Page 41 of No Interest in Love

“Every movie I’ve seen with a nosebleed, they tilt back.”

“That’s a great resource,” she snuffles, blowing the bits of toilet paper by her mouth. “Next time I lose a limb, I’ll watchMonty Pythonand tell everyone it’s just a flesh wound.”

I shake my head and let go of her neck. She leans down. I let her because we’re not gonna argue over dumb shit.

“Do it your way, but I’m looking it up when we get to an Internet source.”

“You do that.”

My gaze drops to the blood on her shirt. Or technicallymyshirt. I sigh and fumble for the handle on my carry-on.

“You ruined another one.”

“Hope you weren’t attached to it.”

I unzip my luggage and dig around for a replacement for her. My elbow keeps hitting the seat behind me, my legs cramped up against the wall. The only shirt I haven’t dumped a day’s worth of sweat in is a black wifebeater I wear to bed. I pull it out, and she huffs out a sigh, pulling the toilet paper from her face.

“Think you can keep this one clean?” I ask, and she takes it from my outstretched hand.

“We have two and a half days. So no.”

I smirk and toss her my tube of deodorant. Her nose is still draining, so I nudge her wrist so she keeps that sucker plugged.

“You know,” she says, “I keep flashing back to my bag being sucked down that drain. If only I had saved just one pair of pants.”

“Is that a hint?” I gesture to the pair of Marvel pajama bottoms I have resting on top of all my clothing. “Because those are sacred.”

She shakes with silent laughter. “Don’t worry. I won’t risk your precious pants.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry if you’d packed more than one purse.”

“It’s atote. It’s bigger than a purse.”

“And it’s gone.”

She narrows her watery eyes at me. “You shouldn’t make fun of someone who may be broken.” She gestures to her nose, and I see the faded lines from her glasses on her skin. Oh yeah. Gotta find those.

“Well, if it’s broken, you won’t be able to smell the funk coming off me.”

“Silver linings.”

I smirk and push at her hip a little to check under the seat behind her. My fingers tumble over the frames and I have to press the side of my head into her shoulder to get a good grip on them. They’re still intact, just a little fuzzy. I wipe them off with the clean shirt I handed to her.

“Toss me a fresh roll, would you?” Shay points to the toilet paper. I tear off a piece and fold it before handing it over. Thankfully there’s a trash bin right by my butt, so we can dispose of the bloody mess.

Shay’s nose has stopped draining, but her upper lip is stained. She swipes at it, but the dry paper isn’t gonna do shit.

I reach over her and pull down the fold-out sink. She wrinkles her nose at my armpit in her face. A small laugh rolls through my stomach as I wet a thick piece of toilet paper.

“Let me see,” I say, tapping on her chin. She flattens her top lip over her teeth so I can wipe the blood off better. Her eyes flick to the ceiling, and I take my time, being gentle with the strokes in case she really did break something.

“I’m such a mess,” she whispers, the air snapping around us.

“I’m getting it,” I promise her. She drops her eyes, meeting my gaze, and her fingers come up to wrap around my wrist. Softly, slowly, she drags my hand away from her mouth.

“No, I mean, I’m a mess. Can’t even get us going without injuring myself.”

I chuck the toilet paper in the trash with a smirk. “Hey, we’re on the train, aren’t we?”

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