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“One of the guys out there was being a douche. He dared Shiloh to let him touch his tits. So Shiloh kicked him in the balls. And the guy retaliated. It was—” she waves her arm around— “chaos. I brought him in here to stop the nosebleed, but he had swiped the liquor and he just swallowed the damn thing. All of it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to stave off the forming headache. “His stomach immediately revolted. Shit, he knows how this stuff fucks with his medications. I’ve got him, V, why don’t you get going?”
There’s a loud bang outside, and she flinches again, rising to her feet. “That’s a good idea. Sorry I couldn’t watch him better.”
I shake my head. “Not your job. Get going. It was nice to meet you.”
She gives me a tight-lipped smile and kisses the top of Shiloh’s head before slipping out of the bathroom.
I slide down to the cold, tile floor beside my best friend, whose glassy, unfocused eyes are directed at me, his cheek resting on the undoubtedly nasty toilet seat.
“I don’t have tits, Atty.”
I scrub a hand through my hair and gently squeeze his nape. “I know, bud. He was just an asshole.”
Shiloh’s eyes shut, and I choose to let him take this reprieve before the nausea takes him again. Who knows where my clothes and things ended up, and Shiloh isn’t in any condition to tell me, let alone he probably doesn’t remember. I could get up and find them myself, but like hell am I going to leave him here alone.
There’s a knock on the door, and I instinctively wrap an arm around Shiloh’s shoulders, but it’s just Corvin who inches it open and sighs when he sees us.
“I thought you were taking him home.”
“He got in a fight.”
Shiloh stirs but settles when I card my fingers through his curly strands of brown hair. “I’m just giving him a few minutes to rest.”
“Did he at least get a good shot at the bastard?”
“The ‘uck do you ‘are?” Shiloh grumbles, one eye open. “Go ‘way.” He clumsily gives Corvin the finger, but then groans and rises up to lean over the toilet again.
It’s silent other than the sound of Shiloh vomiting, and when he’s done wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he slumps into my side and doesn’t say another word.
I look over at Corvin, who has a heavy frown with his eyes trained on Shiloh.
“Are you ever going to tell me what went down between you two?”
Corvin may be the reason Shiloh can be out and feel mostly safe on campus, but ever since he woke up in that hospital bed, Shiloh’s had nothing but malice for our RA.
That hasn’t deterred Corvin in the slightest.
He disappears from the doorway and comes back a minute later with a bundle in his arms that he puts on the floor beside me.
Clothes. Wallet. Phone. Keys.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs. “Might need ‘em to get him back to the dorm. You want me to help?”
“Nah. Don’t worry about it.”
He’s doing something on his phone, but he nods his acknowledgement, and when he finishes up he gives us a last once-over.
“You know where to find me.” Then, he’s gone and it’s just Shiloh and I.
A couple of people try to use the can while I get dressed, and the lock on this thing is practically nonexistent, so once I have everything situated, I haul an unconscious Shiloh into my arms and kick the door open.
He’s not heavy in the traditional sense, but he sure as hell is dead weight, and there’s no way I can carry him like this all the way across campus, but for now I just hold tight until I get us outside. As soon as we hit the sidewalk, I prop him up against the fence and try to see if the cooling night air will help bring him around.
The yard is full of more party goers, but it’s not as populated, and the street itself is empty enough that I feel safe plopping down beside Shiloh and pulling him against me. We walked because both of us pregamed a smidge before the party, and I’m starting to regret not having a car to slip him into.
