Page 89 of Harbinger

When everything is finally packed, I peel off my clothes, climb into bed next to her, and pass out.

TWENTY-FIVE

SYDNEY

I wakeup to an alarm going off for the first time in days, and I’m already irritated.

The more I wake up, the more irritated I get as the sun streaming in the window has my head spinning.

“Fuck, close the freaking blinds,” I mutter to Ronan.

“We gotta go, Syd.”

I roll over, pulling the comforter over me.

“Syd.”

I don’t respond.

And suddenly, I’m suspended in the air, my face at his back. My head quakes, and I just want to be knocked out.

I’m wishing for death.

Praying for it.

Setting me down on the floor, I put my arms out to steady myself, looking around. Black spots dot my vision as I close my eyes, opening them again. I try to shake it off.

“Go get washed up beautiful; we’re leaving in about thirty minutes. I put out some clothes for you,” he points to the seat in the corner of his room. I flash him a look, trudging into the bathroom. I wonder if I can lock the door and just sleep on one of the bathmats.

Bending over the sink, I look at myself in the mirror. I’m still wearing my makeup from the night before. My eyeliner is completely smudged, and I feel like I resemble more of a raccoon than a human being.

I grab for my face wash, but it’s gone. Looking around, I don’t find it anywhere, and I’m confused.

Walking back into the room, I ask Ronan where it is.

“I packed it,” he tells me, pointing to our suitcase.

My heart melts a little bit. “I left your toothbrush out, but I should have thought about that; I’m sorry.”

It’s been over a week since I arrived, and in the span of a week, Ronan and I have become something so much different. I’m not sure how it happened; I’m not sure why it was so fast. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand it. I’m sure it has to do with trauma and the forced proximity. It may even have to do with the ginormous rock on my ring finger. All I know is that I probably can’t unpack all of it with my therapist. There’s too much I wouldn’t be able to tell her.

But then I started thinking. Do these guys have therapists? They have to, right? I’m sure of it.

Maybe if I stay, I can talk to her. I’d be able to open up about my life a little more. Give them the full picture of why I am the way I am.

Maybe they could help me more.

“It’s okay,” I assure him as I turn back into the bathroom. I can do it the old-fashioned way.

Finding a washcloth, I run it under warm water and rub a bar of soap into it before massaging my face gently, careful not to get the soap in my eyeball, which, of course, I was unsuccessful at.

I quickly brush my teeth before throwing the brush and toothpaste into a bag and packing it in Ronan’s oversized backpack.

And before I know it, we’re on our way to the airport.

“The Texas compound is really cool,” Jerry says as she drives us. “Super southern looking.”

“It’s a ranch, Jerry. I’m not sure how else you expect it to look.”

---