Page 4 of This

When the bouncing starts, Iknow the only way to make it stop is to open my eyes. They fight me, but I prevail.

Keaton hovers over me, her blonde curls in my face. “I brought you food.”

I grunt, rolling over. “You also brought an audience.”

Liam waves from the doorway. “You look like shit, Bennett.”

“Oh, stop. You’ll make me blush.”

“Red is a better look than gray.” He dodges the pillow I launched and adjusts his glasses. “Your aim sucks too.”

“Why do we keep him around?” I ask her.

“Eye candy.” Keaton throws the pillow back at me. “Don’t go back to sleep.” She drags Liam out and shuts the door behind them.

I blink away the sandpaper lining my eyelids and haul myself out of bed. The bathroom mirror confirms Liam’s evaluation of gray not being an attractive color on me. Sleeping on wet hair hasn’t helped either, but between the shower and nap, my headache has become tolerable. I own the mess and throw my hair up without bothering to run a brush through it.

Liam meets me at the kitchen counter with the greasiest burger in existence. “We weren’t sure how hungover you’d be, so we went with very.” He slides over a shot and my phone and walks away. “Eat. Shoot. Make sure you didn’t declare your love for anyone.” The advice of a recently retired frat boy.

Being a rebel, I check my phone first. My belly flips when I see the text from an unknown number. Only one. The smart choice is to delete it, never read it. But curiosity overpowers sense more often than not. I abandon my food, ignoring Keaton’s questionable look on the way to my room, and crawl back under the covers. When I open it, I laugh.

He sent an audio message. I don’t even hesitate to hit play.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

That’s it. Four words and less than five seconds, and I want to know him—what he wants out of life, his favorite song, how he says my name, what his laugh sounds like. I listen again. To how he accentuates each word like it’s the most important thing he’ll ever say. And again, with my eyes closed. I commit it to memory—him, his words, all of it. Then, I delete the message.

In a week, I’ll be gone. The last thing I need is a reason to stay.

Keaton stops in my doorwaywith her judgmental face on as she examines my camo pants and paint-splattered, ripped-to-shit black tank top. “I thought I put those clothes in the throwaway pile.”

“You did,” I say, carrying a box over to her. “I dug them out and put them on just for you, baby.”

She rolls her eyes, taking the box. As she walks away, she mumbles, “At least change the damn pants.”

“But they’re comfortable.” I pick up another box and follow her to the living room. We stack them next to the others.

“Is it too late to beg you not to go?” she asks, pouting out a lip.

I sigh. The fact that we won’t see each other every day is finally setting in for both of us. We’ve lived together since we were fourteen, when my mother ran off to Europe to find herself. Most shrinks’ lives are as miserable and fucked up, if not more so, than their clients. They just know how to hide it better. Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds learned this firsthand when Dr. Ross dropped me off at three a.m. and begged them to take care of me for a few weeks. That turned into months and eventually a full guardianship when she made her move permanent. All my life, she was in search of something. A calling, the right man, inner peace. Nothing ever seemed to make her feel whole, feel alive. Certainly not me.

“Look under the sink,” I tell Keaton.

She gives me a dubious look, skipping to the kitchen and opening the cabinet. “No way, Bennie.” She squeals, hugging the legless, eyeless body of what was, at one time, a stuffed pig. “You found Snort?”

I shrug. “More like stopped hiding him in the back of my closet.”

Her mouth falls open. “I knew you stole him junior year.” She smiles and barrels toward me, knocking us both over the back of the couch. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Stop it.” I laugh as she rubs it on my face. “He always smells so weird.”

“And they say dreams don’t come true.” Liam drags her off me. She holds Snort up for him to kiss the snout, which he does because he is whipped and proud of it.

“Where’s all this help you were bringing?” I grab an empty box. “We were promised big, strong men to carry our belongings down the stairs.”

“It’s a hundred degrees outside. Unless I can advertise beer and pussy, no sane man’s giving up his Saturday.”

I shake my head. “The mouth on this one.”

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