“Please tell me she’s not going to die,” Breakfast said in a slightly hysterical tone. “I don’t think I could handle watching someone die.”
“How did this happen, Tristan?” Juliet asked, ignoring Breakfast. “Did you leave her alone?”
Tristan didn’t answer for a while. He scooped water over Lily, his hands stiff and white with cold. “Yeah. I left her.”
Water filled the tub. Lily’s slack limbs floated up around her. She looked at them, breaking the surface of the water. She watched how the surface of the water clung to her and formed liquid webs between her fingers. Finally, she felt the fire go out. Exhaustion followed, nearly paralyzing her with its quick onset.
“Her fever’s dropping,” Tristan said from far, far away.
Lily’s eyes shut and she slipped into sleep.
*
Lily felt Tristan’s arm, heavy and smooth, draped over her shoulder. He was tucked against her back, all the covers piled on top of him to keep him warm while Lily stayed cool. The window was open. Lily watched her white curtains swell and sink on the cold November breeze. A day ago, she would have been over the moon to lie like this with him, but now she felt nothing for him. In fact, she wanted him to leave so she could figure out why she felt so empty. Lily was looking for a way to wiggle out from underneath his heavy arm when Tristan’s breathing hitched and he woke up.
“Lily?” he said anxiously, rising up on his elbow behind her.
“I’m awake,” she answered.
“Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need something?”
“No, Tristan. I don’t need anything.”
She felt him looking down at her, studying her, but she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Again, she wished he’d go away so she could think.
“I’m so sorry—I can’t believe Scot did that to you,” he said quietly. She could feel angry heat radiating off of Tristan and saw his fist clench. “I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”
“Why?” Lily asked. “He’s not the one who abandoned me for another girl.”
A long, awkward silence stretched out between them. Lily felt Tristan grow tenser with every passing second. He flopped onto his back with a frustrated sigh.
“I’m sorry you saw that, okay?” More silence. She didn’t know what to say. He took her shoulder and rolled her onto her back. “Will you at least look at me?”
Lily did as he asked. She half expected to burst into tears or start screaming at him as soon as she saw his face. But she didn’t feel anything for Tristan except a growing sense of disgust.
“Say something,” he urged. He was afraid.
Lily had never been the cold anger kind of girl. She was a yeller, a foot stomper, and a pillow thrower. This blankness she felt toward him was completely unlike her, but she couldn’t help it. All she could see when she looked at Tristan was a guy who’d taken a sophomore girl into the bathroom for a quickie at a party. It was nasty—borderline nauseating—and she wished she’d never seen it. It had stolen something from her, but she didn’t know what it was just yet.
“What?” she replied when his expectant look intensified. “What do you want me to say, Tristan?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re punishing me. Fine,” he said tersely. “Just remember I never made any promises. And I never lied to you, Lily.”
“Let me get this straight,” she said, sitting up and turning to him. “As long as you don’t verbally promise anything to anyone, you can treat girls like dirt, and you aren’t technically doing anything wrong. Aren’t you going to accept any responsibility for this?”
He looked away. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m just pointing out that I never said we were exclusive.”