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“Give me a second!” Ward’s voice booms. “Little under the weather here! Who is it?”
I swallow hard.
Under the weather.
That means… the obvious.
“It’s me,” I say. “It’s Mila. I think we need to talk, Ward.”
I swear I hear him groan.
It takes much longer than a second for the door to open.
Ward stands there with a towel around his neck. He looks pale. There are bags under his eyes that are a purplish color.
My brain instantly going into diagnose mode.
I don’t say a word to him though.
It’s obvious what’s happening here. It’s clear as day he’s beyond hungover right now.
You’re hungover right now too, Mila. Remember?
“How do you feel?” I ask.
What a dumb question to ask.
“What do you mean by that, Mila? Did you show up to pick on me or what?”
“No. I showed up to talk. You’re hungover, Ward. A really bad one too.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. Smithy got some foreign liquor from his old man, okay? We were drinking it and it was really powerful stuff.”
“You were puking again?”
“Don’t say the word again like that.”
“What if I told you I’m worried about you?”
“You’re worried about me. Am I supposed to feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside?”
“Do you remember the last time we talked, Ward? The other night?”
“I don’t remember much. You got pissed at me the next morning.”
“Which was yesterday…”
“Was it? Really? Oh, shit. The funeral. That’s why you’re acting a little off right now. I’m sorry. That must have been intense. I hate funerals. Why don’t you come in, Mila? Come relax for a bit. We’ll crash in my bed and watch something. Okay? Anything you want to watch too. You want to put on some dumb chick-flick? Let’s do it.”
Ward reaches for me and I step back.
“Oh, fuck, what is this, Mila?”
Go inside. Go into the dorm room. Don’t do this thing here.
I don’t want to go into his dorm.
As I stare at Ward I realize of all things he’s done and been… whatever history we have between us… he’s always been the same guy. He hasn’t changed one bit. That’s why he acts the way he does right now.
