized he was getting lost in his feelings again. “Thank you,” he said, then took the clothes and waited for Caleb to leave, closing the door behind him. When he was alone, he tipped the soft bundle onto the counter, then let himself go.
He cried harder, louder, knowing Caleb couldn’t hear him so he wouldn’t try to burst through the door. He paced, his hands dancing through the air, his body swaying as he did, sending waves of soothing tenderness to his nerve endings which burned like someone had touched a flame to each one.
It wasn’t until his legs started to feel weak that he finally stopped, and though his heart was still racing, he wasn’t crying anymore. He still felt tipsy, and his stomach was rolling with nausea, but he no longer wanted to pull his own skin off.
His fingers trembled just slightly as he peeled away his dirty clothes, then rummaged around until he found a washcloth in the tall cabinet. He ran the water until it turned from cold to tepid, then found the least offensive smelling soap and rubbed it through until the cloth was full of bubbles.
He was more profoundly aware of the foul smell now, so he scrubbed until all that was left was a faint trace of lavender. He left the cloth on the side of the sink, folded up his soiled shirt and jeans, then slipped into the sweats and hoodie Caleb had given him.
They were almost too soft against his skin, but they were also thick and very heavy which soothed him in ways he hadn’t expected. He did his best not to look at his reflection again as he pulled the elastic band from his hair and retied it into a bun.
He still felt off kilter, like he was walking on a tilted floor, but he was able to keep in a straight line a bit better as he opened the door and stepped into Caleb’s room. He came to an immediate halt when he saw Caleb bent over his bed, fussing with the covers.
Even with slightly wobbly vision, Bodhi spotted a glass of water on the bedside table, and something on a plate he was pretty sure was a croissant.
