She closes the door behind me and I hear the thumb lock on the door click. She just locked me out of my own room. I can’t say I blame her really. She’s in a strange place. And she’s surrounded by strange men. But there’s a piece of me that’s glad she locked the door.
I walk back to the living room, taking a blanket with me from the linen closet.
“I still can’t believe you’re going to sleep on the couch,” Paul says.
I can’t believe it either. But I am.
Emily
I’ve been lying in Logan’s bed for what feels like hours, but I can’t sleep. I heard Pete when he came home, and I heard Paul tell him to go to bed. Then the apartment got quiet. No one has made a sound for hours, until now. I think it’s Matthew, because it sounds like quick, muffled footsteps and then an awful gagging noise.
I open the door and look out, the bathroom door is open about an inch, and I’m pretty sure that’s Matthew in there getting sick. He’s miserable, and I want to help him, but I also don’t want to intrude. I tiptoe into the kitchen because I’m thirsty, and I look over at the sofa, where Logan is sleeping. His feet are hanging off the edge by about a foot, and he’s flat on his back, his head bolstered by the arm of the couch. He doesn’t even have a pillow.
I open the fridge and bend over see what they have to drink, and when I stand up, Matthew is looking at me over the top of the door. “What are you doing?” he asks. His eyes are rimmed in red and bloodshot, and his face is pale.
“Getting something to drink,” I whisper. “Can I get you anything?”
He shakes his head. His gaze darts down to my bare legs, and I tug on the hem of Logan shirt. “Nice shirt,” he says. He jerks a thumb toward Logan. “Did you two have a fight?”
I look over at Logan too. He’s sleeping soundly, his mouth hanging open. “No,” I whisper. “Why would you think that?”
“Wait.” He stops like he’s thinking about something. “Why are you still here? Are you spending the night?”
I nod, lifting a bottle of water to my lips.
“Logan’s girls never spend the night.” He looks amused. But I don’t understand why.
“He insisted,” I whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” he whispers loudly and dramatically.
“Logan’s asleep,” I reply.
“He’s deaf.” He grins.
Oh, yeah. I forgot. It’s so easy to forget that he can’t hear. I laugh and shrug.
Suddenly, he turns on his heel and runs back to the bathroom. He’s sick again, but it sounds like his stomach is empty. I open drawers beside the sink until I find a drawer with towels in it. I wet one with some cool water, and I meet him when he’s coming out of the bathroom with it. He takes it from me with a heavy sigh and dabs his face with it. “Do you need anything?” I ask.
“Ginger ale,” he says. “There’s some in the fridge.”
I nod and go back in that direction. While I’m there, I grab an empty margarita mix bucket off the counter. I start down the hallway, and assume his door is the one with the open doorway. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. I put the bucket in front of him. “For later,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says as he takes a sip of the ginger ale. I take the towel from his hands and go back to the bathroom, getting it cold again. When I go back in the room, he’s laying down, so I gently put the towel on his forehead and turn to walk out. “Don’t break his heart,” he says.
He’s puking his guts out and all he’s worried about is me breaking Logan’s heart.
“I’m just here for the night,” I say.
He snorts. It comes out more like a snuffle. But I get it. He doesn’t believe me. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
I turn out his light as I leave the room, and close the door behind me.
The washer has stopped quite some time before, and I take what’s in the dryer out and see that the pile on top of the washer is growing. I can’t see letting their things get all wrinkled, so I stand there and fold them, and I fold what’s coming out of the dryer, too. I flip my laundry into the dryer, and then I remember the huge pile of laundry in the hallway, so I start a load of their things. Might as well. I’m not doing anything else.
I walk back to the kitchen, and Logan is snoring. His hair hangs all tousled over his forehead, and I wonder if his mother ever used to watch him sleep like this.
The kitchen is a mess, so I grab a trash bag from the pantry and start packing pizza boxes away. Then I put up all the food that’s on the counter, and give it a good scrub. The kitchen is all nice and sparkly before I go back to bed.
I yawn and close the bedroom door behind me. But this time, I don’t feel the need to lock it.
***
The bed dips in the middle of the night, and I startle awake. My heart starts pounding like a jackhammer and I scoot to the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?” I ask.