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Oh hell no.
I’m across the room in a flash, ripping Kota’s phone out of her hands and stamping the red End button with my thumb.
“What are you calling him for?”
All snuggled in my hoodie, she blinks up at me. “You left me.”
Opening my mouth to argue, I realize that’s exactly what I was planning to do. So instead, I tell her, “I’m sorry.” Not just for now, but for later, too. I will have to leave.
I just have to make sure Kota’s fine before I do. Judging by the black smudges under her eyes that are also, somehow, trickling down her cheeks, shit took a turn in the last several minutes. Girl didn’t even look this bad after violently emptying her stomach of its contents.
“What happened, Silver? Why is your makeup all over?” I put her phone face down on her nightstand.
“I washed my face.”
“You missed a couple spots,” I manage to say without laughing.
“Where?”
I point…basically everywhere.
When she attempts to sit up, she grips her bedding like she’s trying to steady herself.
“I got this,” I tell her, then guide her back down.
“You’re going to wash my face?”
“Yes.” I wash my own every day. Twice a day technically. It can’t be that hard doing it on someone else. In bed. With no sink. Or faucet.
On second thought…
“Would it be better if I carry you in there instead?”
“It’d be better if the room stopped spinning.”
“Forget it. I’ll do it.”
“No, I can do it. I just need the pink rag.”
Easy enough.
After I locate the pink—unusually long—rag from one of her drawers, I hand it to her.
“What is this?”
I’m pretty fucking sure her eyes are working but I tell her anyway. “Your pink rag.”
“It’s dry.”
“You need it wet?”
Her silence accompanied by rapid blinking makes me feel like a moron.
“Right.”
I wet it and return.
“Ah!” Kota fake-screams and throws the dripping rag at me.
