He finds my arm under the blanket, and his fingers trace lightly down past my elbow. Then he slips his hand under mine and presses his body up against me. His lips brush along my neck.
“Is this okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He kisses me again and then settles down, still holding me. “I’ll be here as long as you need. Okay?”
I can’t respond this time, even though that’s exactly what I needed to hear. Instead, I press my hand against his and snuggle back into him. He hums contentedly. I love that sound.
I fall asleep not long after, comfortable and warm.
Isleepforafew more hours, and after I wake up, Alex coaxes me out of the bedroom to play some video games downstairs. His mom makes breakfast for dinner, complete with pancakes, scrambled eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, and a bunch of fruit. It’s way too much food for the three of us, but, as she cheerfully reminds us, that means leftovers for tomorrow.
After dinner, Alex and I settle back on the couch to watch a movie, and his mom disappears into the garage to get started on a new commission.
As usual, Alex picks some bloody, violent horror film—this time one that came out earlier in the year, a sequel to a movie he made me watch last year. I don’t object. It’s almost funny to me, actually, since his odd love of horror films is pretty much opposite his personality. And anytime whatever’s on the TV is too much, I get to bury my head against his chest, and he holds me. So it’s all worth it anyway.
When the movie’s over, it’s almost midnight. His mom is still working in the garage, and he goes out to check on her while I head upstairs to shower and get ready for bed.
I’m surprised at how stiff I am as I undress in the bathroom, and the water’s just hot enough to start fogging up the mirror bythe time I’ve carefully peeled off my T-shirt, so I can’t see how bad my back looks. I can, however, see the redness and swelling in my left shoulder. And it doesn’t look good.
My stomach sinks as I touch the tender skin, testing out where it’s sore. The answer is all over, and when I hit a particularly bad spot, pain shoots down into my fingers and across my chest. It’s gotten worse since last night, which isn’t good. What bothers me more, though, is that I don’t know what to do about it. Should I go to the doctor or wait it out? And, if I do end up needing to go to the doctor, how the hell will I pay for it?
“Fuck,” I hiss, both at the pain as I find another tender spot and at the fact that I don’t know if I have health insurance right now. I don’t know how any of that shit works. And I should be finding out. Another thing to add to my long list of to-dos.
I shake my head and step into the shower, adjusting the water temperature down a little. I wash as quickly as I can, given that using my arm at all hurts like hell, and when I’m done, I dry myself off, get dressed in sleep shorts and a clean, loose T-shirt, and brush my teeth. Then I pause, staring at the hazy figure in the fogged-up mirror.
I should probably see how bad it is. Even if it’s just so that I know how it’ll look to Alex.
Frowning, I reach forward with my good arm and wipe away the condensation on the mirror. Then I pull my shirt off again, turn around, and look back at myself over my shoulder. Large black-and-purple splotches cover much of my mid-back, right where I remember hitting the wall. Hell. It does look bad. No wonder Alex was upset when he saw it.
He was right to suggest I take medicine and ice it. And if he knew about my shoulder, I’m sure he’d have insisted even more.
With a shudder, I wonder what my mom would say if I told her—or if Ishowedher. Maybe she’d believe me... until Patrickcomes in with his fucking lies and tells her some awful alternate-reality version where I somehow attacked him first.
The thought makes me sick, and I quickly slip my shirt back on and push open the bathroom door. The hallway is mostly dark, but the lights from downstairs give me plenty to see by. I cross over to Alex’s bedroom and push open the door about halfway. Alex is working on his computer at his desk, and he looks up at me, grinning, as I step inside.
“What?” I ask, closing the door behind me. His eyes are bright and curious, and he starts to open his mouth to talk when I hold up my hand. “Hang on. This is about space or gravity or black holes or something nerdy, right?”
He snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I just checked my email, and Dr. Ellis sent me this article—”
I try not to groan out loud, but I fail miserably. He laughs again as I reach over and take his hand, tugging gently. “Can you tell me about it while we cuddle in bed? I’m tired.”
His grin softens. “Yeah, of course.” He shuts his laptop as he stands up, then he squeezes my hand. “Let me just go brush my teeth and stuff. Five minutes, ’kay?”
At my nod, he leans in and kisses my cheek. Then he grabs a change of clothes and takes off out of the room, leaving me alone. I glance at his computer and then up at his corkboard, where his Stanford acceptance letter hangs proudly.
There’s a tightness in my chest, and I realize I’m holding my breath. I turn away and head over to the bed, forcing a long exhale. And I sit and wait for him. My heart’s now racing, and I’m not sure why.
Maybe the reminder that he’s leaving. Or... orwe’releaving.We’releaving, and I still don’t have a plan for how I’m going to make that work. A job. A budget. A... vehicle.
Fuck.
Alex pushes the door open then, smiling, and he turns around, closing it softly. “My mom’s still working, but I think she’ll be up soon, so, uh, you know, we’ll need to be quiet if—” He faces me and pauses. “What’s wrong?”
I almost laugh at how easily he can read me. And I love his assumption that we’ll need to be careful to stay quiet. But instead of laughing, I blurt out, “What’s the public transportation like in Palo Alto? A-and nearby?” Then I drop my eyes to my hands and shake my head. “Do they have buses or trains or something?”
“Um, I... think so?” He pads across the room toward me and sits next to me, then rests his hands on top of mine in my lap. “Why?”
