19. Adeline
Adeline
Iam death. Or death is me.
I honestly have no clue, but this is bad. So bad.
It’s a humbling experience, stomach issues.
I had felt weird most of the afternoon, but I chalked it up to the mounting assignments due before Thanksgiving. We’re only a few weeks away from midterms, and I have to do well.
I’d pushed through, and everything felt fine when I’d come over. I drifted off to sleep, but my stomach had started to curl in on itself, twisting painfully.
I’d flown to the bathroom, barely making it in time.
I’m tired. So fucking tired. I couldn’t do anything but puke. This place is now my home. My cheek pressed against the cool tile as I drifted off to a desperate sleep.
There’s a knock on the door, and I moan, squeezing my eyes shut. Ciaran has been sweet, but I am burning with exhaustion and embarrassment. As it is, I’ve always been aware that his tiny apartment leaves little to the imagination.
I’m sorry if he’s got to pee or something, but he’s just going to have to hold it.
Or better yet, maybe he could just leave.
Surely, he’s got a meeting or something that he could go deal with.
That would give me time to get it all together, and I’d be able to clean up the mess, air out the place, and run back to my dorm before he came back home.
I’m so tired Rina’s masturbating and Trish’s heavy metal won’t matter at all.
The knock continues.
“No,” I moan. “Please just go away.”
“Adeline.” A soft voice caresses me.
“Mama?” Am I dreaming?
“Open the door, Ads.”
I’m wearing a T-shirt I grabbed out of Ciaran’s hamper because apparently it is weird to puke naked. Thank God it covers most of me.
I slide toward the door, my muscles tweaking as I reach up and turn the door handle.
My mom spots me on the ground. She’s immaculate as always, her hair freshly highlighted and her makeup perfected. She blinks down at her youngest daughter, a disgrace to the Akatov name because I’ve just desecrated my boyfriend’s bathroom.
“It smells horrible,” I whimper. “I’m sorry.”
Mom comes in, careful to not step on me. She sinks to her knees, brushing my hair back.
Her eyes swim with tenderness as she stares at me. And then, because we can’t take anything seriously, we both start to giggle.
I drop my head back to the ground. “No, stop it!”
She continues to run a hand through my hair.
“Oh God!” I pop up, twitching at the movement. “We were supposed to grab breakfast!”
Now I understand why she’s shown up. The moment I missed it, and because I hadn't looked at my phone in hours, Mom would start to worry. She must have called Marco, who informed her I hadn’t left Ciaran’s apartment. God, there’s no telling what she said when she showed up.
“I’m sorry.” I rub my eyes, my elbows digging into the hard tiles. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be, my love.” It doesn’t take much for Mom to understand there was no way in hell I was making breakfast today.
“I had to miss class,” I realize at the same time. “Oh, shit, I had a quiz.”
A tear drips onto the floor.
“That wasn’t going to happen either,” Mom says, settling back into a more comfortable position. “Do you think it’s a stomach bug, or did you eat something?”
“All I had was a sandwich yesterday at the student center.” I’d grabbed it and eaten it on the way to the library. “I did think it kind of tasted weird.”
I’d shoveled it down, though, because I needed to fuel my body. I didn’t have time to ponder whether the chicken was okay or not.
“Damn it,” I moan, flopping to the floor again. All of this because of one shitty chicken sandwich.
“Have you been here the whole night?” Mom asks.
I nod.
“And. . . Ciaran. Did he try to help you?”
I peer up at her. It’s the first time I’ve heard her say his name. “Of course. I told him to get the fuck out.”
He did bring me more towels and left a Gatorade right outside the door. I made sure he’d left before cracking it open and snatching it. I’m well aware I’m dehydrated, but I’ve only taken a few sips of the liquid.
“It’s so embarrassing,” I whisper into my hands, which hold up my head. I’m sure from this angle, the giant T-shirt cannot hide my panty-less state, but she birthed me, so she’s going to have to get over it.
Mom chuckles. “Life is full of shit, Ads. If he can’t handle food poisoning, then he’ll never be able to handle anything.”
“That does not mean he has to smell it, though,” I mutter.
That only makes Mom laugh harder. As it is, I’m sure she’s a champ, sitting here with me.
“What do you want to do?” she asks. “Do you think you can move?”
My stomach is still in painful knots, but the urge to puke has slowly abated. “I think I can move, but. . .”
The bathroom is a wreck. I tried to keep it clean, and it’s not like I puked anywhere but the toilet, but it still feels like I’ve disgraced it.
Mom opens the cabinet under the sink. There’s a sparse amount of cleaning supplies, but it’ll work. The exhaust fan has been on all night, but hopefully the smell of Clorox will help too.
I lean against the sink, brushing my teeth, trying to rinse the acidic taste from my mouth.
Mom opens the bathroom door, softly shutting the bedroom door before I creep out.
“Is there a drawer here of your things?” Mom asks.
It’s a serious question softened by the circumstances we find ourselves in.
“In the closet.” It’s a small, shallow thing, but I’ve placed a bag of things I dragged over here, trying to keep the small bedroom clutter-free.
“Anything else?” Mom asks, looking around.
I can’t help but see the room from her perspective. It’s tiny, but tidy. Ciaran couldn’t live any other way. The sheets have been thrown back on the bed because I’d basically ripped them off in my pursuit of the bathroom.
It’s bare bones, though. There’s only one nightstand, on Ciaran’s side of the bed. The rug is worn, and it lacks natural sunlight. The overhead light is a gross yellowish, but she doesn’t realize the lamp in the corner is much better to use.
It hits us both at the same time that this is the place where I've been living the past few weeks. Ciaran and I sleep in this bed every night, next to one another.
“I need to make sure my laptop is in my backpack.” I grab my phone, breaking the awkwardness. There are, in fact, a million missed notifications, all from my mother.
“I’ll meet you in the car.” She searches my face, checking to make sure I’m okay.
Tears prick at my eyes, exhaustion heightening my emotions. “Thanks.”
I’m really fucking glad my mom is here. I don’t mind how childish it makes me seem.
I’m not sure what I expect when I finally step out into the living room, but it’s not Ciaran sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee with Mom’s security detail.
Mom huffs, but there’s a smile as she shakes her head, like she’s not surprised that boys will be boys.
One lifts his mug in the air, in a silent cheers, before placing it in the sink. The other claps Ciaran’s shoulder. The last thing I need is Ciaran to be buddy-buddy with the guards, but here we are.
They leave with Mom while I grab my backpack.
Ciaran wonders over and I focus on his naked chest instead of meeting his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, my hand tightening on the strap of my backpack. “Mom’s going to take me home.” Where I will curl up in peace, away from my roommates and next to a private bathroom. “I’m really sorry.”
He brushes my hair back. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Text me when you can, when you’re feeling better.”
I wipe my cheek, unable to talk.
“Come on.” He quickly grabs a T-shirt, throwing it on. “I’ll walk you down the stairs.”
I roll my eyes. “My legs work fine.”
“So you’re not shaking?” he asks. “Let me carry you.”
There’s no chance in hell I’m going to be that dramatic. I do hold onto the banister, though, Ciaran gripping my other hand. It’s all so stupid, but I’m not in the position to argue anymore. The moment I’m in the SUV, I will be napping.
“I’ll text you,” I promise, squeezing his hand when we get to the sidewalk.
Mom’s got the door open, and I realize that I’m basically being passed between the pair of them.
They know it too, because a look passes between them, and then Mom nods at Ciaran—the two of them on the same page in regard to how perfectly messy I am.