by Ashley Love
"What are you doing?" I ask, just as quietly. Blake's leg is thrown over mine, and his arm is securely wrapped around my middle, the way it had been with that girl he was dancing with, pulling us close together. "Blake—"
"Shh," he coaxes. His lips gently graze my throat, down to where my neck meets my collarbone. "I'm tired. Go to sleep."
I close my eyes, relax into it. I tell myself it's because I'm too tired. That today was just—it was too much, and maybe it's nice not to sleep alone, for once. To feel someone else's heat warming me through. So I stay perfectly still, keeps my eyes closed, and fall asleep with Blake behind me.
10
I wake up in the morning to my alarm going off and Blake groaning. And to Blake lying half on top of me. At some point in the night I must have turned over, and he had taken advantage of that by crawling onto me, apparently. He's heavy, his limbs weighing me down, and he smells like alcohol in the worst way.
"Wha—" Blake lifts his head, looks down at me, and groans again. "Oh, God, I'm going to have to do the walk of shame to my own side of the bedroom," he says as he rolls over, legs falling off the bed. He stands, runs a hand through his messy hair, and looks back down at me. "Why was I in your bed, anyway?"
I'm red and I know it. It's a good question, really, but I don't know how to answer it.
"You, uh, came in drunk," I start, while Blake makes an impatient sound. "I don't know, okay?! You crawled into my fucking bed and I was too tired to kick you out."
Blake gives me an unreadable look at that. "So we didn't, you know..."
"No, we didn't," I respond. I push myself up, eyes narrowed. I'm in a bad mood. I'm so fucking tired. And Blake's pissing me off without even doing anything today. Maybe it's just leftover anger from yesterday, bleeding into my mood for today.
"Are we going to ever talk about the times that we did?" he wonders.
I freeze, hand halfway to my drawer. I suck in a breath and open it, pulling out clean clothes, and then I slam it shut. My back is still to Blake when I say lowly, "No." I don't want to talk about it ever. In fact, I'd love to act like it never happened. That it never happened twice, technically.
"It's just going to happen again," Blake says to my back.
I turn to him, eyes narrowed. I scoff. "Don't count on it."
He smirks. "You might hate me," he says, "but that doesn't mean you don't want me."
Fuck the shower. Fuck changing. I grab my backpack and head for the door. "That's exactly what it means!" I shout before slamming it.
I'm early to my first class, but I'm distracted. It's a boring class, admittedly, and I have to force myself to pay attention every day, especially given the time that the class starts. Today I just don't have it in me to do that. But it's not like I can skip and miss out on anything, because I don't know anyone in this class and I have no one I could borrow notes from if I decided to bail.
And I refuse to let this thing with Blake complicate my academic life.
As I'm walking to my second class of the day, bag slipping down my shoulders because they're so slumped with exhaustion, I pass a bulletin board and stop. The lime green of the flyer is what caught my eye, a startling bright contrast to the rest of the black and white ads.
Charity Art Class, reads the bold headline. My eyes scan over the rest of the words quickly. Apparently it's a six-week art class held at the school between the middle of November to just before Christmas holidays, where the students are taught amateur painting, sculpting and drawing twice a week, at the end of which they'll hold an auction where a final piece by each student will be sold, all proceeds going to charity.
There isn't a number left to call, but it simply states that anyone interested is welcome at the free first day orientation on Monday in Art Room 2 in the west wing at seven.
I really don't have the time for something like this. There's no room on my plate for an art club, on top of everything else. But I find myself pulling out my phone and taking a picture of the ad anyway, that way I won't forget the details. It'd be nice to do something just for myself. Something that I don't have to stress over. Something for fun.
I'm still not sure, all through my classes, but when I head to my room afterwards, I find myself deterring, heading for Cadence and Emma's room instead. This time the whiteboard reads Cadence is out, Emma is in, and I knock quickly before pushing open the door.
Emma looks up at me from behind her laptop, which she has on her chest while she lies down against the pillows. "Hey," she says, and then she sneezes and makes a pitiful sound. "Come sit."
