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I lay awake in the darkness, my body molded to his. From his breathing, I knew he was awake too.
*****
I opened my eyes to bright sunlight. I lay in bed alone, the blankets wrapped around me. Through my window, the air sparkled, washed clean with rain. The clock on my desk said noon.
My desk had been tidied. The pills were untouched, but the middle drawer was back in place and the floor was clean. I must have been sleeping like a rock, to not be woken by the crinkle of plastic as Patrick put my stash of candy away. I tried to summon some annoyance that he’d touched my stuff, but mostly, I felt grateful.
I climbed out of bed, bracing myself on the desk for a head rush. A fresh glass of water sat by my clock.
Next to the glass sat a neon pink Post-it marked with Patrick’s precise handwriting.Had to go. Rest up. I want you all better by Monday night.
I dropped the note on my desk and gulped down the water. Then I checked my phone, blinking at the number of texts. I’d worried about letting the squad down, but it turned out they’d been worried about me. Almost all the girls had texted “Get well soon!” messages.
No way was I looking up the video. But apparently everyone I knew had seen or heard about the fall. I scrolled through the other texts.
Can I do anything?
What happened??? That was Patrick who carried you out, right? Give us details!!!
Hope you’re okay. My turn to bring YOU cookies.
Dexter wrote,You okay, sweetie? I’m worried about you.That one, I deleted.
The one person I didn’t hear from was Sydney.
Pulling my messy hair into a ponytail, I padded down the hall, listening to determine whether my roommate was home.
In the fall, I’d driven Amelia nuts with my noise. Doors banging, music blaring, having friends over and turning up the TV. Amelia, on the other hand, drifted around the apartment like a ghost. I’d turn around in the kitchen and there she was. It scared the bejeezus out of me.
Sure enough, Amelia was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open and books spread out.
“Some guy was here,” she announced. “He was poking around.”
“Patrick?”
“Maybe. I wasn’t really paying attention.” She flipped a page. “Big guy. He seemed nice.”
“He did?” The only thing weirder than Patrick seeming nice was Amelia being the person to say it.
She dragged her eyes up from her book and gave me a funny look.
“Well, yeah. Insofar as he said hello and didn’t bother me after that. He also did the dishes.”
“What?” The kitchen was totally clean, with no stray dishes to be seen. My head was spinning. “Those dishes were yours. You let him think they were mine?”
She shrugged. “Look, he turned on the faucet and asked if I minded. What was I going to say, no? I’m not turning down free labor. Are you sick? You look sick.”
“Yeah. I’m getting better.” Thank God Amelia hadn’t heard about the fiasco at last night’s game. Athletics weren’t her thing.
“I saw some video of you falling down at the basketball game yesterday.”
I groaned and opened the fridge.
Inside, on my end of the top shelf, stood a bottle of fresh-squeezed orange juice that had definitely not been there before. Next to the orange juice was a container of strawberries. A box of banana nut muffins sat on the counter by the paper towels.
“‘I’m not your boyfriend, Christina, I’m not here for that shit,’” I mimicked under my breath. I leaned on the fridge door, giddy, like in the bridal shop. I giggled at the orange juice.
Amelia gave me another odd look. “Maybe you should lie down.”
