He tossed me a lighter when I turned, then pointed at his nose and smiled sadly. I reached up to my face. There was a fresh spot of blood on my upper lip.
As a rule, we didn’t smoke in the Castle. I exited through the side door and stood in the driveway with the joint, spliff, whatever it was pinched tightly between my lips. I inhaled how Alexander had taught me two years before, deep into the lungs. It was cold, even for February, and my breath and the smoke came out of my mouth together in one long spiral. My sinuses felt heavy and thick, like they’d been plugged up with clay. I wondered when the bruises would fade, if my nose would look the same in three weeks’ time.
I leaned against the wall and tried not to think anymore, certain I’d drive myself crazy if I did. The forest was quiet and at the same time brimming with small sounds—the distant hoot of an owl, the dry rustle of leaves, a breeze slithering through the treetops. Somehow, slowly, my brain disconnected from the rest of me. I still felt pain, still twisted in the grip of indecision, but there was something between me and thought and feeling and everything else—a fine mist, a backlit scrim, shadow-puppet silhouettes moving softly on the other side. Whether it was the cold or Alexander’s joint I couldn’t say, but inch by inch I began to go numb.
The door opened, closed. I looked toward it without expectation or curiosity. Meredith. She hesitated on the porch for a moment, then came down. I didn’t move. She took the joint out of my mouth, threw it on the ground, and kissed me before I could speak. A dull throb of pain went up the bridge of my nose to my brain. Her palm was warm on the side of my face, her mouth magnetic. She took my hand like she had so many weeks ago and led me back inside.
SCENE 7
I slept through most of the following day, regaining consciousness for only a moment or two when Meredith slid out of bed, brushed my hair back off my forehead, and left for class. I murmured something at her, but the words never really took shape. Sleep crawled back on top of me like an affectionate, purring pet, and I didn’t wake again for eight hours. When I did, Filippa was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside me.
I gazed up at her blearily, groping through my muddled memory of the previous night, unsure whether I had any clothes on under the blanket. She pushed me back down when I tried to sit up. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“How do I look?”
“Honestly? Awful.”
“Coincidence? No. What time is it?”
The windows were already dark.
“Quarter to nine,” she said, and her forehead creased. “Have you slept all day?”
I groaned, shifted, reluctant to lift my head. “Mostly. How was class?”
“Very quiet.”
“Why?”
“Well, without you there were only four of us.”
“Who else was missing?”
“Who do you think?”
I turned my head away from her on the pillow, stared hard at the wall. The movement produced a painful thud in my sinus cavity that distracted me, but only for a moment.
“I suppose you’re waiting for me to ask where he is,” I said.
She plucked at the edge of the comforter where it was folded across my chest. “Nobody’s seen him since yesterday. After fight call he just disappeared.”
I grunted at her and said, “There’s a ‘but,’ I can hear it coming.”
She sighed, her shoulders rising slightly up and sinking down much farther. “But he’s back now. He’s up in the Tower.”
“In which case I will be staying right here until Meredith kicks me out.”
Her mouth made a flat pink line. Behind her glasses—I didn’t know why she was wearing them, she wasn’t reading anything—her eyes were drowsy ocean blue, patient but tired. “Come on, Oliver,” she said quietly. “It can’t hurt to go up and talk to him.”
I gestured at my face. “Um, apparently it can.”
“Look, we’re all mad at him, too. I think Meredith left a scorch mark on the floor where she was standing when he came in. Even Wren wouldn’t talk to him.”
“Good,” I said.
“Oliver.”
“What?”
She leaned her cheek on one hand and inexplicably, grudgingly, smiled.
“What?” I said again, more warily.
“You,” she said. “You know I wouldn’t even be in here if you were anyone else.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you have better reasons than the rest of us to hold a grudge, but you’re also the first one who’s going to forgive him.”
The unsettling feeling that Filippa could see right through my skin made me squirm deeper into the mattress. “Is that so?” I said, but it sounded weak and unpersuasive, even to me.
“Yeah.” Her smile faded. “We can’t afford to be at one another’s throats right now. Things are bad enough.” She seemed frail, all of a sudden. Thin and transparent, like a cancer patient. Unflappable Filippa. I felt a weird overwhelming urge to just hold her, ashamed that I had, however briefly, suspected her of anything. I wanted to pull her under the blanket and wrap my arms around her. I almost did it before I remembered that I (probably) wasn’t dressed.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go talk to him.”
She nodded, and I thought I saw the flash of a tear behind her glasses. “Thanks.” She waited a moment, realized I wasn’t moving, and said, “Okay, when?”
“Um, in a minute.”
She blinked, and all traces of the tear—if it had ever been there—were gone. “Are you naked?” she said.
“I might be.”
She left the room. I took my time getting dressed.
As I climbed the stairs to the Tower, I found myself walking in slow motion. It didn’t feel like I was going up to see James for the first time in only a day or two. I felt like I hadn’t really seen him, spoken to him, communicated with him in any significant way since before Christmas. The door at the top of the stairs was cracked. I nervously licked my lip and pushed it open.
He was perched on the side of the bed, eyes fixed on the floor. But it wasn’t his bed—it was mine.
“Comfortable?” I said.