I just want to disappear.
THIRTY
My eyes snap open.
HE’S HERE.
The thought slams against the inside of my head with enough force to bring tears to my eyes. Or maybe that’s just the hangover and dehydration. I’m sweating and nauseous, and I stumble out of bed and into the shower. I stand under the ice-cold stream until I’m shivering. The freezing temperature helps a little.
HE’S HERE.
I sink to the floor of the tub and wrap my arms around my legs, letting the icy water run down my back. I’m more than embarrassed about last night. I’m mortified. What will they think of the freshman now?
She can’t hold her liquor.
It’s a cry for attention.
Why did you bring her here, Wes?
Out of all the girls…
I want to crawl down the drain, drown myself in the bathtub, throw myself off the roof of this stunning, beachside mansion. Anything to get away from it all. Anything to not exist.
A knock sounds against the bathroom door.
“Ives?” I don’t answer. “Ivy?” I still don’t answer. The door handle jiggles, but I locked it. I’m grateful I did. I don’t want Wes to see me like this. “Are you okay in there?”
“I’m fine,” I croak. It will take days for my throat to heal.
His voice is muffled through the door. “Some of the guys want to go surfing, but I can stay if you need me. It’s no big deal.”
“Go,” I tell him.
No response for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“Go,” I say again. He doesn’t respond. I can sense his guilt through the door, but it’s nowhere near as potent as my own. “Go. I’m just going to sleep all day.”
“Okay,” he finally says. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I left you Advil and Gatorade, and there’s a box of crackers on the nightstand. I’ll check my phone every hour in case you need me, okay?”
“Thank you,” I call.
“Remember to hydrate, okay?”
“I will.”
Silence as he hesitates at the door, and then his footsteps retreat, and he’s gone.
I stay under the water until my bones freeze and my lips turn blue. Only then do I drag myself out of the shower and into a towel. Trying not to gag, I do a violent brush of my teeth and an aggressive rinse with mouthwash, and then I leave my hair wet and tangled as I stumble back to bed.
For the next few hours, I alternate between sleeping, crying, and wishing I’d never come on this trip at all. When I come to around noon, I push up into a seated position and throw back the painkillers. Then I force myself to drink the Gatorade Wes left me and nibble some crackers. Slowly, so my stomach can adjust to the idea of food.
Even though it hurts my head to look at my phone screen, I do, swiping open an unread message from Wes.
Wes:Just checking in. How are you feeling, Ives?
I type out one word, tears pricking my eyes again. I force them back because I’m already too dehydrated. I can’t keep crying or my head might literally explode.
Me:Embarrassed.
