Page 80 of False God

Ithurts—everywhere. And I can feel a stickiness on my hand. My stomach roils sickeningly, even though I’m lying still.

I blink a few times, then sit up, making sure to rest all my weight on my uninjured hand. My left is what hit the ground, my right’s reflexes slower, thanks to the shattered glass lying a foot away. At least I didn’t fall on the sharp splinters. I’m nauseous at the thought.

My friends are all clustered around, Bridget and Fran crouched on the ground beside me.

“I’m okay,” I say. “I think.”

“You’re bleeding,” Fran whispers.

“I know.” I don’t look, but I can feel it.

Not just my wet palm, but warmth trickling down my shoulder.

“Here. Apply some pressure.” Jasper holds out one of the shirts.

I don’t take it. “I’m not getting blood all over that. What about the dance?”

“You’re bleeding, and you hit your head,” Cal tells me. “You’re not doing the dance, Lili.”

I want to protest, but I know he’s right. Based on everyone’s worried expressions, I look as bad as I feel. The only upside to my injuries is that my blister isn’t bothering me anymore.

“You guys can still do it,” I say, taking the shirt from Jasper reluctantly.

Hugo scoffs. “Without you? No way. We’ll perform it for Chloe some other time.”

“You should go to a hospital, Lili,” Fran says. “Get your head checked. And”—her eyes dart down to my arm—“you might need stitches.”

Disappointment swamps me. It’s bad enough I ruined the dance performance. I don’t want to miss the rest of thereception. And Idefinitelydon’t feel like spending the rest of the night sitting in a hospital.

“She’s right,” Bridget agrees. “You should get looked at, just in case.”

Murmured agreement from the guys.

I close my eyes. Blow out a long breath.

“Can one of you go get Charlie?”

Silence.

I crack one eye open, not a fan of the half-pitying, half-disbelieving look Fran and Jasper exchange.

Tripp sighs. “He doesn’t really seem like thehold your handtype, Lili.”

He’s undoubtedly thinking that I fell for the Charles Marlborough charm after one night, but I don’t feel like explaining the real reason to Tripp.

“I don’t want him to hold my hand,” I say through gritted teeth. My head is starting to throb worse now. And I’m trying not to cause a scene, but my scraped arm fuckingstings. I close my eyes again since that helped a little. “I want him to take a look at me.”

“You need a doctor, not a duke,” Jasper says. “I’m no gynecologist, but I guess I can give it a go.”

Someone muffles a laugh. Fran, I think.Traitor. There’s also a grunt, like an elbow was thrown.

“My vagina is fine, asshole. Can someone justget Charlie?”

There’s a dramatic sigh as one of my friends makes his or her disapproval known, but when I open my eyes again, Hugo is missing.

I exhale, too, then gingerly roll my shoulder. My fingers are starting to ache from gripping the shirt so tightly, and I feel foolish, sitting in the middle of the terrace.

But between the nausea and the throbbing in my temples, standing or moving sounds like a terrible idea. At least thecurtains covering the doors mean I’m not on display for the whole reception to gawk at.

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