Page 39 of The Rebound
I frown at the ceiling as my eyes grow heavy.
Didn’t he already lock up?
The next thing I know, it’s morning.
Early morning, judging by the weak light creeping through the window. My nose is cold, my throat is dry, and it feels like my eyelashes are glued together.
Something’s wrong.
It’s not that I’m confused. The night before comes back to me with humiliating clarity but there’s something else. Something…
And that’s when I feel it. A sharp cramping sensation low in my abdomen. As if someone grabbed a hold of my insides and twisted. Hard.
Ohshit.
I scramble into a sitting position, the cold air hitting me as I whip the duvet off and look for any incriminating evidence. The last thing I need after throwing myself at him is to bleed all over his bed. But there’s nothing. The sheets remain spotless beneath me.
Just debilitating pain then. Thank God for that.
Calmer now, I look around properly for the first time. The apartment is small enough that all it takes is one glance to know I’m alone. There’s no sign of Luke.
But there is a glass of water on the nightstand, next to a granola bar and packet of painkillers. I partake of all three, examining the stack of serious-looking textbooks behind them. On top of them lies what must have fallen from my pockets last night. My phone, one euro thirty in change… and my engagement ring.
Crap.
When I’ve drained the water, I step out of the bed, wincing as my feet meet the floorboards. I’m still wearing my jeans and my bra. The other clothes are where Luke left them and I quickly pull them on. It’s chilly in here. The windows are small and single glazed, the paint on the windowsills chipped with mold creeping through. Exposed pipework runs along the wall,notthe fancy kind, and there’s a poster of some sunny continental city above the dresser, slightly faded from age.
Other than the “bedroom,” there’s a door near me that must lead to the bathroom and a makeshift living area comprised of a couch and a small kitchen galley. Everything is very clean.
I sleep there.That’s about it.
That’s what Luke had told me in the car and that’s what it looks like. There are no touches of personality here, nothing to tell me who he is.
I don’t know why that disappoints me so much.
My phone is out of battery, so I plug it in and head to the bathroom, keeping an ear out in case Luke comes back. I need a shower. A long shower. And while his one certainly looks like it would do the job, I know better than to try.
Too shy to go check if he’s downstairs, I perch on the arm of the couch, guiltily eyeing the blanket folded beneath a spare pillow.
There’s a sturdy coffee table beside the couch that seems to double up as a desk and a place to eat. As well as an empty beer bottle and a dinner plate pushed to the side, there’s more textbooks and a crumpled class schedule. Luke’s old-school. Despite the laptop, there’s reams of paper and notebooks, half-finished lecture notes, and sketches of muscles and limbs, and, I see with a smile, a self-portrait of him falling asleep in class. I pull that one toward me only to hear footsteps sound on the stairs and I barely have time to compose myself when a moment later the door opens.
Despite everything that happened last night, I still feel an unexpected flutter when Luke steps inside. He’s dressed in jeans and a navy sweatshirt and looks very, very good for someone who slept on the couch.
He doesn’t see me at first. His eyes go straight to the bed, pausing when he sees it empty. For a moment I simply watch him before I realize I’m lurking.
“Good morning.”
His head whips toward me, his confused expression vanishing in an instant, schooled into neutrality.
“How’s the head?” he asks after a second.
“Not too bad. But the few times I’ve had a hangover, it’s taken a while to kick in. Ask me in an hour and I might not have the same answer.” I wait but he doesn’t smile. “Is the café open?”
“Not until ten.”
I nod. My hands feel clammy. “I’m sorry about last night. I can’t believe you slept on your couch. You should have just sent me on my way.”
“I tried that.”