I shut the door and eye her warily. "Are you sick?"
"A bit," Emma admits. She sneezes again and reaches for a tissue on the desk beside her. "Okay, a lot. I think I have the flu."
"I'm going to stay over here, then," I reply, sinking onto Cadence's bed. "Do you, like, need anything? I could go and get you a drink or something, or—"
"Nah, it's fine," Emma assures me. "Cadence's getting me soup and Advil. I'll be okay."
I nod and drum my fingers on my knees. Emma pushes the laptop off her and rolls onto her side to face me, and I say, "So there's this, like, art class or whatever, starting on Monday, and I thought, I mean, I don't really have the money, and I'd have to eat in the dining hall for weeks instead of—whatever. But it sounds kinda cool."
"The Christmas one, right?" Emma asks. "With the auction at the end." I nod. "I'll go with you, if that's what you're asking. Sounds cool."
"Really?"
"Yeah," she croaks. "As long as I'm feeling better. It's like I got hit by a train. I was fine last night, but I woke up this morning feeling dead. It's like a hangover and a cold and it really, really sucks."
I give in, moving across the room to sit beside her, germs be damned. I brush her slightly damp curls off her face, and she closes her eyes. She feels hot, like she's burning up, and she's pale except for her fever-bright cheeks. It worries me, just a bit, but I know that Cadence would never let anything bad happen to Emma. Not that she can really fight illnesses, but I'm pretty sure Cadence would try damn hard anyway.
"I'm glad we're friends," Emma whispers. "You're a good person, Aubrey. I'm glad. And I think it's dumb that you're having sex with your roommate."
I snort a laugh. "Is this the fever talking?"
"Maybe," Emma admits. "It's still dumb, though." She yawns and blinks up at me with bright green eyes. "The friends with benefits thing never works out."
"Good thing Blake and I were never friends," I respond. Not that me and Blake have any relationship with any sort of benefits. We're just two people who share a living space, who hate each other and sort of hooked up twice in the heat of the moment. That's all it was. An accident that happened twice, but won't happen again, no matter what Blake says.
"Okay, Aubrey," Emma mumbles. "Okay."
Cadence comes into the room before I can argue it. She's got a wet cloth hanging off her arm, two bottles of water, a thing of Advil, a Styrofoam container with a lid, a spoon balanced precariously on top of it, and a chocolate bar hanging out of her mouth, wrapper still on. She makes an annoyed sound through the chocolate bar, and I get up to pull it out of her mouth and take the soup from her.
"Thank you," Cadence says. "And Em, they had no chicken noodle, but I got you cream of broccoli instead. Is that okay?"
"Better than okay," Emma says weakly, holding out her hand with her eyes closed. "That sounds perfect."
It's a lie. I've only known Emma for months, but we spend a lot of time eating together. Emma hates cream of broccoli soup, and I know this for a fact because she wrinkles her nose every time I eat it and refuses to touch a bite herself, even if it's the only option. But when Cadence pops off the lid and holds the bowl for her while she spoons it up, she clears half the bowl in about a minute. I think that probably has more to do with not wanting to hurt Cadence's feelings than it does with how sick she is.
"I'm gonna go," I say. "I think Cadence's got
you covered."
"Later, Aubrey," Emma calls after me. Cadence is too busy cooing at Emma to say goodbye. "Love you!"
"Yeah, same," I say back.
Despite the fact that my best friend is sick, I'm in a great mood when I make it back to my room, and even Blake's presence inside doesn't irritate me. Probably because he's asleep, and while the snoring is annoying, it's much easier to deal with than the sounds he makes when he's conscious.
I grab a book from my shelf and spread out on my bed. It's been a while since I've done a bit of casual reading; nothing for class, just for my enjoyment. Maybe some people don't like reading the same book over, but I've read this one eight times, and it's just as good every time. I love rereading books, honestly. I like picking up on important details I'd missed the last time. I like revisiting old characters like old friends.
