Page 24 of Waking Olivia

I sit up, blinking at the bright sunlight, at the unfamiliar room. The first thing I see is Will. For a fraction of a moment I see something on his face I haven’t seen before, something that isn’t disdain or even concern, and then he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Jesus, Olivia," he groans. "Cover up."

Oh God. I look down and then look over the bed, where at some point in the night I flung my tank. This is getting worse and worse.

I yank the sheet up, but he's already turned away and leaving the room.

"Where am I?" I ask.

"I'll talk to you when your clothes are on," he rasps, his voice sounding a little strangled.

I don't mind getting naked. I'll strip down in front of almost anyone. But nothim. My tank is still the tiniest bit damp, and I shiver as I slide it over my head. I must have run and, par for the course, stripped it off at some point. But how exactly did I end up stripping it offhere? And why don’t I remember any of it?

When I walk out, he's in the kitchen pouring coffee, his shoulders rigid as if he’s angry. He seems to be making a point of not looking over at me. "Where am I?" I ask.

"My apartment," he replies. He glances up as he hands me a cup of coffee, and then storms out of the room.

I've clearly done something terrible. I try to recall the evening before. Large quantities of alcohol would explain both why I was here and why I stripped off my clothes, but I don't remember anything.

He returns, handing me a T-shirt, again without looking at me. "Put that on," he says. "You're practically naked."

I look down. Between the fit and the dampness of the shirt, I guess it doesn't leave much to the imagination. There is only one logical explanation for why I'd be in his apartment with no memory of it. "Why am I here?" I ask. "Did we...?"

"No," he gapes, with an insulting mix of shock and disgust. "Of course we didn't."

"You don't need to act like it's so repulsive," I snap. "You could do a lot worse than me."

"You don’t remember anything?"

I scowl. "Isn't that somewhat obvious?"

"I caught you trying to run from your apartment. You were asleep or ... I don't know what you were. I stopped you and you just kind of passed out."

I close my eyes and feel dread wash over me. I'd prefer that he'd seen me drunk. The running episodes are a mystery to me. I'm scared of who I am in those nightmares, and I'm scared of who I am when I'm running away from them.

"Did I, um, do anything?" I ask. The words are so quiet I'm not sure if he's heard me.

"You took a swing at me.” He chuckles. "But I kind of deserved it, under the circumstances."

"Sorry," I murmur, looking for signs of damage. "Did I hurt you?"

“No, I sort of knew what I was getting into. You're hardly known for your even temper."

I roll my eyes, and then force myself to ask the other question. "Did I talk?" I don't want to know what I said, so God knows I don't wanthimto know what I said.

"A little." He hesitates, and my stomach drops. "You were really upset. You kept saying something like 'I left' over and over, but I couldn’t understand it.”

I steel myself to look at him and find the exact emotion on his face that I don't want to see.

Pity.

I'm inclined to just walk out of his apartment right this minute, except I'm barefoot and I have no idea what part of town I'm in.

"Then you just sort of collapsed."

"Why were you there?"

His shoulders sag. "I shouldn’t have been. I thought you’d be stressed out about the time trial and would run, so I waited. I just thought if I saw it firsthand ..." He sighs, shaking his head. "I don't know what I thought. I didn't expect anything so extreme. Do you know what the dream was about?"

---