Free Bend by Kivrin Wilson Page B

been difficult to read.
    Jay stops chewing long enough to ask, “So did you have any idea the drugs would affect you the way they did last night?”
    “No,” I reply after giving it some thought. “I’ve never taken it before.”
    “Okay.” He shovels another spoonful in his mouth, chews, and swallows. “You should probably ask for non-narcotic pain medication in the future.”
    Well, hopefully that won’t ever be necessary, but I give a nod and keep eating. He just can’t help it, can he? Taking care of people isn’t a choice for him. He just does it.
    My phone chimes, and I pick it up and see my grandmother’s response. She says she’s doing fine and is ready to leave the hospital as soon as they’ll let her. Tapping quickly on the screen, I tell her I hope she gets out soon and that I love her.
    Jay finishes his cereal first and takes the bowl to the sink to rinse it out. I follow him not long after, and he takes the dish from me, washes it, and puts them both on the drying rack. Staying there by him, I lean against the counter and look down at the floor.
    It’s spotless. Not a bloodstain in sight. And now I’m noticing that the casserole dish my lasagna was in is sitting on the drying rack, also clean.
    “You cleaned up last night?” Pressure is building behind my eyes. I’m swallowing desperately, willing the lump in my throat away. Stop it. Why are you crying? Again? Just stop it. Right now.
    With his arms braced on the sink, he gazes at me sideways. Silently. His eyes look gray today, gray like clouds darkening before a storm.
    “I don’t deserve you,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh, wiping at the corner of my eye.
    “Oh, come on,” he says, rolling his eyes.
    “Well, it’s true. I don’t know what else to say.”
    “Thank you is good enough.” He stands up straight, rubbing the back of his neck.
    Something bursts inside me, and suddenly I can’t not touch him. Reducing the distance between us in one swift motion, I stand on my toes and throw my arms around his neck. Press myself against him, my cheek against his, which is scratchy with stubble. Because he’s at my apartment. In the morning. After spending the night. And he has no shaving stuff here.
    “Thank you,” I whisper near his ear, and I feel him stiffen. He doesn’t hug me back. Why isn’t he hugging me back? Are things that bad between us now? We’ve hugged before. This is BS.
    I start to pull away, but then his arms are folding around me, pulling me back. Flush up against him. His body is firm and warm and so much larger than mine. With a hand at the back of my head, he keeps my face close to his neck. I can smell his skin. It doesn’t smell like anything in particular except him. It’s the Jay smell. I want to wrap myself up in it.
    He holds me for a long time, it seems, and I feel cold and bereaved when he lets go.
    Taking a step back, he looks at me earnestly and says, “We need to talk. About this weekend.”
    “Okay.” I’ll agree to pretty much anything he wants right now.
    “No, not okay. You don’t get it, Mia.” He leans his hip against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. “We need to figure it out. Having this thing between us… It’s too much of a distraction.”
    I’m biting the inside of my cheek. “I get it. I do. But do we have to discuss it right this minute?”
    “Why?” He frowns at me. “What else do you have to do right this minute? ”
    “I really need a shower. I feel so gross.” In fact, I’m not sure why I hugged him. With my vomit-splattered hair. That he could probably smell. Yuck.
    Jay shrugs. “All right. Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
    I hesitate. The next thought hits me, slaps me upside the head. I have to ask him.
    Raising my injured hand in front of myself, moving it into his line of vision, I say, “I need help.”
    He’s giving me a blank and unblinking look. Yeah, he doesn’t get it. Guess I need to make myself clearer.
    “I need your help,” I repeat.