Maladaptive

35. Rest

REST

“I tried calling the emergency contact we have on the school record, but no one answered,” a lady says.

“She told me her dad works during the day,” Conner responds. “We should take her to the hospital.”

A spike of fear works its way out, and through the haze in my clouded mind, I murmur, “No hospital, please.”

Everything is so dark. I’m tired—no, exhausted. My body is too weak even to move an inch without this sluggish feeling. And the voices I heard a moment ago sound like I’m underwater.

With it, this heavy feeling outweighs the need to stay awake…

A throbbing headache pulses to life, and I groan in utter pain as I touch my forehead and feel the coolness. It’s refreshing.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. It’s…different—a blue ceiling. The school didn’t paint the sick bay ceiling, did they?

My focus moves away from the ceiling and to the air-conditioner dispensing cool air from the opposite side of the room. Underneath, there’s a painted canvas of a poodle.

What?

I sit upright, and the floral sheet over me rests against my legs.

I’m in a bed. An actual bed.

As I rub my forehead, I struggle to figure out what happened and why I’m not at school anymore. Instead, I’m in a sky-blue room. There is a picture of a poodle on the wall, and I’m lying beneath floral sheets.

There’s also a heavy, musky perfume scent that lingers, too.

“So, Noya doesn’t live here?” Conner’s distinct voice comes through the open door leading out of the room.

My stomach drops, and I flip the sheets away, shuffle to the edge of the bed and rise, only for a sudden hit of dizziness to overcome me. I stumble forward before regaining my composure.

Crap.

I reach the door and peek out, holding the frame for support. The room I’m in overlooks the living room. There’s a two-seater lounge against the wall, and it faces the television across from it. My focus moves away from that and to the fireplace. Above it is a shotgun.

Away from the living room and into the kitchen, Conner sits at the dining table on the right side of the room, talking to Mrs Crawford.

“No, my…granddaughter lives a few doors down.”

Conner’s form goes rigid, and his fingers twitch against the cup he holds.

“Her—my daughter and her husband are fairly strict, so she comes here most nights.”

“Ah…” Conner takes a sip of his drink. “Well, I’m grateful Noya has a wonderful nan.”

Mrs Crawford chortles as she goes into her top cabinet, grabs a container, and places it on the table. “You’re too kind. And I see you bring Noya home almost every night for the past two weeks. Are you dating?”

“Yes,” he says as he takes a cookie. “I’m sorry for not coming in sooner to meet you or her parents. Noya is very…” He breathes a laugh. “I’d like to say she’s cautious about the outcome.”

“And so you should,” Mrs Crawford mutters.

Conner tilts his head to the side.

Mrs Crawford waves her hand towards him and says, “There are a lot of rules at her home. If he saw you with her, I’m not sure what her father would do. He’s not a—”

I step out of the room, move through the living area, and enter the kitchen. As I fold my arms across my chest, I mumble, “Hey.”

Conner rises and reaches out to me when I step back, my focus on Mrs Crawford. Understanding, Conner slides the chair out and sits back down in his seat. “How are you feeling?”

“Um…better,” I admit as I sit down.

“Would you like a coffee, dear?” Mrs Crawford asks.

“Sure.”

Mrs Crawford boils the kettle. As she focuses on that, I lean in, wanting to ask Conner if we should leave, but the words don’t come out. Instead, I lean back in my chair after grabbing a sugar cookie. I want to know what they were talking about while I was…I guess…recovering.

Why can’t I remember anything?

Mrs Crawford turns around with a cup of coffee. I murmur my thanks.

“Okay, I’m off to bingo, dear,” Mrs Crawford announces. “I won’t be back until seven. Could you be a dear and look after the house while I’m gone, Noya?”

“Um…” I furrow my brow as I say, “Okay.”

I follow her out the door, and she slings her purse over her shoulder once she is out, and slides on her shoes that are already outside the door.

“I’m sorry about all this, Mrs Crawford.”

She shakes her head and says, “No fuss, sweet.”

“We will leave shortly as well.”

“Sweet, you aren’t going anywhere in your condition, and I refuse to let you go home sick while that monster is there.” She shakes her head. “You’re staying here to rest for the day, okay?”

I blink rapidly, struggling to keep the tears in. “Why?”

“Because there’s a fine piece of prime meat in my kitchen, desperate to take care of you,” she chortles, and my face reddens.

“There’s Netflix already installed on the TV in the room you were in.

The control is in the first drawer next to the bed.

” Mrs Crawford touches my shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“You deserve a proper rest, Noya. Use it. I’ll bring food home for you, and so help me, if you leave, I’ll knock on your door. That monster doesn’t frighten me.”

My bottom lip trembles, and without a thought, I hug Mrs Crawford. She smells of musky perfume. “Thank you,” I murmur.

Afterwards, she walks down the pathway instead of getting into her car.

I close the door but leave it unlocked and enter the dining room. Conner is at the sink, washing his cup. I smile nervously, unsure of where to stand, move, or go. I don’t even know where the toilet is in Mrs Crawford’s home.

“Noya, what are we going to do?” he asks as he sets the mug on the drying rack.

