Page 142 of Maybe You

“Not a chance.”

“Why are you so freakishly strong?” I pant as my grip on the headboard loosens, slowly but surely.

“I work out,” Jordan says.

“It was a rhetorical question.” My fingers lose the battle, and I find myself unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

I push my hair out of my face and send Jordan a look filled with loathing.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?”

Instead of replying, he leans closer to me and sniffs pointedly before he straightens up.

“Oh. It is you. I was starting to suspect there was a dead raccoon in the vents.”

“Fuck you,” I say. “Just leave me alone. I’m tired, and I want to go back to bed.”

“I’d say a shower should be your first priority.”

I glare at him some more, but he seems totally unfazed.

I’d argue, but it’s Jordan. He’s not going to give up until he’s gotten his way, so I either do this now or spend the next hour battling it out with him. I stand up.

“I hope you step on a Lego,” I say with a scowl. I’m tempted to stomp my foot.

“That’s just mean.” Jordan grins before he grabs my shoulders, turns me around, and starts marching me toward the bathroom.

“I can walk!” I say, trying to wriggle out of his hold, but that only makes him grip my shoulders tighter and push me even more firmly.

“Quit it!” I snap. “Oh my God! Are those fingers or pliers? Let go of me!”

Jordan plants his foot on the bathroom door and pushes it open before he gives me a firm shove, and I stumble inside.

He flicks on the lights and goes and turns the water on.

I cross my arms over my chest.

“Are you going to undress me, too?”

“A, I don’t swing that way. B, I have a son with your sister, so you and me getting it on would be skirting a bit too close to incest for my comfort. And C, you smell. And I have standards. That was D.”

I point at the door. “Out.”

“I’ll get you some clean clothes and strip your bed,” he says as he walks out of the bathroom.

My eyes accidentally wander over to the mirror, and I make a face at the reflection. I look exhausted. Dark circles, puffy eyes, the whole deal. And since I’m already on the path to making myself feel worse, I lift my arm and sniff.

It’s not as bad as Jordan made it out to be, but it’s nowhere near good. I sigh and take my clothes off. I’m not sure if it’s just in my head, but my scars seem extra stark today. Whenever I move, it feels like somebody’s pulling at my skin.

I give up and get under the water. It’s a bit too hot, but I don’t have the energy to fix that right now. Instead, I lean my hands against the tile walls, lower my head, and let the hot water beat against my neck and my back.

It’s been ten days since that whole mess with Sutton. Ten pathetic, lonely days. Turns out I do not deal with heartbreak well at all. The only thing I’ve managed to accomplish is dragging myself to work every day, but otherwise, I’ve been crawling into my bed every chance I get and hiding from the rest of the world.

On good days, I fall asleep, eventually. On all the other ones, I stare at the ceiling or the wall or the window, willing myself to sleep, but in reality just reliving those moments in Sutton’s apartment and outside the pool, where everything fell apart and Sutton walked away from me.

I feel like a zombie.

The ache in my chest has been there for so many weeks now that I’m beginning to think it’s my new normal. That it will just never stop or fully go away. That it’s a part of me now. Maybe that’s how it works. All the aches and pains life doles out just settle, and you become used to them. You adapt.

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