Page 69 of Kiss Collector
What? My body lightly bumps up and down as he walks around the house. I close my eyes, his words sliding around in my mind and then falling into the underbrush of my tangled consciousness.
...
...
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Darkness.
...
I’m jostling, bouncing, and the world is spinning way toofast. My stomach is turning inside out. My throat burns.
...
A single, comforting voice, murmuring.
“Ma... ?”
“Shh...”
...
...
...
Softness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sunday Morning
Utter confusion accompanies dizziness as I blink against the brightness. Nothing is where it should be. The window is on the wrong side. My vision begins to clear, and I hear breathing.
Mom is sleeping beside me. I’m in her room, in her full-size bed. With this clarity comes a wave of nausea and I roll the other way, so glad to see the trash can next to me. I grasp it and heave, my stomach muscles tired and sore. Nothing comes out. Mom rubs my back.
“You scared me last night,” she says softly. “I almost took you to the hospital. No one could tell me how much you drank.”
Tears of shame spring to my eyes. My voice rasps painfully. “I’m sorry.”
She sighs and crawls past me, climbing out of bed. “You’regrounded for two weeks. You can take the van to school and work only. And you get to finish cleaning the inside of it today.” She faces me, looking tired with her hands on her hips. “I know you’re going through a lot, Xanderia, but this is not the way to deal with it.” She leaves me and I look at the clock. 10:19. There is no way we’re making it to church. And, oh, my gosh... did Mom have to take off work today because of me? They’re always busy on holidays.
I’m shaking as I stand and take the trash can into my own room, where I cry tears of remorse and pity and humiliation. I’m terrified to look at my phone, which I’m so lucky she didn’t take away from me. I never want to go to school again.
I cry for so long that I’m probably dehydrated.
At eleven Zeb comes in, approaching carefully with a grilled cheese sandwich on a plate. It actually smells really good, which I take as a positive sign.
“Mom said you’re sick?”
I’m way past BS’ing my brother. “I drank too much last night, Zeb. It was stupid. Don’t ever drink.” I start crying again. “Pleasedon’t ever drink!” I blow my nose on a tissue.
Zeb backs slowly out of the room. “Okay,” he says as he hits the door and rushes out, shutting it behind him.
I’ve just scarred him for life.
I nibble a quarter of the sandwich and manage to keep it down. Then I get so thirsty that I rush to the kitchen and drink three glasses from the tap in a row. My stomach immediately revolts and I pant as I bend over the sink, praying it will stay down. Mom gets up from the table and shuts herself in her room, and that’s when I spot two Easter baskets on the table.My heart squeezes with regret.
