Page 40 of The Man I Love

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

February

Six Months Earlier

New York

“How long hasshe been like this?” Renee asked, standing in the doorway of Samantha’s bedroom.

“A week—maybe more,” Margaret replied. “I’m not sure.”

“Has she eaten?”

“A little.”

The conversation pounded in Samantha’s ears. Loud, booming, even though she knew they spoke in conversational tones. She removed the pillow from her head, threw it on the ground, and glared at her best friend. “It’s impossible to sleep when you’re screaming like that.”

Renee smiled, then sat on the edge of the bed, pulling one knee to her chest with ungodly flexibility. “Morning sunshine,” she beamed. “It’s eleven thirty. Don’t you think you should get up?”

“I was up, but then I got sleepy and went back to bed. Is that a problem?”

“Did you eat?”

“No,” Margaret interjected. “And she only got up to pee.”

“Why didn’t you eat?” Renee urged.

“Because I’m not hungry.” Samantha glared at her roommate, then threw the covers from her legs, and turned to sit on the opposite side of the bed. Which was a big mistake. Nausea pummeled her abdomen, and she sprinted for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before last night’s dinner made its ugly appearance at the bottom of the porcelain throne.

“Holy shit,” Renee said from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

Samantha stood, wiped over her lips, then hunched down over the sink, letting the water fall into her mouth as she rinsed it. “I’m fine,” she said after spitting it out. “Why do you ask?”

“She’s been like this since the gallery opening,” Margaret interjected. “I think she’s getting worse.”

Ignoring the comment, Sam pushed past Renee and headed to her dresser where she pulled a fresh sweatshirt from the drawer and tugged it on.

“Have you talked to him?” Renee asked, not bothering to clarify who she spoke of.

“No.” Sam’s chest tightened as she faced Renee. “I told you. I’m not calling him. I searched for him for hours, missed my whole damned gallery opening, and as far as I’m concerned, the ball is in his court. He knows where to find me.”

“God you’re stubborn!”

“Yep!”

“And so is he.”

Samantha brushed her hair, picked up a pair of jeans from the floor, and turned to her roommate. “Did you really have to tell on me?” she scolded, pushing her legs through the openings one at a time.

Margaret shrugged. “I was worried about you. You really don’t look well.”

Renee frowned. “How long have you been like this?”

“Stubborn?” She struggled with the zipper. “Pretty much my whole life.”

“Tired, throwing up…” Renee’s eyes narrowed.

Samantha looked out the window, not really focusing on anything. “Does it matter?”

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