He smiled, and chuckled once. A toneless breath of a chuckle that showed me his emotions weren’t all swinging from gallows deep inside him.
He’d cried himself out all the way to his toes, it seemed, as tired footsteps lugged up the stairwell behind me once we were inside our building. Once at the top of the stairs, I hesitated. Deeply rooted instinct told me to open his door for him, close it behind him, and mind my own business for the rest of the day. But, this was Regan. If nothing else, he’d spent the last few weeks showing me that he needed people and he was okay with that need. Despite my discomfort in being needed beyond what I was certain I could give, I knew even deeper in my gut that I couldn’t leave him. Not like this.
So, I opened my door and he followed without protest, crashing limply onto my couch, still clutching the letter for dear life. Within minutes, he was asleep. I might not have believed it if I hadn’t, myself, fallen asleep during or immediately following an emotional catastrophe ending in tears, but I was thankful he did. It would hurt him all over again when he woke, but he needed the rest to be able to deal with that. Even when a wound is raw and exposed, it still needs to be covered in between exposure to dry it out. It was a delicate cycle, one I’d unfortunately become familiar with. Wound care, emotional style.
Once he’d stayed asleep for several minutes, I took a deep breath, allowing a few tears of my own to join the heavy party in my apartment. Regan let it all out there ... his hurt, his internal homicide, in such a way I was almost jealous. I’d wanted to scream and kick and cry for as long as I could remember. Next week would bring a new wave of terror as my mother began shock treatment. Of that, I was certain.
I wouldn’t tell Regan about that. Not yet, anyway. I knew I should, especially after the lack of communication surrounding the existence of my mother, but ... no, not yet. Timing never had been on my side, after all. It was my problem to deal with and not burden the guy who just read a letter from his dead girlfriend. He’d want to help, and he’d be mad if he found out, but that was a risk I was willing to take to protect him.
That I wanted to protect him from anything was deeply disturbing to me, and further proof that I had to keep him at forearm’s length at the very least, since full arm’s length was not kosher with him.
As he slept, I picked up my cell phone and did the most unthinkable thing.
“Hello?” Lissa shouted over jukebox music.
“Liss, it’s Georgia. I can’t come in tonight, okay?”
“Is it your mom? Is everything okay?” I so rarely called in, I understood the worry in her tone.
“She’s okay. Thanks, though.”
“Uh ... okay. It’s slow tonight, anyway. I’ve got you covered. Keep me posted if you need anything, K?”
“I will.”
I hung up the phone and watched Regan sleeping curled on his side on my oversized couch. With more tears streaming down my face, I shuffled over to the crescent shape formed by the curve of his body, and curled myself into it, my back to him, and cried into the couch cushions until I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
No white rabbits.
No Red Queen.
Just a lonely girl.
Who needed a friend.
Regan
I slept for what felt like three days. Before I opened my eyes, I took a deep breath and was surrounded by warmth and vanilla. Not the kind of vanilla girls can buy in a spray bottle, but the kind that comes from the actual bean. Madagascar, I think they’re from. It was sweet and comfortable.
It was Georgia.
Georgia?
My back and arms stiffened as I mentally assessed the situation. Like a tsunami, it came back. There was Rae’s letter, Georgia’s cupcakes left on the dock, and ... I was asleep on Georgia’s couch. Rather, had been before I opened my eyes and found myself nose to a button-nosed sleeping Georgia.
Her arms were curled up against her chest, which was pressed against mine, and her features were soft. There was no ridge between her eyebrows from her ever-present cynicism. Her cheeks were pink and her lips were soft and warm. And, I know that because they were touching mine. Touching. Not kissing. Not moving. Just resting there with each other.
If I could have frozen my muscles any further I would have. As it was, my arm was draped over her waist and my back was pinned against the back of the couch. Before I could think much more about what we were doing in that position, and why, I heard Bo and Ember’s voices across the hall.
“Regan? You there, man?” Bo’s voice had an anxious edge to it that was rarely present in him. “I’ll call him again.”
A few seconds later, from the table by the door where I must have discarded my things, my phone started to ring, and their voices stopped outside.
Great.