Chapter 3
Chapter three
Ash’s head pounded as sunlight streamed through the curtains.
All that alcohol last night was certainly a bad idea.
They hadn’t had a migraine in a long time and had somehow forgotten just how bad it was.
It felt like someone was driving a knife through their temple.
Searing, pounding pain pulsed in their brain.
A wave of nausea rolled over Ash as they sat up in bed, the silky blanket falling around their hips.
Ash put their hands to their forehead, trying, and failing, to block out some of the sunlight.
Ash slid slowly out of the bed and felt around the floor for their clothes. Their shirt was somewhere downstairs, but they were pretty sure their pants were here somewhere. With more trouble than Ash wanted, they found their pants hanging off a chair they hadn’t noticed last night.
Last night. Fuck, last night. The events played over in Ash’s mind, but only for a second before their pain made its presence known again. Luke was…tender. He held Ash tight as they fucked and gingerly as they fell asleep. No one had ever treated Ash with such care before.
Ash braved the blinding sun for one second to peer at Luke, bare-chested and asleep under the blanket barely covering his hips.
Ash couldn’t take the time to drink in Luke’s sleeping form with how bright the sun was—they needed to get home and take their medication.
Ash found a piece of paper and pen on the desk and scribbled a quick note to Luke.
Thank you for last night. I had a wonderful time. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. I wasn’t feeling well. Call me. - Ash
Ash placed the note on Luke’s bedside table before feeling their way out of his bedroom. Once they gingerly closed the door behind them, Ash pulled their phone from their pocket.
“Text Michael,” Ash groaned. When the familiar buzz vibrated in Ash’s hand, signaling their phone was ready for them to narrate a text, they spoke again. “Can you pick me up? I have a migraine and can’t get home safely.”
Moments later, Ash’s phone vibrated again.
“Read me my most recent text,” Ash commanded their phone.
“On my way. Be there in 3 minutes,” the familiar computer voice narrated.
While sometimes it was annoying that Ash’s friends had their location, it was great for times like this. Ash could barely remember where they were, let alone how to get to the nearest bus station.
Ash carefully climbed down the stairs with a death grip on the railing. They felt around the ground for their t-shirt and found it in a heap by the door. Ash slipped it on, unsure if it was even on right but not caring. The only thing they cared about was getting their medication and an ice pack.
Ash felt along the door to unlock it without opening their eyes. With some difficulty, Ash made their way outside and down the three steps to sit on the bottom step of Luke’s porch, head in their hands. Fuck, Michael needed to hurry.
A car door slammed, and Ash groaned with pain. “Hey, it’s me,” Michael said as he approached.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” Ash said quietly as they reached a hand out towards Michael.
Michael grabbed Ash’s hand and helped them stand, wrapping an arm around Ash’s waist and leading them towards the car. After gingerly getting them into the front seat and buckling them in, Michael handed Ash a plastic bag.
“Just in case you need it,” Michael said before closing the car door as quietly as he could.
Ash leaned their head against the window and breathed slowly in and out.
Nausea built in their throat, and they hoped they could keep it together until they were home.
Ever since Ash got their first migraine in grade school and threw up in front of the whole class, their biggest fear was getting sick in front of others.
The car ride home was the longest Ash could remember. Even though the drive was seven minutes, it felt like seven hours. Every sound, every vibration, every minute movement drove the knife deeper into Ash’s skull.
Michael eventually stopped the car and came around to help Ash out.
He pulled them to their feet and stabilized them when they wavered.
That was it—they couldn’t wait any longer.
Ash bent over and vomited in the parking lot of their apartment building.
Panic rose in their throat as they realized Michael was standing right there.
Michael rubbed circles on Ash’s back. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”
“Please tell me it was just on the ground,” Ash croaked.
“It was. You’re fine,” Michael said as he pulled Ash upright. “Give me your keys.”
Ash fished the key to their apartment out of their pocket and handed it to Michael. He led Ash up to their home and right to bed. Ash crawled under the covers, not bothering to even take off their socks.
