Fourteen #2
He did, gulping it like a shot before slamming the glass down on the bench. I winced, glancing toward Katie’s bedroom door.
“I don’t feel better,” Miles said, hanging his head over his folded arms, hair flopping into his face. “What was that?”
“Water.”
“But what was in the water?” He peered suspiciously at me through the fall of his hair. “Are you poisoning me? Am I Snow White?”
“No, still Cinderella, you’re just very drunk.”
“I don’t believe you.”
His face paled, lips tightening into a thin line, so I gripped his elbow and pulled him toward the bathroom. “Quick. I refuse to clean vomit off the carpet at—” I glanced at the glowing digital clock on the microwave as we passed. “—three in the fucking morning.”
We made it just in time, Miles dropping in front of the toilet before I’d even flicked the light on. I gathered the hair back from his face just as he started getting it noisily out of his system.
“Mat?” Katie’s voice preceded her appearance in the doorway, sleepily scowling, her arms folded over a rumpled bed shirt. “Where did he come from?”
“He appeared in my room.”
She gave me a look. “Did you leave the door unlocked?”
“No! He just numbers picking locks with credit cards among his list of talents. Even when drunk, apparently.”
“It’s not very hard,” Miles mumbled into the toilet bowl. “I’ll teach you.”
“No, thank you,” Katie said. “And next time please be violently sick in your own toilet.”
I winced, shooting her a look half apology, half plea. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’ll get him to bed then clean up, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried about the bathroom, I’m worried about—” She broke off with a huff and turned away, and since Miles seemed to have stopped being sick for now, I told him I’d be right back and pulled Katie out into the shadowy lounge room.
“Hey, I’m sorry we woke you,” I said, keeping my voice low. “You can go back to bed, I’ve got this.”
“I’m not worried about me, Mat, I’m worried about you,” she said, gesturing toward the glaring light spilling through the bathroom door.
“About how this is just going to fuck you up more when you have a match against the world number three in like . . . thirty-six hours. You need to be getting a good sleep, not taking care of him all night.”
“I’m not going to,” I said, ignoring the first part. “I’m just going to get him to bed then go back to my own.”
She looked like she would argue, but with a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumped. “Don’t worry about cleaning up tonight. It can wait. Just . . . take care of yourself, yeah?”
Having thanked her and reassured her and seen her off to bed, I stepped back into the bathroom to find Miles with his arms folded on the toilet seat, forehead resting on his rolled-up silk cuffs.
“How’re you doing there?” I asked, dropping a hand lightly on the back of his head.
“I think maybe I’m done,” he said with a weary little groan. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We all need to be taken care of sometimes.” I ruffled his hair. “If you think you’re good, maybe a quick shower, then bed.”
He looked up, dark eyes bleary. “A’ight, but my shower. I don’t think all the apology sushi in the world would save me if I vomited in yours.”
I grinned. “Sure, let me just put some proper shorts on.”
Leaving him there, I went to grab the first pair of shorts I could find, and having achieved vague respectability, also collected my phone from the couch. The screen was full of notifications, all of them from Miles.
Dick Scrunchie
fuck, mat, i’m sorry
you were right, i was totally up in my own shit the other day and shouldn’t have made it your problem
mat, please say something
mat?
god, mat, please. even if you just tell me to fuck off again, at least say it so i know you got these messages
You missed a call from Dick Scrunchie
mat! you’re killing me
You missed a call from Dick Scrunchie
katie says you left your phone on the couch and i’m glad that means you’re not ignoring me, but since you only leave it behind when you don’t want to look at it that means you’re not ok actually.
i don’t know if i want it not to be my fault, or want it to be my fault because maybe you feel as shit as i do
You missed a call from Dick Scrunchie
i had to try. i wanted to hear your voice
this party is the worst. i know you aren’t going to get any of these until morning, but i’m going to keep messaging anyway at least until i’m too drunk to type anymore
i’m sorry. i know i said that alreayd, but i don’t think can say it enough
your not a disease. an i dont want to lose you. but i’ll underatansd if you don’t wantto see me again
am so fcked up
rum and baileys is bad combonetion and imma regret it
miss you
I shoved the phone into my pocket, unable to keep from smiling. He hadn’t gone out with me but he had come back and vomited with me and, idiot that I was, that felt good.
“Come on, let’s go,” I said, returning to the bathroom to help him up. “Terrible shower awaits.”
He managed a weak laugh, and let me lead him out into the narrow hallway and along to his own apartment.
Having dug the key out of his pocket and wrestled with the lock, I nudged the door open with my foot and flipped the light switch.
Miles grimaced as it illuminated a mess.
His perfectly tidy apartment had disappeared beneath what looked like a clothing bomb.
Dozens of different fancy shirts had been thrown over the back of the couch, while pants and belts and even hats lay scattered around like he’d thrown them in frustration.
“Oh,” he said, taking it all in.
“Couldn’t decide what to wear?” I asked as I kicked the door closed behind us.
“Looking hot all the time is hard, okay?”