“Tucking me in?” he asks, his lips curling up in a soft, adoring smile. Absolutely not. This is not happening. Thankfully, he slips between the covers, and I toss them over his body, hiding him from me.
It’s only then that I can breathe.
Caleb lets out a small moan of distress, and I peer down at him, his head peeking up beneath the covers, his hair messy, his eyes still fucking blue. They close, and he lets out a long exhale, like he’s trying not to die.
“You going to throw up?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine, man.”
I watch him closely, unsure if he’s telling the truth. The last thing I want to do is clean up his vomit, although that would probably cure whatever this nagging feeling is inside of me.
It would erase it completely.
“What?” Caleb says, his eyelid popping open to look at me. I realize I’m still hovering over him, like a ghost. A creepy one.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, needing an excuse for lingering.
“Believe me, man. I’ve been drinking since I was thirteen. I can handle a few beers.”
My eyebrows rise at that. “A few?”
“Fine, more than a few. I’ll be fine. Just go to sleep. There’s only so much scowling I can take from you.”
My lips turn down, and my eyebrows meet. “I don’t scowl.”
He groans as he murmurs, “You scowl.”
And then suddenly he flings the covers off him, exposing that chestand those thighs all over again. My heart thumps wildly as the sheets fall to the floor.
I stare at them because it’s that or at him.
“I’ll put them on the bed tomorrow,” he explains, but I don’t fucking care about the sheets. Well, maybe I do because I bend down and place them at the end of his bed. They’re in an unruly pile, and my fingers itch to fold them.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he murmurs. “Don’t fold my sheets. It’s unnatural.”
I purse my lips, my fingers flexing near my sides. “There’s nothing unnatural about folding sheets.”
He rolls to his side and holds his stomach. “You’re a freak.”
That hits me right in the chest, and I fold my arms across it protectively. I don’t need to hear those words. Not from him. I heard them enough growing up.
Caleb groans again and then gags slightly. “Ugh, I feel like shit all of a sudden.”
“You’re going to vomit, aren’t you?” I ask, his cruel words mostly forgotten.
“I never vomit,” he gasps and then leans over, and it spills from his mouth. I move before I can think, grabbing the trash can and thrusting it under his chin. Caleb moans in agony and unloads more of his stomach into it.
It smells vile. But I’m used to it. I’ve taken care of my mother enough times to put it out of sight and mind.
Caleb clutches the bin and heaves a little more before flopping back and glancing up at me.
I breathe through my mouth.
“Sorry, that’s never happened before,” he says, smiling sheepishly up at me.
I glance at the vomit-filled trash can in my hand and set it down with a sigh. I need to get the smell from this room, and then I need to get him showered. He’s currently lying in his mess, and it’s not a good look. And it can’t be comfortable either.
I wrench the window open and feel the cool breeze sweep in. Inhaling deeply, I smell the scent of grass and smoke from a bonfirefiltering in. Then I move toward Caleb, who is looking down at himself in disgust.
