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“Ahem,” I clear my throat. “Come in,” I call out as I struggle to sit upright. I didn’t drink that much last night. Did I? I yank the covers to my chin as the door to my bedroom swings open to Kyson grinning at me.
“Drink this. Take this.” He tucks two painkillers into my palm while handing me a glass of what I hope is plain orange juice.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly noon. My mother sent me up to do a welfare check. She has the day off and thought the two of you could have some girl time. Her words, not mine.”
“Girl time?”
“I can tell her you’re not up for it, but then she may have questions about what we were doing out so late last night. You also may want to get a new cell phone.” He hands me my very cracked, very destroyed phone.
The sight of my yellow iPhone is enough to bring me to tears even though all my important photos are backed up to the cloud. It was one of the last things my father bought me. He was proud that he had been able to afford it. He earned decent money. Enough that we never went hungry, but being a single father wasn’t easy on him.
“What?” Kyson stares at me as I battle against my sadness.
“Nothing.” I sniffle. “Shit. Matt,” I say on a groan.
“You’re still thinking about him,” his tone drips with acid.
My fingers go to my lips, remembering what we were doing last night in that church. In the morning light, the guilt nearly flames me alive.
Kyson’s lips slowly tip up, showing he knows that Matt isn’t all I’m thinking of.
I consume the painkillers and throw the blanket back, not realizing I am only in my underwear and his borrowed shirt.
His gaze lingers on my legs.
“Stop perving and get out.”
He runs a palm up my thigh. “Make me.”
I open my mouth to yell at him, but footsteps on the stairs have him walking away.
I close the door, careful not to slam it in the fashion I imagine doing. The heat of his touch lingers, and I try to shake away the urge to call him back to touch me again. I grab my laptop out of my backpack and hope that I can get ahold of Matt to explain. Before I start to message him, I need to come up with my story. Another lie. I seem to be doing a lot of that since I arrived here.
I return to the bed and sit cross-legged, balancing my computer on my lap. Logging in, I already sense that this conversation with Matt is going to suck.
The first post at the top of my feed is of him tagging me, asking if anyone can reach me. I’m a terrible girlfriend. I should have messaged him first thing when we got in last night but after Kyson’s buddies showed up at the church, I got suckered into hanging out and listening to them bitch about not getting laid and how there’s nothing to do but get shitfaced. I sipped on my drink, trying to dull the desire to drag Kyson to his car to make out some more.
Thinking about it now has me tingling in places it shouldn’t.
Then I got sick, and Kyson had to hold my hair while I puked and his buddies laughed at me for being a lightweight. But last night I slept. I don’t recall waking up at all.
I open our last chat.
I’m alive. I’m sorry. I dropped my phone, and some dude stepped on it. Totally destroyed. Going with Uncle John’s wife soon to get a replacement.
Who was answering your phone?
Just some dumb guy from school. He thought he was being funny. I don’t even know his name.
Glad to hear you’re alive.
Don’t be mad at me, Matt. I didn’t mean to worry you.
Well, you did. I left the bar early because I felt bad about blowing you off. I thought we could talk. Was up all night worried to death something had happened to you. But it’s whatever. I gotta go.
I don’t want to fight. I’ll call you as soon as I have my new phone set up.