“Uh…” Personally, I want to leave. If anything, I’m invading Mrs Crawford’s home, and it doesn’t bode well for me. However, the mental image of her pounding on my door when Dad is drunk scares me more than hanging out at her place.

So…here it is.

“We can watch a movie in the room—unless you want to go home, that is.”

“I’ll stay.” He looks behind me as he says, “Can you show me the bathroom first?”

“Uh…I’ll do a house tour,” I announce. He arches a brow but remains silent as I march towards the door in the hallway and open it. Blue and white tiles, a shower across the back wall, and a toilet and basin beside it. “This is the uh…bathroom.”

“Okay,” he breathes a laugh.

As he closes the door behind him, and I hear the click of the lock, I open the door beside it—the laundry. Then, the door at the very end is another bedroom. Mrs Crawford’s bedroom, and I make a mental note of it in case Conner wants an actual house tour.

I close the door and creep back to the bathroom as Conner opens the door. With more confidence in the tour, I show him the other rooms before leading him to the room I woke in.

Conner sits on the bed with his arms folded across his chest, looking a little out of sorts, while I try to figure out how to work the remote.

I can’t remember the last time I held a remote before.

We have one TV at home, but Dad is the only one who uses it, and he gets angry whenever someone switches the channel.

Mum and I learned the hard way when I was younger.

“Can I try?” he asks, and I hand him the remote. Within a second, the TV turns on.

With a nervous laugh, I sit on the edge of the bed, and Conner sits near the wall. He stares at the TV, flicking through movies as I lean against the bed frame, unsure where to position myself. This is closer than inside the car. There’s no divide here, just a flat bed and his noticeable presence.

“Maybe we should watch something that will not make you sick again,” Conner says with a smirk. “You did a number on my shirt. Lucky that I keep a spare in my bag on P.E. days.”

My eyes widen, and funnily enough, I hadn’t realised he was wearing a fresh shirt.

“No one has ever thrown up on me before. It’s an…experience.”

“Sorry!” I squeak. “It came over me suddenly.”

“When Mark showed the class what he drew,” he says, eyeing me.

I bite my lip and nod. There’s no denying the correlation between the two. If I lie, Conner will know instinctively.

“Makes sense.”

“What?”

“You have said it many times that you don’t like violence, and now there’s a picture going around the school of a girl,”—a pained look crosses his face—“that looks like someone beat her to death, and it made you sick.”

My hands tighten on the sheets. “Yeah…”

“You’re so fragile, Noya.”

He has no idea.

As he reaches for me, I flinch slightly before I lean into him and rest my head on his chest. With a sigh, I move my arm across him and grip his shirt tightly.

Conner’s lips brush against my temple, and he murmurs, “Your nan wouldn’t mind that we’re in the same bed? I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

I smile and shake my head as I say, “We’re fine.”

“She told me your parents are really strict.” My hand tightens on his shirt. “If you ever…If it ever gets too much, call me, and I will pick you up.” His hand brushes my hair as he says, “Or if you’re here, I can come over—that is, if I’m allowed.”

I look up and breathe, “Okay.”

Conner cringes away, a smirk on his face.

“What?”

“Your breath stinks of vomit,” he answers.

I sit up and hop out of bed. “I’m going to brush my teeth,” I announce.

“Noya!” he calls, but I ignore him, head into the bathroom, and lock the door.

I open the cabinet drawers and move some joint ointment, medication, and a packet of Band-Aids aside when I see a toothbrush inside its package.

I can pay her back once the money… shit, work!

I dig into my pocket, take out my phone, and text Olivia, telling her I’m too sick to go to work today. She replies instantly.

Olivia: Conner already sent me a message earlier. You passed out at school. Are you well?

I smile while I sit down on the seat and brush my teeth. Conner’s too kind, thinking of me and helping me whenever he can. I don’t know how I would have coped if I didn’t have him break through my barrier, invading all of me.

He hasn’t moved when I return. Taking a deep breath, I go over to the bed and sit beside him. He puts on an old cartoon show. The Simpsons, I think it’s called. I’ve seen the memes and clips online. Shrinking lower in the bed, his arm rises, and I move towards him and rest my head on his chest.

My hand drags across his chest and brushes against his pants.

Conner tenses and then relaxes when my hand doesn’t move anymore.

I yawn and get more comfortable, lifting my leg, resting it against his legs, and snuggling into Conner.

This is comfortable. I can get used to the feeling of someone I care for beside me.

“Noya,” he breathes. “Are you falling asleep?”

I grunt a response, feeling the pull of sleep deprivation dragging me under.

“Can I sing you to sleep?”

I grunt again.

“Well, if you insist,” he says, chuckling.

His fingers draw circles across my hip, and his other hand pushes my hair away from my face.

His lips feel warm against my temple. The sound of the cartoon drowns out, and his voice comes into focus.

“Your Man” by Joji. A mesmerising, soft tone of voice.

I drift further into this blissful fog, his voice carrying me to a dreamlike state.

“Noya,” he breathes after he finishes singing.

I murmur, but my voice is gone. The sleepiness is getting the best of me.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I grunt a response, the only thing I can do now.

“I’m madly in love with you.”

I smile, burying myself further into the side of his neck. “That’s not a secret,” I reply.