Chapter 21 Riley
TWENTY-ONE
RILEY
My head feels like it's going to explode. If I move, it’ll go off like a grenade. I don't need that kind of mess in my bedroom.
How the hell did I get home? I don’t remember. What I do recall is talking to some lovely women in the bathroom when I had to pee. They complimented my outfit, and I'm pretty sure I gave each of them a hug and told them how beautiful they looked.
After that, it's a little fuzzy.
I groan into the pillow—a pillow that is covered in drool—and force myself to turn over and open my eyes. My ribcage feels like it’s being squeezed to death, and I realize I’m still in my clothes from last night. I must have gone straight to bed.
I squint one eye, testing the lighting in my room.
When I force my eyes open, my surroundings are not familiar to me. At all. Nothing in this room looks like mine. The first thing I see is pale gray walls with hanging frames.
Yup, this is not my room.
Oh god, I hope I didn't go home with someone absolutely obliterated and not remember a single thing. I could have ended up on a true crime show where my friends talk about how I would light up a room anywhere I went.
I lift myself up on my elbows, my head continuing to pound like a drum. I groan some more. When everything stops spinning, I scan the room. It's—clean. A long, wooden dresser sits across from the bed on the opposite side. A sitting bench is perched under a four-pane window.
I squeeze my eyes as tight as they can go before opening them again, hoping I’ll magically appear in my bedroom, in my own bed, and not some strangers. I peek one eye open.
Nope, still not in my room.
Throwing the fluffy duvet off my body, I place my feet on a fuzzy rug that splays out from underneath the bed. Now that I’m sitting up straight, my head feels like it weighs the same as a twelve-pound bowling ball.
I press my palm on my temple, putting enough pressure to ease some of the pain, my other hand going to my stomach. Nausea courses through me, and I can feel the acid in my throat.
Inhaling two deep breaths helps my stomach calm a little.
Finally, I push off the bed and sway on my feet, placing a hand on the wall to balance myself. Every step I take makes me want to hurl.
There’s a framed photo that hangs a few inches away from the right side of the door. It’s set up so a person can look at it every time they leave this room.
“Who—” Everything stills around me when I make out the picture that hangs in front of me.
Two happy teenagers on the beach. A cheerful, blonde girl has her head thrown back in a fit of laughter. Next to her is a lanky, brown-haired boy with bright eyes.
They stand next to their own yellow surfboards with a white stripe down the middle. It’s the same one I have stored away in a closet that I don’t go into anymore.
If I close my eyes, it feels like I’m there again. We must be fifteen and fourteen years old in this photo. I begged August to teach me to surf and bought my own board while on break at work. He helped me pick it out and then bought the same one.
I fell off it five times, splashing into the ocean while waves pushed me toward the shore. August and Ellie were cheering for me while I shouted, “I did it!”
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
This is August’s room. I rub at my eyes and stare at the other photos hanging on the wall. The next frame is a group photo of Rowan, August, Beau, and James at high school graduation. The one after that is a family photo from their vacation.
Then I stare at the bed I slept in. His bed. His large, comfortable, eucalyptus-scented bed.
I didn’t sleep with August in his bed. There’s no possible way.
Turning back to the door, I peek my head out into the hallway. The one-story house is silent, and I’m not sure if he’s even here right now.
The closer I get to the living room, I hear a faint sound of someone typing on a keyboard, and I find August sitting on his couch. One ankle is crossed over his knee, and I feel like a pervert when I look at his thigh disappearing underneath his shorts.
He continues to type on his laptop that’s balanced on his knee, his face scrunched in concentration, causing his glasses to push farther up his nose.
A small noise comes from my throat when I clear it to grab his attention.
"Good morning," he says before placing his laptop on the coffee table. Steam rises from a mug that sits next to an empty white bowl and a silver spoon. He gets up from the couch and wipes his hands on his shorts. "Did you sleep okay?"
I give him a stiff nod. If I move my head too much, I'm afraid it's going to roll off my body
"Do you need anything? Water? Tylenol? Gatorade?"
My shoulders slump, and I let out a heavy sigh. “A Gatorade would be great.”
“Lie on the couch, I’ll be right back.”
Heading over to the sectional portion of the couch, I peer around the living room. More framed photos and art pieces hang along the walls. Across from the couch, against the wall, is a TV stand with no TV, but a record player.
The walls are painted a light, charcoal gray, and large potted plants hang out in front of the window.
Is that my shoe?
"Here you go," August says, holding out a bottle for me. Our fingers brush when I take it from him.
"Thanks.”
