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 movedwhen 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?”