“Tell him you’re in pain,”she teases.“Tell him you need him to make you feel better.”
“You want anything to eat?” I ask Tristan for the third time, keeping my gaze on the TV. All the lights are on, the flat bright against the dark sky just outside the wall of windows.
“No,” he replies for the third time.
So much for trying to be hospitable.
“You need me to get you something?” Tristan asks.
I shake my head.
“Don’t bullshit me, Matheson.”
The group ofLove Islandcontestants cheer. It’s too bright and noisy, but I keep watching, ignoring the tension headache I’ve been fighting for the past hour.
Tristan props his elbows on his knees, leaning forward in his seat. It’s too much, his gaze. I don’t know what he wants me to say.
“He just wants to help,”Sammie’s ghost says.
“I don’t need help,”I silently reply and then ask aloud, “You ever see those videos of slime?”
Tristan’s eyes narrow.
I should keep my mouth shut. But my body is overloaded. My spine presses into the back of the couch. I can’t catch my breath. It’s all shallow inhales as pins and needles course down my chest.
Instead of focusing on my breathing or asking for some paracetamol, I do what I always do—make a fool of myself.
Holding myself tighter, my lips twist as I chew on them. “You know slime? There’s all these videos on TikTok. You can make them look pretty and they smell good. People play with them for relaxation and stuff.”
Social awkwardness hates to see me coming.
“You ever seen them? Slime videos,” I ask.
“No.”
“Oh.”
I ordered some a couple of days ago. Ren never mentioned him sorting through her post, but I should probably intercept the package so he doesn’t see it. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure grown women are supposed to be buying slime on the internet.
The group chat lights up, offering me a lifeline. It’s much cooler to be texting than sitting around discussing the merits of slime.
Lennie: Isolde, are you okay?
I thumbs up her message. A full two minutes go by before someone else chimes in.
Abe: holy shit, you’re not okay.
I frown, not understanding why he’d think that. Jostling my arm slightly, I reread Lennie’s message.
Abe: See!!!
I really don’t.
Abe: Isolde Matheson does not simply like a message and leave it at that. Where is our paragraph of randomness? What has happened since I saw you last? I want a play-by-play of what it’s been like the past two hours with Mr. Hunk of a Man.
My fingers tap against the side of my phone.
Trevino doesn’t move an inch. Other than the few weird glances my way, he’s not moved all night. The moment he sat down, he took up a stoic position.
