Page 139 of The Sidekick

Tera

I feel like I have the flu. I sigh and wince as my throat protests. I’m so used to the aftermath of the crazy crying that I roll with it. My best bet is to get out of bed and stretch it out, even if the thought makes me want to throw an exhausted tantrum. I don’t want to face anything about today. I’m so glad it’s my day off.

The towel covering my back and butt is stiff and cringey feeling. I shuffle my way out of the damp blanket cocoon and sit up, flopping my legs over the side of the bed and making myself stretch my arms even though it hurts. I hate depression. They don’t tell you that the physical side of it is just as bad as the mental. When my hands meet above my head, I curl my spine down to drop them to the floor. The back stretch feels good, so I stay that way for a minute.

“Tera, get up and take your meds.” Shade’s voice calls from somewhere outside my safe haven.

“I haven’t made a smoothie yet!” I yell back from my head down position. My voice is strained and cracking. I clear my throat to try and ease it.

“I made you one!”

I sit up slowly to prolong the stretch and call back, “You’re the best, worst best friend ever!”

“Smoothie before coffee.”

“And now he’s back to being a dictator,” I mumble as my shoulders drop.

“Dr. Robinson said that you can take an extra pill today. I set out two for you.”

“And he’s still calling my therapist. Awesome.”

“I know you’re in there talking shit, get up!”

“Why can’t he be the sweet dictator version today? I need to look up how to overthrow him,” I absently reach back to pull the blanket back over my shoulders, forgetting that it’s stiff.

“Good morning,” a calm voice says behind me, and I freeze up.

“Morning?” I say back stupidly. Why am I being polite to the guy that invaded my home? Oh my gosh, he just saw me naked. It was just my back, but he could see my butt and some side boob, I’m sure.

“Is this your usual wake-up routine?” It sounds like he’s stretching behind me, and I want to turn and look, but I can’t get my body to unlock from the huddled position under the blanket. Probably a good thing. His voice makes me weak. I don’t need to see him for his effect to hit me.

“Yeah,” I say. I start eyeing the closet in speculation. I could make it in there before he caught me, but it doesn’t have a lock.

“Can I borrow your charger? I didn’t grab mine when I left my place.”

“Sure.” Don’t tell him that. Make him leave!

“Thanks.” The mattress shifts behind me, making me bounce a little. A tattoo-covered arm reaches past me to unplug my phone and plug his in as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Totally normal.

“Why are you still here?” I watch his arm brace so that he can prop himself up behind me. On my other side, his knee curls towards my hip, and I’m subtly surrounded by him, even if we’re not touching. It’s comforting. My mind rebels at the thought while my heart sighs and accepts it. That stupid organ is comforted that he came for me, totally forgetting that he’s the one who bruised it up first. I’m mad at him, and he’s using my obsession with him against me.

“You can’t shut me out if I don’t leave,” his simple reason is fair and annoying.

“You’re just going to be a pervy stalker all day?” I’m surprised and bewildered at the thought. Why bother? Just walk away already. You had your fun, go back and laugh it up.

He lets out a sigh and shifts behind me, “Pretty much. Let’s get you some coffee before the dictator comes in.”

“If I cheat, the nagging will be never-ending,” I inform him as I stand, clutching the blanket around me to walk like an old, hunched crone to my dresser. “He means well. He’s just a complete jerk about it.”

“I noticed.” A huff of laughter comes from behind me as he stands up. “I’ll get the coffee while you dress.”

Once the door shuts, I hurry to get dressed in my grungiest pajamas. I refuse to try and dress nice. This guy doesn’t get flirty Tera. He gets the I hate mornings, and I’ll take it out on you, Tera. It seems passive-aggressive. I need to look up more techniques because I’m getting comfortable with this form of anger.

I’m on the internet looking up how to up my game as I walk towards the kitchen. Asher is leaning against the counter, sipping from a cup in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. The stunning array of colorful flowers crosses over his shoulders and spills down his chest, following the lines of his abs. He’s completely covered in them. Over his left pec is another chrysanthemum that’s completely devoid of color, drawing my eye to the surprising blank spot. As my eyes take in the startling beauty of it all, his pants begin to tent in obvious interest. My eyes snap back up to his, wide with surprise.

He shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, and I’m trying to decide how he can be happy to see me when I’m rocking a grunge look with tangled hair and morning breath.

A key rattles at the front door.

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