“Yeah, but in a different way. Dude, I can’t have paps getting in his face like they do you and me. That picture’s a joke to you cos it’s not real, but if that was him, it’d be his whole fucking life flayed open. I can’t subject him to that.”
Freddie sighed. “Valid, but you don’t get to choose what he’s subjected to. He’s a grown man. And he’s far from naïve, at least I thought he was until I saw his face yesterday. Fuck, I guess there are no right answers.”
“I’m tired of being an angsty weirdo.”
“Then stop.”
If only it were that easy. I let Freddie go and stayed on the floor with my eyes closed, fighting every morbid thought that crossed my mind. The muscle relaxants made it easier than usual. My body melded with the carpet. The floorboards became my bones, and before long, I was sinking like that dude inTrainspotting.
* * *
Sam
“Micah.Wakeup.” I shook him, panic rearing up in my throat. Logic told me he was sleeping, but with his pale skin and slack limbs, he was scaring the hell out of me. Besides, why the fuck would he be shirtless and passed out on the living room floor?
I could think of no reasonable answer. I shook him again, worst-case scenarios having a rave in my imagination, but this time he stirred. His wide, brown eyes blinked open, and as the haze cleared, he smiled, and my world came back together. “What on earth are you doing half-naked down here?”
Micah sat up on his elbows. “Taking a nap.”
“I can see that, but why?”
“Crappy leg day. I was too hot, and I couldn’t get comfortable.”
“Oh.” The most irrational worries drained from me and I sat back on my heels. “Does your leg still hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re admitting it in real time? Wow. It must be bad.”
“Nah, I just remember what happened last time I didn’t tell you.”
Micah’s tongue stumbled over the words. I took in his hazy eyes and loose jaw. “What did you take?”
“Muscle-relaxy things.”
“Relaxy things?”
“Yup. Says so on the box.”
Déjà vu hit me. He looked exactly the same as he had that awful day I’d accused him of going on a coke binge. When I’d perfected the art of being a Grade A judgemental arsehole and a terrible friend.That’s not happening again. Ever.
I helped him sit up and considered our options. Couching it with Netflix was appealing, but if Micah fell asleep again, I didn’t want to disturb him to hustle him to bed. Of course I could leave him to sleep in peace, but unless we were sharing a goddamn bed, that wasn’t happening. “Can you stand?”
“Huh? Why? Where are we going?”
“My room. We can watch TV and order Chinese.”
“You don’t like Chinese.”
“No, I don’t like all that steamed green crap you order. I like fried chicken balls and sweet and sour sauce.”
“That’s not Chinese food. That’s gunk they feed the English.”
“What’s your point?”
“Can’t remember.”
I stood and brought Micah upright with me. He seemed surprised by the turn of events but didn’t protest as we moved slowly to my bedroom. His legs—plural—weren’t working. I half carried him to my bed and eased him down. “Wow. Those meds did a number on you.”
