Page 50 of Collision
“A lot.” He smiles, and I do the same.
“So, could I…could I take a shower?”
He nods, standing up.
“I’ll get you something of mine to wear for tonight.”
“To-tonight?” I ask skeptically.
“Yeah, given the shape you’re in, you should stay here,” he says peremptorily. The alcohol has mostly worn off, but I still feel weak and dizzy, my clothes—or rather, Tiffany’s clothes—are gone who knows where, and I have no way to get home. The only sensible choice is to stay. Thomas is right. Sigh.
“Okay, but I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Wasn’t my intention.”
“Oh.” I shouldn’t, but I feel a little disappointed. Apparently, all the guys around me like to sleep with other girls but not with me.
He looks at me with a mocking smile and adds, “Unless you want to.”
“No. I don’t want to.” Because I don’t want to, do I?
“Then we’re agreed.” He heads for the bathroom exit.
“Where will you sleep?” I ask, following him. He points to a sofa under the window, not far from the bed.
“I can sleep there if you want, it’s not a problem. You’ve already done too much for me.” I put my hair in a messy ponytail with the hair band I always wear on my wrist.
“The sofa’s not bad. And you need to rest.” He takes a pillow from the bed and props it up against the armrest. I would like to give him a hug and thank him, but I’m afraid he wouldn’t appreciate it. I opt instead to dash into the shower. After getting myself sorted out and brushing my teeth with toothpaste smeared on my index finger, I move back into the empty room. Thomas is gone. I guess he went back downstairs to the party. He left a T-shirt for me on the bed, black and very large. It goes down to my knees, but it’s soft and smells like him, has his unmistakable aroma of vetiver and tobacco. Without thinking about it, I bury my nose in the fabric and breathe deeply. Yes, itdefinitely smells like him. I get under the covers and stare at the black ceiling. What kind of person would paint the walls of their bedroom like this? A serial killer, perhaps?
I’m immersed in these thoughts when I hear the sound of the doorknob turning. I sit up, clutching the covers to my chest. When I realize that I am alone, wearing nothing more than a T-shirt, in a boy’s room accessible to anyone, panic eats me alive. My heartbeat speeds up, and I swallow with difficulty as I look around for an object that I could use to defend myself, if need be. But there’s nothing.
The door opens softly, producing a slight creak that makes my skin crawl. As soon as I glimpse the face of the person who is entering, I release a deep breath.
“Oh, my God. It’s you.” I rest my hand on my chest.
Thomas enters with a small bottle of water in his hand and closes the door behind him before locking it again. “Who else was it supposed to be?”
“At a party full of drunks? Anyone,” I point out to him.
“No one else has a key to my room,” he reassures me. “How are you?”
“I’m still pretty fuzzy, but at least the room isn’t spinning anymore.”
“Here, I brought you some water.” He hands me the small bottle and I rest it against my sheet-covered legs.
“Aren’t you going downstairs to have fun?”
“Nah. Everyone’s fucked up, it’s not fun anymore.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “And you’re not?”
“I would have been. But you beat me to it,” he snarks. “And I need to be careful for training at the moment.”
“Okay.” I lie down again and remain silent for a while, while Thomas sits on the sofa, his legs spread and his shoulders against the backrest. He lights up a cigarette without ever taking his eyes off me. “What’s up?” I ask, turning on my side to face him, one hand tucked under the pillow.
“What happened?”
Pain clenches in my chest.
