Page 37 of Unloved

Grabbing his phone, he talks into it and then the text appears in the group chat seconds later.

“He’s moping and we’re just going to sit here and let him.”

Lennox continues to flip through the menus but doesn’t pick up his phone and read Samuel’s text, yet he somehow still manages to follow along with our train of thoughts.

“You don’t have to include me in the messages,” he says. “I’m honestly too drained to even follow along.”

It’s obvious he’s trying to exclude himself, but doing that doesn’t sit right with me. I understand his boundaries and his need to process the information he was told today in his own time, but I want to remind him that we’re here for him.

Whatever way that needs to look.

“Pick something to eat,” I say into my phone. “Then we’ll find a movie to watch and we won’t need to say a single word to each other.”

When he doesn’t reach for his phone, I pick it up off his chest and shove it into his face.

Unimpressed, his eyes dart across the screen and then he plucks one of the menus off his stomach and shoves it in my face. “I’m not picking the movie, though.”

13

LENNOX

Rhys was right.

After annihilating a ridiculous amount of Thai food, he picks the movie and, just like he promised, only a few words are exchanged between us.

It’s exactly what I needed, and if I wasn’t too busy being petulant about it all, I probably could have articulated myself so much better than lying on Rhys’s couch, reading the closed captions on the screen like a miserable asshole. But neither of them seemed to mind.

Wanting to somehow apologize and say thank you all at the same time, I maneuver my legs off the couch, careful not to knock either Samuel or Rhys.

It’s not like they can’t hear or see me move around, but I choose to use the delay in them having to text me to ask what I’m doing, to awkwardly stack up the empty plates and containers on Rhys’s coffee table and take them to the kitchen.

Quickly scanning the space, I work out where the trash can is and that he doesn’t have a dishwasher. Just as I’m about to scrape the bits of leftover food into the bin, Rhys snatches the plate out of my grip

“I can clean a few dishes, Rhys.”

He glances down at my sling, silently telling me he begs to differ. My collarbone is still broken, and healing is incredibly slow. I push myself unnecessarily to use my hand, but it’s weak and ends up hurting me more than I care to admit.

Case in point.

But I hate feeling useless, and that’s all I feel these days. And not because I can’t hear.

It’s because everything has been put on hold. I do nothing but exist. Me and my thoughts, alone almost all of the time.

Practically pouting, I make my way back to the living room and catch Samuel smiling at me as I walk past him and flop myself back on the couch.

“What are you smiling at?” I grumble, not really wanting an answer.

My phone vibrates against the coffee table, but instead of reaching for it, Samuel grabs it and hands it to me. I read his text.

Samuel: I like it when you’re in a good mood.

I scoff. “This is a good mood?”

Samuel: Better than the last few hours.

He has a point, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling him he’s right. Another message from Samuel comes through.

Samuel: I’m going to see if Rhys needs help. I’ll be back with some ice cream.

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