All color left America’s face. “Take. Me. Home.”
“I’d love to, if you’d get in the fucking car!” Shepley screamed the last bit. His face turned red, and veins were popping out on his neck.
America opened the door and climbed into the back, leaving the door open. She helped me slide Abby in beside her, and then I fell into the passenger seat.
The ride home was short and completely silent. When Shepley pulled into his parking spot and threw the shifter in Park, I scrambled out of the car and pulled the seat forward.
Abby’s head was on America’s shoulder, her hair covering her face. I reached in and pulled Abby out, throwing her over my shoulder. America crawled out quickly after, and she walked straight to her car, pulling her keys from her purse.
“Mare,” Shepley said, regret already obvious from the break of his voice.
America sat in the driver’s seat, slammed the door in Shepley’s face, and then backed away.
Abby was ass up, her arms dangling behind me.
“She’s gotta come back for Abby, right?” Shepley asked, his face desperate.
Abby moaned, and then her body lurched. The awful groan/growl that always accompanied vomit preceded a splashing sound. The back of my legs felt wet.
“Tell me she didn’t,” I said, frozen.
Shepley bent back for a second, and then righted himself. “She did.”
I jogged up the stairs two at a time, and rushed Shepley as he tried to find the apartment key. He opened it, and I raced into the bathroom.
Abby leaned over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach liters at a time. Her hair was already wet with puke from the incident outside, but I grabbed one of those round, black, stretchy things off the sink and pulled her long hair back into a ponytail. The damp pieces clung together in thick clumps, but I pulled it all back with my hands, anyway, and secured it with the black hair holder thingy. I’d seen enough girls twist it and pull their hair back through in class, it didn’t take long for me to figure it out.
Abby’s body lurched again. I wet a washrag from the hall closet, and then sat back down beside her, holding it against her forehead. She leaned against the tub and groaned.
I gently wiped her face with the wet rag, and then tried to sit still when she lay her head on my shoulder.
“You gonna make it?” I asked.
She frowned, and then gagged, keeping her lips together just long enough to position her head over the toilet. She heaved again, and more liquid splashed into it.
Abby was so small, and the amount she was expelling didn’t seem normal. Worry crept into my mind.
I scrambled from the bathroom and returned with two towels, an extra sheet, three blankets, and four pillows in my arms. Abby moaned over the toilet bowl, her body trembling. I fashioned the linens against the tub in a pallet and waited, knowing we would more than likely end up spending the night in that little corner of the bathroom.
Shepley stood in the doorway. “Should I . . . call someone?”
“Not yet. I’m going to keep an eye on her.”
“I’m fine,” Abby said. “This is me not getting alcohol poisoning.”
Shepley frowned. “No, this is stupid. That’s what this is.”
“Hey, you got the uh . . . her uh . . .”
“Present?” he said with one eyebrow up.
“Yeah.”
“I got it,” he said, clearly unhappy.
“Thanks, man.”
Abby fell back against the tub once more, and I promptly wiped her face. Shepley wet a fresh rag and tossed it to me.
“Thanks.”
“Yell if you need me,” Shepley said. “I’m going to lie awake in bed, trying to think of a way to get Mare to forgive me.”
I relaxed against the tub as best I could, and pulled Abby against me. She sighed, letting her body melt into mine. Even with her covered in vomit, close to her was the only place I wanted to be. Her words at the party replayed in my mind.
In another life, I could love you.
Abby was lying weak and sick in my arms, depending on me to take care of her. In that moment I recognized that my feelings for her were a lot stronger than I thought. Sometime between the moment we met, and holding her on that bathroom floor, I had fallen in love with her.
Abby sighed, and then rested her head in my lap. I made sure she was completely covered with blankets before I let myself nod off.
“Trav?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
She didn’t answer. Her breathing evened out, and her head fell heavily against my legs. The cold porcelain against my back and the unforgiving tile under my ass were brutal, but I didn’t dare move. She was comfortable, and she would stay that way. Twenty minutes into watching her breathe, the parts of me that hurt started to numb, and my eyes closed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Oz