Page 250 of Hide and Keep

“How? I put a chair in front of my door.”

At her silence, I glance back at her. Her lips are pursed and her eyes are downcast, then as if she can sense me studying her, her gaze lifts to mine. Her entire expression changes in a blink.

“I know. I’m the one that got past it.”

I squint at her. “How?”

“What does it matter? I’m in here now. I’ve been in here for hours, taking care of you—”

“You weren’t supposed to. I didn’t want you to take care of me.” For fuck’s sake. I could’ve shit myself. That’s something you cannevercome back from.

“Too bad. I did. And I’m going to continue taking care of you, so get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.”

She immediately gets up and goes to the shower. Which has a bunch of tied garbage bags in it that are full of…stuff. Black stuff?

Did I fucking shit myself?

But I’m still in the clothes I was in last night, so…

“Ever?”

She stops to regard me.

“What thefuckis in those bags?”

I brace for the worst possible answer.

“Your vomit.”

“Why is it black?”

Her gaze falls again, and with a voice holding only curiosity, no judgment, she asks, “You don’t remember?”

“Rememberwhat? Me puking in my own laundry basket?”

She perks right up, grabbing several bags at once. “Yep. Probably just something you ate.”

“I didn’t eat anything black.”

Passing me, she shrugs. “Maybe the ceviche was so bad it turned black. I don’t know.”

The mere mention of ceviche has me gagging.

“Aim for the laundry basket,” she calls over her shoulder, disappearing from the bathroom and leaving me to expel my stomach in private.

Nothing comes up, thankfully, but I kick the door closed anyway to get a moment alone and wrap my head around what happened. Ever Munreaux saw me at my worst and took care of me through it. She sat up with me all night—literally—holding me upright, so that I didn’t choke and die.

The door opens sooner than I was hoping, then Ever appears above me.

“You were really out of it last night, huh?”

“I guess.” I don’t remember anything about…anything. There was cramping, an insane accumulation of saliva, then what felt like a never-ending purge.

Although, now that I’m trying, there is a moment playing at the edge of my mind. But it doesn’t make any sense. My head hanging in the laundry basket, I heard Ever mutter, “How is the charcoal supposed to help if he can’t keep it down?”

Obviously, that didn’t happen because I’ve never consumed charcoal, especially not recently. If I had, that’d explain the black.

“Where’d you put those bags?”

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