Page 53 of Dearly Unbeloved
I wrack my brain, trying to connect the scattered dots. The start of May, when she bailed on a girls’ night with Jazz, and I was just happy she wasn’t there. February, at Maggie and Cal’s anniversary party, when her mom kept asking if she was sick because her dark circles were so bad. Just after Thanksgiving last year, when she barely ate for a few days.
Sometimes, she’s down for a day, sometimes longer. At the time, I think I just chalked it up to her being on herperiod. She always gets a little out of sorts a few days before. Jazz has PCOS, and though Rose’s periods aren’t nearly as bad, they’re still worse than most people’s.
Admittedly, Rose often seems a little out of sorts—a little sad. For a while, I’ve suspected there was something going on with her—that there has been for a long time, if the long-faded scars on her thighs are anything to go by. But sad or sick, she shouldn’t be on her own. And right now, I’m the only one around. She can push me away all she wants, but that doesn’t mean I have to let her.
I sigh and gather the bunnies in my arms before standing up. Dibbles buries her face in the crook of my neck, tickling my skin. “Come on, you two. Let’s go make your mama mad by forcing our—yourlove on her,” I correct, shaking my head and starting for Rose’s bedroom. She has my brain so fucking fried.
The bunnies make opening her door tricky, but after a little finagling, I push it open with my knee. I’m not being quiet, but I don’t believe Rose is really sleeping, anyway. She hasn’t moved since I left the room, but I see her body tensing when the light floods through the door. I close it and cross the room, kneeling on the bed and leaning over her to place Thorne and Dibbles in front of her. Thorne immediately hops up to her pillow to nuzzle into her face, while Dibbles snuffles around the covers, probably still looking for snacks.
“What’s going on?” Rose asks, sounding groggy.
I lift the blankets and slide in beside her. It’s toasty. I grab Rose’s phone from the nightstand. “What’s your passcode?”
“1723,” she answers, and it’s a testament to how out of sorts she is that she doesn’t refuse to give it to me.
I punch in the numbers and pause. 1723. January 17thand October 23rdare Xan and Jazz’s birthdays. That’s… surprisingly sentimental of her. I file it away for later.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, setting an alarm and putting the phone down. “You can rot for one more hour, but you’re going to have to put up with me and the bunnies cuddling you while you do it. When the hour’s up, you don’t have to get out of bed, but you do have to come back to life, okay? We’re ordering food, and you’re going to eat, hydrate, and talk. Deal?”
Rose turns her head a fraction toward me, but not enough that I can see her face. “Why?” she asks, her voice small.
I lie down and sling my arm over her, snuggling against her back. “Because like it or not, temporary or not, we’re family. And it’s about time someone showed you that family is supposed to take care of you.”
Rose sucks in a breath that pushes her closer to me, and I hold her tighter. After a moment, she lifts her hand and lays it atop mine, threading our fingers together.
And my heart does something… unexpected. It calms.
I didn’t realize how panicked I was, how worried about Rose I was, until she showed a sign of life again.
Ohshit.
I care about her. And not in a “she’s my friend’s sister, so of course I’m concerned about her well-being,” kind of way. Not even in a “she’s my roommate and temporary wife and I’m legally invested in her health and safety,” kind of way.
I care about her in an “I want to keep her” kind of way. And that’s a massive fucking problem.
This is bad. This is so,sobad. So much for being calm. How the hell did I get myself into this mess?
My heart beats so fast I’m surprised I can’t hear it ricocheting against my ribcage like it might jump straight out of my chest.
Because, for once, my three-month deadline isn’t optional. It’s a mutual agreement, and even ifmyheart is acting up, there’s not a chance in the world that Rose will want anything to do with me when our three months are over. Which means I have a month to get my act together and get over this stupid little crush.
That’s all this is—a crush. It’s natural, considering how much time we’re spending together and the sheer number of orgasms we’ve been trading. I’m only human.
But for now… now she strokes her thumb over my ring and leans her head back, like she wants to get as close to me as possible. And I soak it all in.
26
ROSE
Iforce myself to bite down on the egg roll, but it tastes like sawdust. Sierra didn’t ask me what I wanted, just ordered all my favorite things from my favorite Chinese takeout place, and even though I have zero appetite, I don’t have the heart to push it away.
Not that I think she’d let me. Sierra seems determined to feed and hydrate me—if the protein bar and mini Gatorade she forced into my hand while we waited for the food to be delivered are anything to go by.
She’s right that I’m not used to being taken care of like this. I started getting these “foggy spells,” as I call them, when I was sixteen. By that point, my brother and sister had long moved out, and my parents had never been the kind of parents to comfort us when we were sick. So, I just learned to get on with it. There’s never been an alternative.
I know it’s not normal, that not everyone has days, weeks, months where just the thought of basic tasks like showering or brushing their teeth feels like climbing a mountain. Just like I know it’s not normal to struggle toenjoy anything, to not get excited about anything, to dread the thought of speaking to people.
But knowing that doesn’t give me the motivation to do anything about it. I’ve gotten used to the world being dull and desaturated, and now anything bright and shiny is just overwhelming.
