I should eat. That’s probably my issue.
I drag myself up onto my feet, and the world spins slightly. No wonder, after how long I was sitting for and knowing I haven’t eaten in a while. I shuffle my feet slowly across the floor, not wanting to lose my balance but mindful not to trip, and take it as a small victory when I reach the small kitchen counter. This was good.
I’ve got a bunch of stuff to make something good. The doctors have all been recommending I go with high protein, low sodium, lots of fresh food. But that all takes time to prepare, and I really just need to eat something, so I pull a loaf of white bread and a pack of American cheese out of the fridge.
A knock on my door has me freezing. I don’t want to deal with whoever’s there.
I go still, hoping that they’ll go away.
I fold up a piece of bread and cram it in my mouth.
There’s another knock as I’m swallowing the lump of flavorless carbs.
I move even more slowly with a piece of cheese. I could just eat my entire sandwich like this, and they’ll never know.
“Tilly, are you in there?” I don’t recognize the voice immediately, not muffled through the door. My ears feel a bit sloshy, too. But then they add, “Gabe’s worried about you. Or Joss or . . . fuck, I don’t know. But I’m going to break down the door if you don’t open.”
Blaise.Joss was complaining the other day that she was worried Blaise would get lonely while everyone else was onvacation, and I smiled and nodded like I didn’t think he was a psychopath.
She even commented on how wonderful he is and how she’s glad Gabe has such a good friend. I’ve half convinced myself he doesn’t hate me and the party was just a bad night for him.
But the way he threatens me through the door, the tone he uses, the anger in it, confirms that he really does hate me and he’s never been so put out in his life.
“Give me a minute!” I yell back, hustling into my bathroom and grabbing a wig from one of the mannequins, going for the shoulder-length purple one that’s sleek and low-fuss. I toss it on — giving myself more of the spins — and hoof back to the door.
“What the hell are you doing in there?” Blaise yells as I throw the top lock and then the middle, working my way down, his voice pissing me off with every stage until I’m finally twisting the knob and opening the door just enough that I can look out at him. “Fuck, Tilly, if you didn’t live in such a shit hole, you wouldn’t need so—”
His words fall short, making me think that he had no trouble looking over my head and into my apartment. I attempt to close the door, but he uses a giant, pristine Air Jordan to keep it open.
His eyes are right on me when I crane my neck to look up at him.
It’s frustrating how hot he is, especially because he’s in a hoodie and sweatpants, clearly having put zero effort into his fit today. He just has the sort of eyes that smolder and a body you want to touch to see if it’s real. Even buried under clothes, he looks superhuman. “What are you doing here?” I ask, but the irritation in my brain sounds more like wonderment whenit passes through my lips, like I’m in awe of him standing here on my doorstep.
My shitty doorstep.
He’s silent for an awkward second, and I debate attempting to kick his foot out of the way. He towers above me, and I’m in slippers, so I have a feeling I’ll lose. Scuff up his fancy sneakers, too. Piss him off even more.
“Taking you to the hospital,” he finally replies, his voice dry and raspy.
Sexy.
I shake my head as much to tell him no as to clear my thoughts. “Oh, no. I told Joss I’m fine. Sorry, she gets panicky.”
Blaise tilts his head to the side. I see his irritation plain as day in his scowl, so I’m expecting him to yell at me about wasting his time — even though it wasn’t even a little my fault — and storming off in a fashionable pout.
I’m bristling before he says anything, and I’m so prepared for him to be angry that I flinch when he reaches for me.
He drops his hand, only to straighten up to his full, impressive height, easily a foot above me. I was surrounded by giants at the party last weekend, but most of them were big in all directions. The last time I was so close to someone so tall and sinewy was John, the mystery man.
But John was nice. He was fun and playful. There was nothing intimidating about him at all.
Blaise snatches my arm and says, “No, you need to go to the hospital. Now.”
“I’m an adult!” I huff, wanting to fight back, but honestly, I’m exhausted. And hot. And dizzy. “I can make decisions for myself.”
“But you’re not making them for that baby,” he snarls, not making any sense. He scoops me right off my feet and starts stomping down the stairs.
And I find I have no fight inme at all.
