“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks.
“Honestly? Me in the bathroom making friends.”
“You—made friends in a bathroom?”
“You wouldn’t get it.” I shake my head, then immediately wince at the pain. “It’s girl code.”
“Okay. Long story short, you were being stubborn, and I had to drag you out of the club. Then we shared a ride and went to my house first, by accident, then you got out of the car and.” He gestures with his hand around the room. “Here we are.”
“How did I get in your bed? Did you sleep in the bed?” I ask in a panic and wince at the pain from sitting up too quickly.
“No,” he blurts and shakes his head. “I slept on the couch.”
Why is there a tiny part of me that wishes he were in bed with me? Not in a sexual way, but I don’t know. Comfort? Protection?
“Oh, okay.”
Another beat of silence greets us.
“I like the color of your walls.” The sun shining through the window irritates my eyes.
“Yeah?” A look of satisfaction comes across his face. “Thanks. It took me forever to decide what color I wanted.”
“Really?”
A deep laugh rumbles out from him. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I couldn’t decide between five colors, and they weren’t even in the same color palette.”
If I say any more words, I might vomit. Instead, I gesture for him to keep talking.
“Would you judge me if I said blue?”
I take a deep breath to push down the nausea before asking, “What type of blue?”
“Baby blue? Like the sky.”
“That would be a good color for a nursery maybe? I don’t think about the living space, though.”
He laughs at himself and agrees with a nod. “Yeah, Ellie had to talk me out of it.”
“Well, good thing you asked for her opinion.”
“I didn’t. She came with me to pick out colors, and I grabbed a swatch, and she snatched it from me to put it back.”
I let out a laugh, tipping my head back, and I probably resemble the photo of a teenage me in August’s room. The moment I do that; I regret it and hold my head in my hand.
“Ow. My head is killing me.”
“I can get you something for it if you want?”
“It’s okay. I’ll just drink more of this.” I swish the bottle around. The pressure in my head becomes worse after laughing, the pain goes straight to my stomach, and the nausea hits me all over again.
“Is it hot in here?” I ask, fanning my face.
August scrunches his eyebrows. “The heat’s off. Are you okay?” He starts to move, getting up from the couch, but a heat wave hits me.
“August, where’s the closest bathroom?” Acid creeps up my throat, and saliva builds in my mouth.
The worst thing is knowing I’m about to throw up and trying to fight it off instead of accepting it. But that’s what I do best. I fight through things that I need to let go of.
