Page 67 of From Air

This weekend, we crashed. In a blink, I’ll feel lost.

“Want to talk about it?” Melissa turns on the nightstand light when I ease the bedroom door shut. She sits up, rubbing her squinted eyes.

“Talk about what?” I step out of my dress and pull on leggings and a hoodie before repacking the rest.

“I’m not stupid. You spent the night alone with Fitz.”

“Yeah, well, he was drunk. It was one night. When we get home, it will be as if it never happened.” I hate lying to her, but I also hate the accountability that comes from her knowing that I’m in over my head. And maybe it’s not a lie; maybe when we get home, itwillbe like it never happened. I’ll hate that too.

“Look at me.”

I ignore her.

“Jaymes.” She slides out of bed and kneels beside my bag. “Look at me.”

For three whole seconds, I’m brave. I hold it together. On the fourth second, I blink, and the tears accompany my quivering lower lip, and the captive breath in my aching chest releases.

“Your heart’s too big for one night. It’s the Pisces in you.” She hugs me. “It’s an unfortunate flaw you have.”

I laugh through my tears. “Virgo. It’s the Virgo in me.”

“Whatever. It makes you one of the good ones, Jaymes.”

I stiffen when her hand brushes my bandage.

“What’s this?”

I lean away from her, straightening my back and wiping my tears. “Curling iron burn.”

She reaches for my hair. Again, I jerk away from her.

Melissa’s eyes widen. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I shake her off. “What do you mean?”

“You’re acting really jumpy over a curling iron burn.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh dear god! You have a hickey.”

“Guilty.” I offer a stiff smile and refocus on my clothes.

“Why would you bandage a hickey on the back of your neck that no one can see because your hair covers it? You get nasty reactions to adhesives. Take it off, goofy.” She reaches for the back of my neck.

I slap my hand against it and wince at the sting. “It’s not a hickey, okay?” I mumble. “It’s a tattoo.”

Her jaw plunges to the floor. “A tattoo? Are you kidding me?”

I deflate, shaking my head. “We were day drinking, and the next thing I knew, I was topless in your bed with bile climbing up my throat. After I vomited, I started to remember a few things, including the tattoo on my neck.”

She snorts. “What tattoo did you get?”

“A butterfly.”

“Let me see.”

“I’ll send you a picture. It’s bandaged.”

“It’s a clear bandage, you goofball.”

I cover my face with the shirt I just folded. “It’s not a butterfly,” I mumble.

---