Page 97 of Breaking the Habit

A wave of nausea crested. She tossed her forearm over her eyes.

“So you slept next to my bed like a puppy?” She hated that she liked it. That somehow, it made a small difference.

“Yeah.” Levi sniffed, slowly unfolding himself. She rolled onto her side, noticing that he’d slept on nothing. Not even a sheet. Just used her extra pillow and his dignity to keep him warm. “Wanted to make sure that you were okay. And to talk to you, once you finally stopped being a drunk asshole.”

She glared at him. “I wasn’t a drunk asshole.”

“Uh, yes you were.”

Her head throbbed. “What could I possibly have done that you didn’t already deserve?”

“Well, you acted like I was putting my hands all over you. Non-consensually.”

She grunted.

“And then you accused me of being a man whore, in front of, oh, I don’t know, about thirty celebrity journalists.”

“They aren’t journalists,” she protested weakly.

“Then you tried to provoke me into losing my temper,” Levi added. “Also said I had a small penis, which is the most untrue thing you’ve ever said.”

“Okay. Okay. That’s enough.” She held up a hand so he’d shut up. She had zero memory of any of it.

“I don’t have to mention you throwing a glass on my head this morning either.”

She groaned, returning the arm to its place across her face. “You deserved that the most.”

“No, I didn’t, Riley. And I can explain why, if you ever plan on listening to me.”

She drew deep breaths, assessing the extent of her budding headache. “I can’t hear anything until Motrin.”

He held up a hand when she tried to push herself up. “I’ll get it.”

She watched as he limped out of the bedroom, his black button-down rumpled. Even through the thick haze of her hangover, she felt bad for him. The guy had gotten his ass beaten the night before, and still, he slept on the hard floor.

Don’t feel sorry for him. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.

And she needed to get strong. Because as soon as he came back into this bedroom, he’d probably have a million excuses about why he would be different going forward. How it was a one-time slip. How she was the only one for him, and he was sorry, so sorry.

She couldn’t let biceps or slow kisses or sleeping on the floor sway her rationality. They were all tried and true tactics of cheaters.

Riley sat up, noticing that she had her favorite sleep shirt on. Levi’s shirt. She rubbed her face, aches and pains from her bender the night before catching up to her. Levi came back into the bedroom a moment later, and she could see the full scope of his face.

His hair was still pulled back into cornrows—undoing them was a job she’d claimed since his last match—and his entire right eye socket was a garish, muddled black and brown. His forehead had at least five stitches—tiny but visible—and his cheekbones had scratches, like from a cat.

“Did I do all that to your face?” she asked.

“Funny, Riley.” He handed the glass of water to her and then dropped two pills into her hands. She choked them down and gulped back the entire glass of water.

“You want more?” he asked. She nodded.

He limped out of the bedroom again, not complaining, not even sighing. When he came back, he passed her the glass again and then pulled something out of his pocket.

“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing the multi-page, tri-folded mess in his hands. “A love note?”

“Better.” His gaze fell to the bed. “Can I sit next to you?”

She hugged her knees to her chest and nodded. He eased onto the bed, grimacing as his knees bent. She rested her chin against the top of her knees, willing the throbbing in her head to disappear.

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