Page 90 of Villainous Summer

My head began to pound, and I rested it against my hand. On my phone was the last text from Van.

Van: Trivia, special theme tonight. 80’s movies. See you there?

Van: I’m sorry I was a dick. Truly.

I started a reply but stopped.

Guilt piling on top of my pounding head, I was in no condition to go to the bar.

I’d take a nap and see how I felt.

Collapsing on my bed, my hand missed the bedside table, making my phone fall on the floor, where it would remain for the next twenty-two hours.

Van

It had been three days since I heard from Summer.

This time, she didn’t respond to my texts and calls at all. I had sent messages, sent food to the hotel for her lunches, and stopped by there to be told she was out. I had even texted Devin to check on her, who responded that Summer was fine but offered no more information.

Time had run out alongside my patience.

She didn’t want to have this thing with me anymore, then she could tell me to my face.

I had to knock over a minute before she opened the door.

With a sudden step back, I took in the sickly, wild-haired woman before me.

“Why are you knocking so loud?” she asked with a craggy voice.

“I—” Clearing my throat, I reassessed why I came over. “I hadn’t heard from you and—”

“Because I’ve been sick,” she croaked.

“You’re not—” I motioned in front of my stomach.

She recoiled. “No, gross. Ugh, not gross but not now. Ack—” She ran a hand over her sallow face, then shook it out as if something were crawling on them. “No. I’m not pregnant. It’s some nasty flu or something.”

It’s not as if I wanted her to be pregnant. We were—well, we weren’t in a place to have a baby, that was for sure.

But instead of a hearty relief, there was a spark of disappointment. The idea didn’t scare me the way it should have. A flash of grey-eyed, light-haired children. Summer with a bundle in her arms. I liked it.

“That’s good.”

She groaned, running a hand over her mouth. Eyes bulging, she bolted to the bathroom.

I followed and leaned against the doorframe.

Once done, she propped her face on her chin and turned slightly toward me, her eyes closed. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

I laughed. “Are you forgetting our romantic first date? I’ve already seen you barf, Summer.”

She groaned again, pulling herself up to stand. At the sink, she swished water and spat it out. “And once was enough. I can handle this myself. You don’t need to stay with me.”

“I know I don’t. I want to.”

She stumbled past me, making her way into the bedroom, where she collapsed on her messy bed and kicked the blanket over her feet. “Ugh, why are you so nice?” She grumbled. “Where is the fuck boy I was promised? Huh?”

“Is that really what you want?”

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