Thoughtful(58)

I stared at my dresser, but it was much too far away, so I leaned over to grab my dirty shirt off the floor. I thought I was going to lose my stomach bending over, but that was nothing compared to straightening back up. My damp shirt clenched in my fingers, I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. I needed water. And coffee.

I pulled the fabric over my head; it was cold, and stuck to my body, making me shiver. I glanced at my jeans, but there was no way in hell I could get those back on. I was staying in my boxers, and my roommates would just have to deal with it. They had bigger issues than my outfit anyway. I wasn’t going to tell Denny anything, but I wondered if Kiera would. If she confessed, it would change things between Denny and me. He’d hate me. And he should hate me. I’d done exactly what he hadn’t wanted me to do. I’d just thought…I was sure Kiera…

It didn’t matter what I’d thought. Nothing mattered.

I slowly straightened. Each inch I moved brought a new ache, pain, or discomfort. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it downstairs, but what I needed was down there, so I had to try. Each step I took was slow and methodical. If I concentrated on my toes, everything else wasn’t so bad. I glanced at Denny and Kiera’s closed door, then returned my focus to my feet. My feet were all that existed right now. My feet would get me through the morning.

I shuffled to the kitchen, spied the table, and ached with the need to rest on it. Just for a minute. Just until the pain went away and my stomach settled. I carefully sat on a chair; I’d seen ninety-year-olds sit faster than I did, but there was a brief truce going on between my stomach and my head, and I didn’t want to disrupt the alliance by moving too fast.

When I was finally down, I hunched over the table, my head in my hands, and worked on breathing. In. Out. Repeat. Coffee was on my mind, but I didn’t want to move again. Not yet. Just a minute.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat at the table, taking long, careful breaths, but eventually Kiera stepped into the room. Perfect.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

Why was she shouting? “Yes,” I replied. I’m peachy.

“Coffee?” she asked.

I flinched, then nodded. Yes, please. Coffee was the whole reason I’d come down here.

She started making the pot, and I had to close my eyes. Everything she did was so loud. When she was done tormenting me, she asked, “How did you know Denny was back?”

I sank my head to the table and groaned. My brain was throbbing against my skull. Everything hurt. Even her question. How did I know? Because I heard you. I heard you having sex with him, right after having sex with me. “Saw his coat,” I mumbled.

“Oh.” I felt my heart drop. That’s all she has to say to me? “Oh”? Apparently it wasn’t, for she quickly added, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I snapped my eyes to hers. You fucked me, then my best friend. I love you. Nothing about this is okay, so quit fucking asking me that. “I’m fine,” I stated, my voice cold.

She seemed confused by my words and my actions. Was I really so confusing? She was the one who was hard to understand. She loved Denny, but she looked at me like I was something special. While she went about finishing the coffee, I thought about Bumbershoot. That day had been amazing. The way we’d held each other, the way she’d sought my comfort. It was almost like Denny hadn’t even existed. What had changed? Or was she using me even back then? No, she’d cared…the talks we’d had, the way she listened to my music, my lyrics, the way she’d pried into my soul. She had cared. Maybe she still did. Maybe she was torn, confused, overwhelmed. Maybe she was hurting, and I just wasn’t seeing it.

When the coffee was done, she grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. Heart in my hands, I risked a question that could lead to a really hard conversation. But maybe it was time we had a hard conversation. We’d never talked about us. We’d always ignored the things that had happened. I couldn’t ignore this though. I needed to know if I meant anything to her.

“Are you…okay?” I asked. It was a loaded question, a stupid question. I should have just manned up and asked her what I really wanted to know. What am I to you?

She gave me a bright, chipper smile. “Yes, I’m great.”

Her face, her words, they confirmed everything I’d already known. I didn’t mean a goddamn thing to her. I felt like I was going to be sick right here at the table. I laid my arms down and buried my head in them. She was great…and I wished I’d never been born. I could feel my eyes water, so I concentrated on my breathing. I was not about to give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain. My emotional pain, anyway. That was mine; she didn’t have a right to it.