I swallow down the panic that starts creeping up my throat when I think about my jobs and what this is going to mean for them, forcing myself to keep scrolling.
My last text with Zach was almost a week ago, when he asked me if we had toilet paper. If he and DeeDee were in town, I’d have the answers to at least some of my problems. I’ve already let them farther into my life than most other people—-purely out of proximity. I could handle a few days of assistance until my shoulder calms down.
But again, they aren’t here.
I try not to look at the date on my last text with my dad, but I see it anyway. Nearly three months ago. He was asking me about coming home to visit, and I shut it down in just a couple sentences. I don’t have a conversation thread with my mom. She texts me once in a while, but I don’t like keeping it on my phone.
That’s the end of my messages. I click over to my contacts list and scroll through it. The biggest wave of pain I’ve felt all day hits when I see Isabella’s number. I don’t even know if my little sister uses that number anymore, but I can never bring myself to delete it.
The tears threaten to fall again, but I take a deep breath and hold them in. Youssef will be back soon, and I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. He can’t stay in this apartment until I’m mobile enough to take care of myself again.
I don’twanthim in this apartment. I don’t want him looking at my stuff and doing things for me and feeling like he knows me.
Having him here makes it too hard to remember he doesn’t. I’m supposed to be reminding myself that there’s nothing between us, no future or friendship or addendum to the past. Our ‘deal’ was supposed to be about letting him go, not pulling him closer.
It definitely was not supposed to involve him helping me do things like change my clothes and get in the shower.
My face gets hot as I remember talking about him to the nurses again. That’s one of the biggest problems here: heissexy. Too sexy. Distractingly sexy. He has no fucking right to be that sexy.
The way he grabbed my face earlier sent a thrill through my whole body. If he’d stayed that close for a second longer, I would have parted my lips for him. I would have leaned in and waited to taste him.
I’m squeezing my thighs together on the couch just thinking about it.
In an effort to demonstrate my self-control to my own brain, I grit my teeth and get up off the couch, heading to the kitchen. The mouthwash made me realize just how parched my throat is, and I’m not going to sit around waiting for someone to help me get a damn glass of water.
I take a few careful steps over to our tiny kitchen and then stare up at the cupboard where we keep our glasses.
“Ðu má. This is gonna hurt.”
My first attempt to raise my left arm above my head fails completely. I don’t know how exactly my left shoulder is connected to my right one, but I fucking feel it. I drop my arm to my side and gasp while staring into the sink, fighting back the nausea that has me on the verge of bending my head over the basin to puke.
The second try is a little better. I don’t make it all the way up, but I have a better handle on how to move without upsetting my other shoulder now.
A few more tries and I’ve got the cupboard open. Getting a glass takes a bit more work. I stand on my tiptoes so I don’t have to stretch my arm as much and fumble around the lowest shelf.
“Why the hell are they so far back?”
My arm is shrieking for me to stop, but I keep pushing. I touch the side of a glass and do a swatting motion to bring it closer. That works a little too well. The glass tumbles over the edge of the shelf, partially smashes on the counter, and then bounces to completely shatter on the floor. My arm, meanwhile, goes haywire, and this time I really do start retching into the sink, dry heaving and gagging when nothing comes up from my empty stomach.
Of course, that’s when Youssef decides to walk back in.
“I got the—Holy fuck! Paige!”
“Glass,” I wheeze, lifting my head just in time to save him from stepping on the mess of shards and fragments.
He looks from the floor to the sink and back to me. “What the hell did you do?”
“I was trying to get some water.”
He shakes his head. “Paige, you’re kind of an idiot. You know that?”
I glare, but once again, my go-to withering expression has no effect on him.
“You’ve got to stop dropping glasses around me.” A smirk curls his lip. “I know I’m sexy, but it’s just not safe.”
I point at the glass on the floor. “I told you. I will cut you.”
“Okay there, tiger.”
I glance at the pharmacy bag in his hand. I could really use some heavy duty painkillers right about now.
“Thanks for getting them. You can leave them in the bathroom. I’ll be fi—”
“Paige.” He throws his hands up in the air, and the pills make a click-click sound as they shake in their bottles. “I’m going to help you, okay? I challenged you to spend more time with me, and it looks like the universe complied, so you might as well too. You really don’t have much of a choice.”
Again, he has a point. Again, that doesn’t mean I like it.