I'm about one hundred pages in when someone knocks at the door. Blake, in his bed, turns over and grunts, "Get it, Aubrey," before throwing an arm over his eyes. I make a face at him but bookmark my page and head for the door.
Cadence is standing on the other side, a sheepish look on her face. "Em wanted to know if we could borrow one of your books. She says she's too exhausted to watch a movie, and it's sort of a thing we do whenever she's sick. I read to her, she pretends to listen, and then she passes out. But I don't have anything in my room but my chemistry textbook, and I think I'd pass out before her if I read that."
I push the door open wider. "Sure," I say. "Take anything on the shelf."
Cadence nods and stands on my bed to reach it. She doesn't even look at the title or read the blurb on the back. She just grabs the first book she touches and tugs it down.
"By the way," she adds on her way back out the door, "Emma mentioned an art club thing you two were going to do. Is there, like, a set number of people that can sign up? Or can I join too?"
"The ad didn't say," I admit. "But you should come. The orientation's free, so even if it's a bust all we're wasting is like an hour or something."
"Cool," Cadence says happily. "Where and when?"
"Monday in Art Room 2 at seven."
"Brilliant. Thanks." Cadence pats me on the shoulder before heading down the hall.
I shut and lock the door behind her, going back to my book. I get about five pages more read before Blake grunts and flips over. Six and he rolls back over to the other side of his bed. Nine and he's making a low, keening sound in the back of his throat. Fifteen and he's whimpering, so I slam my book shut and sit up.
"Are you jerking off over there?" I demand.
Blake gasps out, "No. I think I'm dying."
I take a good look at him. Red cheeks, puffy eyes, sweating profusely. He's got the blankets kicked off himself, and he's curled up into a pathetic-looking, muscular ball.
"Shit," I say. "You're sick, too?"
He whimpers again, but he has the energy to snap, "No, I feel fucking fantastic."
I bite my lip. He looks pretty pitiful, Blake. So much so that even I feel sort of bad for him. Only Blake's not my friend; Blake's not someone I even remotely like; Blake is so, so not my problem.
"That really sucks, Blake," I say apathetically, before going back to my book.
"Fuck, I hate you," he moans. "I hate you more than I think I've ever hated someone in my entire life."
I would glare at him, but that would take effort, so instead I hum my agreement and turn the page. Ten minutes later and he's back asleep, and I stand up to stretch. He rolls over, but he doesn't seem to be awake, and I lock the guilt inside me in a tiny box and throw away the key, refusing to let it get to me.
I leave the room, if only to get away from the ridiculous moans of pain Blake lets out every few minutes, like clockwork. I can't go down the hall to visit Cadence and Emma, though, because I figure Emma'll be trying to sleep right now. And the common room is packed with people when I get there, so I head down the stairs and out into the cool air.
By the time I'm done with my cigarette I go straight into the coffee shop and order myself a drink, and then I ask for a bowl of whatever soup they have before I realize I'm doing it. I don't really have the money to, either. My budget is pretty tight, but...
"For here or to go?" the woman behind the counter asks.
"To go."
I juggle the scalding hot container of soup and coffee all the way back to my room. Blake is still asleep, so I put them both down and shake him awake.
"Blake," I coax. "Blake, wake up."
Slowly his dark eyes blink open. They're bloodshot and exhausted, and concern bubbles up inside me before I can stop it. I put a hand to his forehead and wince at how hot it is, and his fingers circle my wrist, holding me there for a beat before letting it drop.
"Kill me," he whines. "I know you've thought about it. Just do it. I'm begging you."
I roll my eyes at the dramatics. "I got you soup," I say simply. "If you want it, it's on the desk."
Blake doesn't move, and I go back to my book, no longer guilty. I did my part, that's that. Blake is once again not my problem, deathly sick or not.
Eventually he sits up, and he grunts out a gruff, "Thanks," before eating the soup. It smells good, and I'm kicking himself for giving it away instead of keeping it. And for giving it to Blake specifically, because he slurps and makes annoying sounds the whole time he eats. I just want to read my damn book.
