I don't have a response to that. The anger in her eyes is aimed at me like a death beam. But I know it's not just me she's mad at. She's mad at herself. She's upset at the noises she let trail from her lips when I touched her. How could my apology make up for that?
"I didn't get what I want," I say. My forearms are resting on my knees and I'm staring at them like I can see scars there, the scars that belong on my mother's arms. "I thought I wanted to end the prank war, but last night, when I realized you were so mad at me you might never talk to me again, I hated the thought of you just disappearing. Moving out. I hated the thought of never seeing you again. The thought of not being able to talk to you every day, even if it's just to pick on you. Because this juvenile tug-o-war between us has been the best antidote I've had in a long time. I want things to go back to how they were before."
She's watching me through tired, beady eyes, the expression in them softening in a way that makes me think she feels the same. That we've both been seeking to numb our troubles, that we both find comfort in the strange way we interact.
Silence falls over us for several long seconds.
"I think it's over," she says, almost to herself, a hand pressed to her stomach like she can feel its fate. "I think I'm done now."
She tries to pull herself up on wobbly arms, but I'm on my feet and scooping her up by her underarms before she can rise on her own.
"Don't touch me," she snaps, yanking free from my hold and insisting she can walk on her own.
She goes over to the sink and brings a handful of water to her lips. I open one of the cabinets and hand her a bottle of mouthwash. She takes it and rinses out her mouth. When she finishes, she heads to the bathroom door. I follow beside her.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asks.
"I'm taking you to bed." When she stiffens at my side, I add, "No offense, but that's the last thing I want from you right now. I promise."
She must be too weak to argue because she just half drags her body away. Her trajectory down the hall is an uneven line. I hang back slightly and watch her shuffling her feet along the hardwood floor. I know I insinuated I don't find her attractive right now, but that must not apply to her backside. Because she doesn't look sick from behind, in those tiny shorts that ride up as she walks.
She reaches her bed and burrows under the covers like a worm, burying her face in her pillow. I leave her to go retrieve a water bottle from the refrigerator for her and a drink for myself.
Back in the room, I stand over the outline of her figure, curled up under the covers.
"Here," I say, opening the water for her.
She looks up at me, eyes narrowed in suspicion the way they always are. I've always liked her eyes on me, but the expression in them is so guarded. I want her to look at me like someone she trusts, someone she knows. I don't know why I want that. But in this moment, it's all I want.
"Thanks," she says in a low voice, sitting up.
The bun on her head is now ridiculously lopsided and amusing to look at. She must see me eyeing it because she tugs at the band until her hair falls over her shoulders.
God, she's beautiful. I'm the last person that should be here, trying to make her feel better. Not just because I hurt her feelings to begin with, but because she's heartbroken over someone else.
And I'm not the kind of guy who knows how to mend broken things.
"What are you staring at?" she demands, from behind the bottle of water.
Even while sick, even while visibly miserable, she can't help but turn up the snark for me.
"Mind if I stay?"
Her fleeting hesitation gives me hope. She sits up further and pulls the covers over her waist, snuggling in. "What? You want to watch me sleep like a stalker?"
"Are you going to sleep?"
"Probably not." She runs a hand over the side of her neck.
I sit on the edge of the windowsill, watching her. "Let's play a drinking game, then." When she gives me a look, I laugh. "You drink water. I drink this." I lift up the small bottle of rum I snatched from Ava's stash.
"Why would I even want to talk to you?"
It's unclear if her question is directed to me or to herself, but I answer it, anyway. "Because I'm a sorry son of a bitch, and I just want to make things right. I crossed a line, I realize that."
"I don't trust you anymore," she says, sitting back against her headboard. "Not that I ever really did."
"I know. But I have a feeling you don't want to spend the Fourth of July alone, sick in bed. When you can spend it with me, sick in bed."
"Playing a drinking game with water?"
"I'm trying to level the playing field here. You're half dead. What got you sick, anyway?"
"Your stupid burrito."
"Burrito? What burri--Oh, shit. Please don't tell me you ate that burrito. That's like two weeks old."
She shuts her eyes tight and gags a little, hands covering her mouth. "Great. I'm going to die from my own petty revenge plot."
"I won't let you die," I promise, smiling despite the topic of conversation. "I'll stay here and make sure you don't suffer the most humiliating death in human history. Death by burrito."
Whatever she sees on my face causes the edge in her eyes to soften a bit more. She groans as she sags against the headboard to reach her bedside table. I watch, curious, as she pulls out a small object in a black case and sets it beside her.
"Fine. Let's play your stupid game. But if you try to touch me or do anything shady..." She waves the object in front of her. "I'm tasering you in the nuts."
I groan, my hand automatically shielding the crotch of my pants. I can only imagine how awful that would be and how it's probably exactly what I deserve.
"Sounds like a deal," I say. "Let's play Never Have I Ever or I've Never, for short. Any objections?"
She shakes her head.
"Let's do this, then," I say, unscrewing the cap of the rum bottle. "You go first."
She thinks for a moment then says, "I've never cheated on someone I was dating." The surprise is evident on her face when I don't take a drink. "Oh come on," she says, "you're lying."
"I'm not. Why would I lie?"
"Oh, I don't know? To make yourself look good?"
"That's not how this works. But if you have to know, I've only been in one serious relationship and that ended in cheating, just not on my end. Cheating requires commitment so I just don't put myself in that position."
"Not ever?"
"This isn't how the game works, either, Julia. You don't get to ask twenty questions."
She nods slowly. "Okay. Go. It's your turn."
Tapping a finger on my knee, I consider a question that could broach my curiosity. I want to know about the guy who broke her heart.
"I've never been in love."
Her lips part slightly but her hands remain in her lap, cradling the bottle of water. Interesting. This puts a dent in my theory that she's heartbroken. It doesn't make sense.
"Love makes people stupid," I say. "All right, your turn."
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she turns her sights toward the ceiling. "I've never...had sex with one of my professors."
I bring the bottle up for a sip then I bring it back up for another, with a small grin. Her mouth drops into an O shape, eyes narrowing.
"Two? Which ones?"