Page 212 of Ominous: Part 1
“Sure,” he says calmly. “After you tell me what it is.”
“Jesus, Eli, just give me the fucking bottle.” I drop my hand all the same, rolling my eyes as I cross one leg over the other, wrapping my arms around myself. I don’t like explaining my heart problem, because it’s not really a big deal, but as soon as you say, “heart defect,” people freak out. Still, considering Eli has spent time in a psychiatric facility, according to Dominic anyway, this should be nothing.
I just don’t really want to talk about it. It’s frustrating, him holding so many of my secrets while I have none of his.
“I’m going to look it up,” Eli says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “So, you might as well say it yourself.”
“Since you’re so great at talking about your problems,” I mutter.
He smiles, shrugging as he clicks on his phone screen.
I snatch it from his hand and toss it behind us on the bed.
He looks amused, but he doesn’t release my pills.
“It’s heart medication,” I say, staring at the floor, my feet propped on the bottom railing of the bed, arms still crossed tight over my chest. “I have a valve problem. It’s not fatal, it won’t kill me. It just causes my heart to race sometimes, and I take those pills to get my pulse under control.”
He looks from me, to the pills, and back again. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. This entire night, I haven’t quite been sure what he’s thinking.
“What happens,” he says, giving the bottle the slightest shake, “if you take too many of these?”
I tighten my arms around my chest and feel this quick heart of mine do what it does best and beat so loud I would be surprised if he couldn’t hear it.
“I don’t know,” I answer him, holding his gaze, irritated. “I’ve never taken more than two at a time, usually just one.”
His eyes gleam, brows raised, like he’s just discovered a well-kept secret. “Do they help you relax?”
I run my tongue over my teeth, trying to get ahead of his train of thought. I drop my gaze to the bottle of powder blue pills. “Physically,” I answer him. “Mentally, no.”
He smiles. “I have something to help with the mental anxiety.” He taps his fingers over the label. “Arella,” he says, reading my middle name. I know he must have known it, because he knew I had financial aid, he accessed my file from my old school.
Which means…
Fuck.
I sit up straighter, my face scorching hot, my pulse erratic and no longer simply quick. There could have been other things in that file. The real reason for our move. For my application to Trafalgar.
Does he know?
Did he see?
But I swallow down the questions at the tip of my tongue. If he knew, he’d have said something. He would have wanted to be connected in that way.
He must not have seen it. I decide not to bring it up. If I ask, and he doesn’t know, he’ll pry the answers out of me anyway.
“I love your name,” he continues, still gazing at the bottle, apparently unaware of my mental distress.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
I try to let it go. It doesn’t matter.
He places his palm flat on the lid of the medication, then twists, popping the top free. He jostles the pills around, examining them, then taps out two into his free hand.
His eyes raise to mine. I try to force thoughts of my student record from my mind, worried he’ll be able to see into my brain and extract just what it is I’m thinking about.
I look at his outstretched palm, the two little blue pills in the center. Before I can tell him I already took one earlier, he seems to change his mind.
He shakes out three more.
