Page 88 of Revealing Mark
He smiled, deep dimples. “Ditto.”
I lay there for a while after he left the room, trying to wrap my mind around the events of the evening. I was thankful my injuries hadn’t been more severe but I wondered where Mark was and why he hadn’t tried to call me back.
My mouth was dry and my head was throbbing. I had been checked on through the night to make sure I hadn’t suffered a concussion, which meant I was tired, sore and grumpy. There was still no sign of Mark.
I had never felt so let down. When I had really needed him, he hadn’t been there. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt but after an entire night with countless voicemails and no response, I couldn’t come up with a scenario that could have been more important.
Our magical night a few days ago had reassured me that we could do this but now I wasn’t sure anymore. Doubt crept in every second.
“Hey,” my brother said in greeting when he entered with a breakfast tray.
I turned my head away. “I’m not hungry.”
“Come on, you need to have something.”
I checked out the food but nothing looked appetizing.
“Have you heard anything from Mark?”
He shook his head. “If you promise to eat something and letMom and Dad take you home when you get released, I’ll go by his apartment.”
Could something have happened to him? For the first time, I felt a sense of dread. What if something was really wrong?
“Fine.”
I did as I was told and began to shift the food around with a fork when he left. I managed a few mouthfuls of food before I shoved the tray aside.
The doctor came by not long after and discharged me, telling me to take it easy for a few days. Sophie helped me get dressed and I let my mom fuss all over me, but my mind was elsewhere.
I was irritable and sore by the time I got tucked into the bed in my old room. My mom gave me some painkillers and I managed to get some sleep.
When I woke up, it was late afternoon and I checked my phone. My brother had sent a message saying Mark hadn’t been at his apartment.
Where the hell was he?
The door to the bedroom opened and my mom entered.
“How are you feeling?” She came around to sit on the bed.
“Battered and bruised.”
“Ah, honey. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”
She was right, I was lucky.
“You want something to drink?”
I nodded. My head still ached.
“Tea, please.” I slid out of the bed gently, very aware of how sore and stiff I was.
“I can bring it up,” she offered.
“It’s fine.” I was determined to get up and try to get around.
My mom helped me downstairs and to the kitchen table. I sighed when she set a steaming cup of tea in front of me.
I shook my head when she offered food. “You need to eat so you can take your medicine.”
