My heart may have stopped completely.
I was sure I had made it home last night. I remembered vomiting in the garden bed outside my apartment. I vaguely remembered the blurry image of the front doors before everything went black. But it was clear I had never made it through the foyer of the apartment.
A sickening feeling settled into my stomach as broken memories rushed in faster; the stranger’s lips grazing mine, his hand between my legs, not touching but close. I wondered if he had, but I couldn’t remember. I lifted the sheet to look down at myself, clothed in what I wore to work last night. Then I remembered more, like when Dean had witnessed me throwing up.
Twice.
He had taken me home. I was in his room. In his bed. But he was nowhere in sight.
I slowly sat up, taking in the minimalistic style of the small room. The dark, wooden dresser opposite the bed matched the bedhead behind me, there was nothing on the walls except for an empty shelf above the bed, and a black rack for hanging clothes sat on the adjacent left wall beside the bedroom door.
Pulling back the sheets, I carefully swung my legs over the edge of the bed as if moving too fast might disturb the simple peacefulness of the room. This was Dean’s space, and I felt like I was intruding or seeing too much, even when there was nothing much else to see. Apart from the basics, his room was a clean slate, lacking any indication of his life outside The Den’s basement.
Technically, he had already seen my room, so I guess we were even in that department.
What department? The department of acquaintances?
The mirror on the back of the bedroom door let me know I looked as bad as I felt. My hair hung messily to my shoulders, having lost my hair tie, and my face just looked pale and drawn. I rubbed at it, pulled my fingers through my hair until I teased out the knots, then looked down. My sneakers were on the floor by my feet. I slipped them on, muscles aching. On the nightstand, beside an industrial-style lamp, sat my bag, a glass of water, and an aspirin. I hesitated before I picked up the glass, remembering how easy it was for that man to spike my drink, but my mouth was so dry, and my head was pounding.
Once the water touched my lips, I didn’t stop gulping it down until the glass was empty and the aspirin was gone. I tied my laces next, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door, flattening out my bed hair as I went.
Walking cautiously and quietly out of the room, I stepped out to the end of a hallway and found a folded-up wheelchair leaning against the wall outside the door. Slightly confused, I turned left, passing a bathroom modified to be wheelchair friendly. I wondered if I was still dreaming until I came across a collection of photographs on the wall.
The first was of a chubby baby laughing at the camera, the second of a beautiful young woman twirling on a stage in a long bright red dress, and the next was the two of them together. The boy looked about five years old and laughed as the woman gave him a piggyback ride. His arms spread out like he was a plane while his dark hair blew back from his face. There was another picture with the boy, slightly older, dressed as a police officer for Halloween. His hat was too big, and he carried a pumpkin bucket full of candy in his hands as he poked his tongue out. Next to that was one with the woman again with the boy in his mid-teens. While he was half smiling with his arm in a sling, the woman made bunny ears behind his head as she grinned. But she looked tired.
The boy was Dean. A less serious version of him with his mother. He had inherited her eyes and smile along with her black, wavy hair and golden-brown skin.
I walked further down the hallway and found a cozy, neatly cluttered lounge room at the end, with the front door on my left. The couch appeared to have been used recently, with a blanket tossed over the cushions. In the back of the house was a kitchen where a radio played quietly and two people spoke softly. Unseen in an area to the right of the kitchen.
For a moment, I considered sneaking out of this quaint home. I didn’t want to intrude on their conversation. But I also couldn’t leave without expressing my gratitude for what Dean had done last night. He had gone out of his way to help me.
I kept my footsteps quiet as I walked towards the kitchen, listening closely to the voices in the other half of the room. Not that I could recognize a single word. They were speaking fluent Italian.
When the back room came into view (a small space full of natural light coming from the back windows), I found Dean sitting at a small, round dining table. His black hair was tousled in dark, damp waves, suggesting he had just stepped out of the shower, and he wore jeans and a gray T-shirt. Beside him was the woman from the photographs. Apart from the fact she was sitting in a wheelchair, she hadn’t changed much.
The second they noticed me step awkwardly into the kitchen, pulling at the hem of my shorts, his mother smiled warmly, causing her blue eyes to wrinkle around the edges.
“Lily,” she said sweetly. Her Italian accent filled every part of my name.
“Hi,” I said quietly. My eyes shifted to Dean and his guarded demeanor.
He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, brushing a hand through his hair as he avoided eye contact. “This is my mother. Sofia.”
“Come. Sit, Lily.” Sofia waved for me to come closer. “You must be hungry, yes?”
“Oh, it’s okay. I really should be going,” I politely declined as I took a small step back. “I just wanted to thank Dean for helping me last night.”
Dean looked up from the tablecloth. His expression was a little softer as he nodded. “You’re welcome.”
Sofia tutted and shook her head. “You should still eat something. Dean will make you breakfast.”
Dean lifted a brow at his mother, who began poking his bicep to get him to move. He didn’t.
I clutched at my bag strap, ignoring that my stomach rumbled. “It really isn’t necessary—”
“Nonsense. Come sit,” Sofia said matter-of-factly, leaning forward in her wheelchair to push Dean’s arm off the table.
Dean rolled his eyes before he moved around to stand behind his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching a little as he looked at his mother.
