Chapter 27
Calida
My head throbbed. Blinking even seemed to hurt. My mouth felt like I’d stuffed it full of cotton. Turning over made my stomach scream. I felt like shit. I was in my room but had absolutely no idea how I got here.
“You’re up.”
Malcolm stood in the doorway. Why was he here? Shit what happened last night? He looked tired, really tired.
“How are you feeling?”
I eased myself up. “Like crap.”
“You feel like you’re gonna puke again?”
Again? How many times had I thrown up? I shook my head.
“Good. I...um made you this.” He held up the glass in his hand. It was filled with some green looking slush.
“What is it?”
“My homemade remedy for a hangover. Works like a charm.” He walked over and sat it on the nightstand.
I reached for the mystery liquid and brought the glass to my nose. At least it didn’t smell as bad as it looked. I took a small sip. I scrunched my nose at the bitter taste.
“Drink up, Gin…” He stopped. I watched as his jaw clenched. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Drink it all, and you’ll be feeling better in no time.”
Mal turned and left the room. I took another drink of the liquid. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. I kept sipping on it, all the while trying to remember last night. I remembered having a fight with Malcolm and leaving his place. Was that why he seemed to act so strange just now? He looked tired, but something else seemed off. My head throbbed. How much did I drink last night? I looked down to see what I was wearing. Tank top, no bra. I slid my hands under the covers, and touched the side of my butt. My eyes closed, and I took in a shaky breath when I found the absence of an outline from underwear beneath the cotton shorts.
“No...no he wouldn’t. I wouldn’t…how drunk was I?”
Malcolm’s not that guy. Malcolm’s not that guy. I knew that. I had to believe that, but why...why did he seem so nervous? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force myself to remember what I did last night. I’d been so upset. I had another attack. Left his house. We fought. We fought about…Seth.
With shaky hands, I set the half-finished drink back on the nightstand. I flung the covers off, and swung my legs over the side. Nausea hit when I stood too fast. I sat back down, and took slow breaths, waiting for the moment to pass. A few minutes later, I carefully stood. With each slow step, my heart pounded faster. He barely looked at me. My stomach twisted at that thought, and it had nothing to do with my hangover.
The brightness of the sun coming through the windows only served to make the pain in my head worse. Malcolm sat at my kitchen table with a coffee mug in front of him, but his head was buried in his hands.
“Wh...why did you stop?”
He looked up, shocked to see me. “What?”
“Upstairs, why did you stop?”
“Stop what?”
“You...you were going to call me Ginger, but stopped yourself. Why?”
He looked down at his cup, and when he finally looked back up at me, it was there. That look that he and everyone had right after everything happened. I loathed that look. Pity for poor, pathetic Calida. That was if they could look at me. Sometimes they’d avoid eye contact. Much like Malcolm was doing now.
“You can’t think I’d keep using that name, not after…” He stopped, dropping his gaze back to the table.
I stumbled over to the sink, unable to hold off the nausea any longer. The water came on, and a paper towel dangled in front of my face.
Malcolm pulled out the sprayer to rinse out the sink. “You should go back to bed.”
I stood, waiting on him to look at me. He didn’t. Not only did he not look at me, he moved away, putting ample distance between us. He wouldn’t look at me, and he didn’t want to be close to me. I had to fight back the sob that caught in my throat. The pounding in my head intensified. My chest tightened, and I struggled for air. I wrapped my arms around my body, and squeezed in a futile attempt to keep the trembling at bay. He moved forward, but my hand went up as a warning to stay back. I didn’t want his pity. I took a few determined breaths. I would not break down in front of him again.
“You…” I stopped to clear my throat. It burned from vomiting and holding back the emotions that threatened to let loose at any moment. “You can go. Um...sorry for the inconvenience last night but…”
“But you’re kicking me out.” He spat out the words as if they were bitter in his mouth. “I’d like to say I was surprised, but I’m not. At what point do I stop being the enemy?”
His pleading look held expectations of an answer. When I had none to give, he walked back to the table to retrieve his abandoned cup. He dumped the remaining contents in the sink, rinsed it out, and sat it on the counter. Malcolm started to say something but stopped himself. Instead, he walked past me to where his wallet and keys sat on the counter.
“I love you. And I hope you feel better.”
He walked away. I fought back the urge that wanted me to call out for him to stop. I didn’t know what I expected, maybe for him to protest or something. He didn’t. I asked him to go, and he left. I’d never felt lonelier than when I heard my front door close.