19. Luke
CHAPTER 19
Luke
Last night was fucked up. What’s even worse is Zoey almost walked in on us. Thank God for adjoining bathrooms. When we heard the knock on the other room, I basically ran to the bathroom and back into Kai’s brother’s bedroom.
I guess I’m not the only one who thinks it was a horrible idea. Gigi is avoiding me. If the fact that she skipped breakfast doesn’t ring the alarm, the way she sent a text to the group chat saying she’ll miss the tour of the farm Molly finished ten minutes ago certainly does.
“Where is Gigi?” I ask Zoey who’s perched on the long, wooden dining table by the time I come back.
“Don’t come near me,” she says, her hair all tangled and her eyes glassy. “I think I have whatever Kai has.”
“Need anything?”
Zoey shakes her head. “Just…can you check up on Gigi, please? She hasn’t come down for breakfast and she’s not answering her door.” My body stiffens. Did Gigi say anything to her last night? “How much did you guys have to drink last night? She must be hungover as shit if she’s still sleeping it off.”
Exhaling a breath of relief, I give her a slight nod. “Get some rest, Zoey. I’ll take care of her.”
While my feet focus on going up, climbing the stairs two at a time, my mind is trying to figure out a way to tell Gigi in the nicest way possible that we can’t have a repeat of what happened.
I mulled over the whole disaster last night when I couldn’t sleep. This is wrong. In so many ways. She’s my stepsister. And despite the fact that Andrew might have made a drunken mistake and hurt her, she should be with someone like him. Not the cheating part, but the popular and from a good family part. I wasn’t made for Giuliana Bankowski; Andrew was.
Thinking about Andrew last night made me feel guilty like I’ve killed someone with my bare hands, but today…I’m just more confused than anything. Andrew had it all. To top it off, he had a beautiful and charming girlfriend. They were about to lose their virginities to each other? Why did he cheat on her? Did he kill himself because he felt bad for sleeping with Rachel? Seems like a stupid way to die, especially if she forgave him. Why did she let him off the hook, anyway?
Three knocks in and I hear a faint sound on the other end. “Come in.”
I stand corrected. Gigi is not avoiding me.
“Hangover or stomach bug?” I ask when I see the bucket in the bathroom on the floor next to her bed.
“Stomach bug,” she groans. “Definitely a stomach bug.” Her voice is throaty, like she’s been retching for hours.
I hesitate for a second before approaching her, but decide to do it, anyway. It’s too late now, I’m probably going to be the fourth zombie in this house; my fate is already sealed. There’s no point in keeping my distance anymore.
“You have a bit of a fever.” Her forehead feels hot to the touch. “I’ll ask the others where the Tylenol is. What do you want to eat? There’s soup and panini downstairs.”
“You’re a godsend,” she says with her eyes closed, and I can’t help the smile forming on my face.
“It’s just soup and sandwich, Gi. Be right back.”
When I enter her room for the second time, Gigi is crouching on the floor, her hands gripping the rim of the bucket. She looks at me and quickly wipes her mouth. “I’m disgusting.”
“You’re sick. Go clean yourself up, I’ll empty this out.”
“Luke,” she drawls out my name. “You’re not cleaning my puke. That’s just gross.”
“Gigi, just go change your shirt and brush your teeth. I’ve been cleaning up after Becca for as long as I can remember. You’re good.” I don’t tell her that I did the same for Dad more times than I’d like to admit in the years he decided to try out being an alcoholic.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she says when I come back after rinsing the bucket in the downstairs bathroom. “Thank you, but it wasn’t necessary.”
“Do what?”
“Be nice to me. Take care of me now that I’m sick. I’m not your sister.” As if I didn’t already know that. “And if you’re doing it because of last night…” She pauses, her gray eyes looking at the top of my cap, before daring to look at me straight. “I know what it was, Luke. I know how you operate.”
I close the door behind me. I came here to tell Gigi that last night was a one-time thing, but I can’t help but feel offended by what she’s saying. She knows how I operate?
“What does that even mean?” My tone is harsh, probably too harsh for someone who’s so sick she can’t walk in a straight line back to her bed.
She tucks herself into bed before turning her face to me. “I went to your high school, Luke. I know what happens when girls sleep with you.”
“And what is it that you think will happen, huh?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I feel the anger slowly building up inside of me. High school was a fucking horrible time in my life, but what did people in her grade even have to say about me? I kept my head down. No way people actually noticed me.
“You sleep with girls and then you ghost them.”
If I were smart, I would use this moment to just go along with it. It’s the perfect segue to my it-was-a-one-time-thing talk I’ve been preparing myself to have with Gigi. But my IQ seems to have depleted slightly ever since we walked into this ranch. So instead, I fuel my need to not seem like an asshole in front of the girl I just fucked last night and defend myself.
“That’s not true,” I scoff.
“So you telling Serena Taylor that you didn’t have time for her, only one week after sleeping with her, is a lie?”
Serena Goddamn Taylor . A sophomore when I was a junior. I forgot she had to repeat a grade, that’s probably how she and Gigi met. I still remember that day. I still remember the panic. The shame.
“That’s true, but it’s not the whole story,” is all I manage to say.
“Well she wasn’t the only one to tell me that you give zero fucks about the girls you bang.”
I feel my lips tightening as I pinch the bridge of my nose. The deep breath that I’m taking seems to calm me down, not by a lot, though, but enough to continue this ridiculous conversation. The more I speak, the more I feel myself straying from my original goal of coming here. At this point, I don’t give a shit anymore. I just don’t want Gigi to think I’m an asshole. “It’s not what you think.” When she just raises her eyebrow but says nothing, I elaborate. “I had to take care of Becca. I didn’t have the capacity to date.”
“Capacity?” she asks, her tone unconvinced.
I scratch my head when I realize that it’s a stupid word to describe the situation. “I had a lot of shit going on, alright? Does that explain it to you?” Feeling anger bubbling up at the memory, my tone becomes harsher than I want it to be. “You know what happened to my family.”
And with that, I seem to manage to put an end to this conversation.