This is something I thought would never happen. Me and August, in his house alone. I'm in his safe space. A place he goes to decompress and relax.
"Nice place," I say.
He looks around and shrugs. “It’s fine.”
The ice-cold drink sends a wave of refreshing coolness down my throat, while the taste of sugary fruit hits every taste bud on my tongue. I muster up the courage to ask him how the hell I got here. Or, more importantly, why I stayed here.
“Hey, so, how did I end up here exactly?”
August huffs out a laugh and scratches the back of his neck before crossing his arms.
“What?”
Now I'm scared to know. What could have happened? Did I confess my feelings to him? Absolutely not. I’m not that kind of person where I vomit my feelings after I drink.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks.
“Honestly? Me in the bathroom making friends.”
“You—made friends in a bathroom?”
“You wouldn’t get it.” I shake my head, then immediately wince at the pain. “It’s girl code.”
“Okay. Long story short, you were being stubborn, and I had to drag you out of the club. Then we shared a ride and went to my house first, by accident, then you got out of the car and.” He gestures with his hand around the room. “Here we are.”
“How did I get in your bed? Did you sleep in the bed?” I ask in a panic and wince at the pain from sitting up too quickly.
“No,” he blurts and shakes his head. “I slept on the couch.”
Why is there a tiny part of me that wishes he were in bed with me? Not in a sexual way, but I don’t know. Comfort? Protection?
“Oh, okay.”
Another beat of silence greets us.
“I like the color of your walls.” The sun shining through the window irritates my eyes.
“Yeah?” A look of satisfaction comes across his face. “Thanks. It took me forever to decide what color I wanted.”
“Really?”
A deep laugh rumbles out from him. “It’s kind of embarrassing. I couldn’t decide between five colors, and they weren’t even in the same color palette.”
If I say any more words, I might vomit. Instead, I gesture for him to keep talking.
“Would you judge me if I said blue?”
I take a deep breath to push down the nausea before asking, “What type of blue?”
“Baby blue? Like the sky.”
“That would be a good color for a nursery maybe? I don’t think about the living space, though.”
He laughs at himself and agrees with a nod. “Yeah, Ellie had to talk me out of it.”
“Well, good thing you asked for her opinion.”
“I didn’t. She came with me to pick out colors, and I grabbed a swatch, and she snatched it from me to put it back.”
I let out a laugh, tipping my head back, and I probably resemble the photo of a teenage me in August’s room. The moment I do that; I regret it and hold my head in my hand.
“Ow. My head is killing me.”
“I can get you something for it if you want?”
“It’s okay. I’ll just drink more of this.” I swish the bottle around. The pressure in my head becomes worse after laughing, the pain goes straight to my stomach, and the nausea hits me all over again.
“Is it hot in here?” I ask, fanning my face.
August scrunches his eyebrows. “The heat’s off. Are you okay?” He starts to move, getting up from the couch, but a heat wave hits me.
“August, where’s the closest bathroom?” Acid creeps up my throat, and saliva builds in my mouth.
The worst thing is knowing I’m about to throw up and trying to fight it off instead of accepting it. But that’s what I do best. I fight through things that I need to let go of.
I fight with myself about setting boundaries with Mom and about my feelings toward August, thinking they’ll just vanish. What am I doing with my life?
“Shit, let me help you.” His hands rest on my shoulders, guiding me to the bathroom where the door is already open and welcoming me with open arms.
My knees hit the tile floor as I push up the toilet seat. My eyes water while my throat burns. This is so embarrassing. I’m about to vomit in his house. In his bathroom. Practically in his lap.
I gag and whimper while I hear August turn the faucet on. A cold rag touches the nape of my neck, and I close my eyes.
He rubs my back. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”
The cold water feels incredible on my skin, and I turn to look at August, wanting to apologize. His features are slightly blurry while I peer at him through wet eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper.
“Don’t apologize. I’m gonna be here until you feel better. I won’t leave your side.” The small circles he makes on my back calm me.
The towel still feels cold as he moves it around my neck, dabbing it gently. All of this, everything he’s doing, is this how it would be if I gave in to my feelings and let myself have him?
Knowing that he would be there for me sick or not. The comfort he’s giving me at this moment melts the embarrassment away. Even if I do keep on heaving.
“August.” I breathe out through pursed lips toward the toilet before shifting my eyes to a man who I know loves me and would do anything for me.
All these emotions want to come out. My own, fuck it, moment. I just need to swallow my throw up for one minute, and I’ll be fine.
“Yeah?”
“I—”
My head dips back into the toilet and I vomit.