“What do you need me to do before I leave?” Michael asked.
“It’s fine. I can do it,” Ash said, laying their arm over their forehead.
Michael sighed. “Where are your meds?”
“In the kitchen above the sink,” Ash responded, voice strained.
Michael retreated from the room and returned a minute later with Ash’s medication, a water bottle, and an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel. Ash drank down their medication and water before laying on their left side, the ice pack beneath their head.
“Thank you,” Ash said. “I’m lucky to have you in my life.”
“Any time.” Michael gave Ash’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Do you need me to hang out for a bit?”
“No, I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”
“I plugged your phone in and shut the blackout curtains. There’s a second water bottle on the nightstand and a bottle of Advil in case the meds don’t work.”
Michael and Ash had been roommates in undergrad when Ash’s migraines were more frequent.
He had helped Ash deal with their pain so often that he could now rattle off exactly what they needed.
Even though Michael didn’t need to help, he always did without question.
Ash muttered their thanks as Michael retreated from the room and slowly closed the door behind him.
When Ash woke several hours later, the ice pack under their head was room temperature and slightly damp.
The pounding in their head had subsided, but they were exhausted.
Ash rolled over with a groan and grabbed their phone off the nightstand.
It was nearly four in the afternoon. Ash went through their texts to see they had texted Michael at seven-thirty. They were asleep all that time?
Ash slowly rolled out of bed and shook their head from side to side, testing if their migraine had truly gone. No pain made itself known, and Ash breathed a sigh of relief. They sucked down the second water bottle Michael had left before trudging out into the kitchen for something to eat.
Ash nearly jumped out of their skin when they spotted Michael watching a football game on their couch. The announcer was barely audible, even in the silence of Ash’s apartment.
“Uh, hi,” Ash said, rubbing a hand down their face. “I thought you left.”
Michael turned around, placing his beer down on the coffee table. “No, I thought I’d stick around, just in case. How’re you feeling, bud?”
Ash’s stomach grumbled. “Hungry and tired.” Ash dragged themself to the kitchen, where they slathered half a sleeve of crackers in peanut butter, eating in silence as Michael turned back to the football game on the television.
“Does Jess mind you’ve been here all day?” Ash asked Michael as they packed up their snack.
“No, she’s out with her mom. This was my plan for the day anyway,” Michael said, gesturing to the TV. “That seemed like a bad one. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Thank you. Yeah, it was rough.”
Ash pulled out their phone and logged their migraine into their tracker.
They noted the pain level (an 8), where they were when it started (out), all the possible triggers (variable sleep and alcohol), and what methods relieved the pain (dark room rest, sleep, various medications).
It sucked adding a new migraine to their app, especially when they’d only had four this year.
Just a few years ago, they were getting nearly one a week, but they finally found a medication that worked well for them.
“So…” Michael started. “Can I ask about last night?”
Ash sighed as they flopped onto the couch beside Michael. “I don’t know where to start.”
“How about a reason as to why you’re not wearing your shirt.”
“What?” Ash looked down and realized, with absolute horror, they had taken Luke’s t-shirt rather than their own. Ash’s face burned with embarrassment. “Oh fuck.”
Michael let out a loud laugh. “What’s his name?”
“Luke. He has a PhD in Biology.” Ash told Michael everything from last night.
They mentioned Luke’s half-sleeve and the way he traced Ash’s DNA tattoo.
They spoke of the garbage plates, telling Michael they had to go there together next time.
And then they told Michael about what happened at Luke’s house, sparing him the details.
“You are so gone,” Michael laughed. “What happened this morning?”
Ash closed their eyes. “I just left him a note. I don’t even remember what it said.”
Michael blanched. “You left him a note? Ash, you slept with this guy and wrote him a fucking note saying you had to leave? You didn’t talk to him at all this morning?”
Ash shook their head. “I could barely open my eyes, let alone string a sentence together.”