Fifteen minutes later and Blake's asking, "Do you think you could...I mean, you don't have to, but..."
I groan and slam my book shut. "What do you want?"
"There's change on my dresser," he explains. "Do you think you could, um, get me a drink from the machine?"
I hesitate, but I get up anyway, crossing the room to gather a dollar from the coins on the dresser. "What do you want?"
"Mountain Dew," he answers. "You can take some money to get yourself something, too."
I do. I'd paid for that soup out of my own pocket, and I don't feel guilty about the two bucks I snag to get myself something from the vending machine. Plus, the vending machines are on the bottom floor. That's three flights of stairs, I deserve it.
I get Blake his drink, and myself a bag of chips, before returning to the room. He's huddled under his blankets now, like he'd gone from burning hot to freezing cold. He holds out a shaking hand for the drink, and I pass it to him. "Thanks."
"Whatever," I respond.
Just when I think that's it, that Blake's fallen back asleep, finally allowing me some peace and quiet, I hear, "Do you think you could..."
I sit up. "What is it this time?" I snap.
Blake doesn't even look sheepish. His blankets are pulled up to his chin and tucked around his neck now, and he's curled up in a ball again.
"My—my hoodie," he says through chattering teeth. "It's freezing in here."
I cross the room and open the first drawer, then the second of the dresser. "Which one?" I ask. "You've got, like, ten of them."
"Any," he answers weakly. "I'm so cold."
I grab the thickest one I can find and toss it in his direction. "Now go to fucking sleep," I order. "Unless you want to go down to the school clinic—"
"No," he moans. "They'll just tell me to sleep and drink fluids. I can do that here, without having to walk fifteen minutes."
"Suit yourself," I say. I go to sit back on my bed, but at the last second I offer, just because I hope that if Blake feels better he'll be less irritating, "I can go get you some Advil from Cadence, if you want."
"Really?" He sounds so grateful that it makes me feel like a bitch. "You don't have to."
I'm out the door before I can respond. I head down the hall, knocking lightly on the door because it's locked and the whiteboard now reads Emma's sick : ( . Cadence opens the door seconds later, already shushing me before I've said anything.
"She's asleep," Cadence whispers. "What do you want?"
"Advil," I say. "Blake's sick, too."
Cadence
's soft expression morphs into a smirk. "You taking care of your boyfriend, then?"
"Just give me two, Cadence," I say flatly.
"Oh, alright." Cadence shuts the door and disappears for a second. When she comes back she holds out the bottle, lid open, and I put out my hand so she can shake a few into it. When my fingers curl over the pills, Cadence adds, "Mel in 209 says her roommate had the same thing two days ago. She said it'll pass by tomorrow. Let Blake know, if you want."
I nod and thank her before returning to the room. Blake is sitting up, waiting for me, and I hand the pills off, not watching as he tosses them back and swallows them with a sip of his drink.
"You should be better by tomorrow," I tell him. "You and Emma aren't the only ones who've had this thing, apparently. But if you got me sick, you're going to wish this thing killed you."
"Okay," he mumbles. Then, quieter, "Thank you, Aubrey. Really."
"Whatever," I say again.
This time Blake doesn't bother me, and I get to finish my book before it's late and I'm tired. Before I turn off the light, I lean over him and check his forehead again. He's still asleep, and he's still sweating, but he doesn't feel as hot.
I shut off the light and get into bed.
11
"We'll be meeting every Monday at seven, and every Wednesday at eight in this room," the instructor continues, and I shift in my seat, trying to get more comfortable in the plastic chair. Across from me, Cadence is angled in her seat to face the woman at the front of the room, but she's not listening; I can tell. She's got that distant, bored look on her face. "There is a forty dollar enrollment fee, but all of that will go towards supplies you'll be using during the duration of this class. For the class itself, I will be your supervisor, while three of my most talented students will guide you through the different mediums of art being taught in this class. If—"
The door to the room opens, and someone peeks their head in, looking a bit sheepish.