“What’s going on?”
I bit my lip and studied my hands, fingers twisted together in my lap. “Things have just gotten a bit weird for me. I just, I’ve been trying to deal with them, is all. Get them sorted out inside my head.”
“What things?”
“You things.”
His face was like stone. “This is about us fucking, isn’t it?”
I flinched. “Yes.”
“Dammit, Edie. It’s just sex. It didn’t mean anything.”
Deep down inside, a small and hopefully insignificant part of me died. Some dumb hope that should never have existed in the first place. “I know. I’m screwing things up. I’m sorry.”
“We talked about exactly this before we did it. Why would you even get confused?”
“I don’t know,” I cried. “I’m sorry, my feelings sometimes do their own thing. They don’t always wait for permission. They’re funny like that.”
He huffed and puffed and swore some more. “This is why you ignored my text the other night. I am always there for you when you need me.”
“You’re right; that was extraordinarily crappy of me. I’m sorry.” My stomach turned, a sour taste on my tongue. “Though it’s not like you have problems finding company if you really want it.”
His eyes glinted cold. “I didn’t need someone to fuck, I needed a friend. You.”
Then he turned to go, jumping down from my windowsill in one smooth move.
“Wait. Wait!” I cried, throwing myself across the bed and hanging out the window. “John, don’t go.”
The shadow of him hesitated.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” The window ledge dug into my belly. “It was bitchy and unnecessary.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“You’re right—I’m an asshole,” I said, loud enough to include my neighbors in the conversation. FFS. “But to be fair, I’ve never done the sex thing before and you’re really important to me. So maybe can you just cut me a little slack here, please?”
He didn’t turn back to face the dim light from my bedroom, his expression a mystery. “You’re the one that wanted to lose it, Edie. It was all your bright idea. I just wanted you to be safe, to get treated right.”
“I know.”
“Nothing was supposed to change. That was the agreement, remember?”
“Yes,” I said. “But feelings don’t just turn on and off, John.”
A grunt. The boy did that way too much.
“Look, you’re right. I should have talked to you about it instead of going into hiding.”
“Yeah, you should have. You’re important to me too.”
“Thank you.”
“But this is still on you.” Nice to know he had no interest in making this easy. He crossed his arms over his chest. “One way or another, you need to deal with this.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Just . . . do whatever it is you need to do to forget about us having sex so we can go back to normal.”
I frowned, tongue playing behind my cheek. “Hold up. Are you suggesting hypnosis or that I sleep with someone else to get over you? I’m confused.”
The most pained sigh of all time. Truly, I felt bad for the boy. “I gotta go. I promised Anders and Hang I’d give them a lift home.”
I said nothing.
“We okay?”
“Yes. We’re fine.” My fibbing skills were off the charts. The CIA or Hollywood or someone would probably be calling for me any day now. “No problem. I promise no more avoiding.”
“Good. Maybe we could hang out tomorrow?”
“Sure.” I half lifted a hand in farewell. “’Night.”
John: What do you feel like doing?
Me: Sick, sorry. A bit of a mess. Talk to you later.
My cell started buzzing. “Hello?”
“Thought we sorted this out,” he said. “You avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
“Yes. You are,” he said, voice sharp with tension.
“No, I’m not.” My jaw tightened. “I promised I wouldn’t do that. I’m honestly just not feeling well, John. It happens sometimes.”
“Oh yeah?” he scoffed. “You were fine last night.”
“You’re right. I was fine last night.” The girl in the bathroom mirror scowled back at me, every bit as furious as I felt. “But then blood started gushing from my uterus this morning and now my insides feel like they’ve been twisted into knots. It’s really not pretty.”
A long silence.
“Yeah. The cramps hurt like a bitch, John. So as you might have guessed by now, I’m not in a very good mood,” I said through gritted teeth. “Also, my breasts ache and I kind of want to kill something.”
“Um, okay.”
“Great, glad we could talk this through. ’Bye,” I finished, stabbing at the end call button.
Give me strength. I could have hit something, preferably him. Instead, I’d take two Advil, go back to bed, and feel sorry for myself. In that exact order. It would have been nice to hang out with John and further clear any lingering weirdness. But curling up in fetal position took precedence right now.
A couple of hours later, Mom came wandering in with a curious look on her face and a big white paper shopping bag in hand. “I’m concerned. Any chance you have a creepy yet practical, wealthy secret admirer or stalker you want to tell me about?”
“What?” I sat up, setting aside my book.
“I just found this sitting on the doorstep,” she said, handing the bag over. “Tampons, Midol, and a box of chocolate cupcakes. Unoriginal but quite apt.”
I burst out laughing.
She cocked her head. “Please explain.”
“I scared a boy with my menstrual rage,” I said, going through the contents of the bag. “Though to be fair, he kind of deserved it.”
“Huh.” Her brows remained knitted, her gaze perplexed. “Is he going to be leaving things on the doorstep often? Should I set up a motion sensor camera so I can get a look at him?”
“He’s just a friend, Mom.”
“Yeah, right.” She gave me a look. The look. “Those cupcakes are from the fancy-pants bakery. Not cheap, kid.”
“Yum.” I opened up the box, salivating. “And they’re all for me.”
“I taught you to share—I know I did.” She smiled. “So, what’s his name?”
“Just a friend.”
“Unusual name.”
“Isn’t it?” I passed her a cupcake. “Here.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” she said, reaching out a hand. “Just a taste, maybe. You’re not going to tell me about him, huh?”
“There’s nothing to say. We’re just fr—”
“Friends. Yes, I get it.” She took a bite, an expression of bliss crossing her face. “Well, I love him, whoever he is. He already has my approval. These are divine.”
Biting into my cupcake, I smiled. Then, once Mom had gone, I picked up my cell and hit his number.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey. You got the stuff?”
“Yes, I did. Thank you.”
“No problem.” A huff of breath. “Sorry ’bout earlier.”
“You had a right to be dubious.” I sighed. “We’re always saying sorry to each other. What’s with that?”
A laugh. “I don’t know.”
“My therapist would probably say we’re interesting personality types working through our issues within the bounds of our relationships.”
“Christ,” he mumbled.
“Hmm.” I took another bite, chewing with delight. “These cupcakes are amazing.”