“Did you at least leave your phone number?” Michael asked, rolling his eyes.
“Of course,” Ash said. Ash pulled their phone out from their pocket again to check their texts and calls.
There were no unknown numbers and no new calls, just one text from Trixie asking if Ash was okay.
Why hadn’t Luke called? If someone had left Ash a note they weren’t feeling well, they would have at least checked in with them, made sure they were okay.
“Hey,” Michael said quietly. “He’ll call."
Ash groaned as they leaned their head on the back of the couch. “I hope so. He’s great, Michael. I could see this going somewhere.”
“I don’t mean to be that guy, Ash, but…you had one drunken night with him. How can you be so sure?”
“I was sober by the time we got back to his place. But…I just know. There was a true spark there.”
“And you know he’s good in bed, so that’s a big plus,” Michael laughed.
Ash punched Michael lightly in the arm. “It’s not all about sex, Michael.”
Michael let out a loud laugh and pushed himself off the couch. “I should get going to cook dinner. Jess will be home soon. Do you need anything before I leave?”
“No, thank you,” Ash said. “I appreciate you hanging out and helping me today. I owe you one.”
“You owe me nothing. This is what friends are for, Ash.” Michael gave Ash’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he dropped his beer bottle in the recycling and left Ash alone.
Ash looked around their small apartment, comparing it to Luke’s house.
The tiny kitchen had barely enough counter space to cook a decent meal.
The old gas stove took forever to turn on, and the stainless steel sink was always clogging.
The kitchen overlooked the living room in which Ash sat.
Their green suede couch faced a television that was way too small for the space.
The coffee table between the two was scratched from years of misuse.
The door to the left of the kitchen led to the one bathroom with a chipped toilet.
Ash’s bedroom was big enough for a bed, a desk, and a cheap desk chair.
Compared to Luke’s home, Ash’s apartment felt suddenly inadequate.
Luke was comfortable enough to be in a house, even if he was just renting.
Ash barely made enough money to pay the rent on their apartment.
It would be a little easier with the salary they would start earning in a few months.
The leap from grad student stipend to professor salary was hefty.
The salary alone would help Ash get their finances under control—they could finally think about paying back their student loans.
If they ever wanted to buy a house, Ash needed to start paying off their loans as soon as possible.
Ash pulled out their computer from the bottom shelf of the coffee table and created a simple spreadsheet for budgeting.
If their calculations were accurate, after basic monthly payments, they would have a few hundred dollars left over.
If they paid an additional fifty dollars a month towards their student loans, they would pay it off almost a year sooner.
They could do this. They could be an adult.
As Ash worked for their PhD, they watched their friends grow up, land jobs, and get married.
Michael had a beautiful Victorian house on the river in downtown Binghamton.
He had married Jess three years ago at a vineyard in Ithaca.
Trixie moved to Syracuse, where she worked as a nurse alongside her emergency room doctor husband.
Sage lived with their spouse in Corning and worked as a glassblowing instructor at the Corning Museum of Glass.
Their spouse was a curator at the museum.
All their friends started their lives years ago and were settled in careers and relationships, and Ash was just getting started.
They didn’t have a partner. They didn’t have a home.
They wouldn’t even have a job for a few months.
Ash set their computer aside and wandered into their room, where they tore their closet apart.
Ash needed the perfect outfit that combined professionalism with approachability.
They wanted their students to reach out with questions, but they also wanted to look older than they really were, though Ash was certain their nineteen-year-old students wouldn’t think they were young at twenty-eight.
When Ash was that age, they thought anyone over twenty-five was a real adult.
But now, Ash knew better. They were merely a child with a drinking permit.
Several outfits thrown over their shoulder later, Ash couldn’t find a single thing to wear. They would need to go shopping for some professional clothing. The one outfit they wore to defend their dissertation wouldn’t last them an entire semester.
Frustrated, Ash sat on their couch with a movie and a bowl of cereal. It would do them no good to fret. Tomorrow was a new day.