Page 19 of Heartbeat

“She was arguing with some other girl. I think I stood up too fast or some—” I stopped as soon as he got closer.

“Arguing?”

“I—I dunno.” I shook my head.

“There,” he said, making me tip my head back. “Just stay like this for a bit.”

I didn’t know if it was the hangover, coupled with the fact that I’d just been run over by a locker, but I got lightheaded the very instant I leaned my head back. So I grabbed hold of his jacket, making a fist and preventing myself from tumbling back.

He quickly grabbed me by the waist. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

“Not really. This is one of those rotating bathrooms, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we should take you to the infirmary, just so—”

“No!” I said firmly. “I hit my head; it’s no big deal.”

“Dizziness is not a good thing to experience after hitting your head though.”

“Sure, but I’m hungover as fuck, so who’s to say why you’re spinning? Just gimme a minute.”

He smiled, then adjusted his grip and pulled me closer. I swear, it felt so fucking good having him breathing on my neck, I almost passed out. I hadn’t noticed how he was taller than me. We hadn’t stood close enough to each other for me to realize it, and come to think of it, I didn’t think that was the kind of thing I should be noticing at that precise moment.

“Do you have a jacket?” he asked gently.

“My brother forgot his, so I gave mine to him.”

“What about an extra T-shirt? Do you have one?”

“No, why?”

“There’s blood on yours.”

“Where?” I quickly tried to stand up straight so as to look down.

He didn’t let me. “Don’t. Move,” he said slowly, pressing his hand against my skin. “Here” He ran a free hand gently on my T-shirt, just along my right collarbone, without losing grip of my hip. “It’s not a lot, but your T-shirt is white.”

“Fuck, I love this T-shirt.”

I did. I’d gotten it for my birthday, three years ago. A white tee with Godard‘s profile printed on it.

“You should go to class,” I told him.

“And leave you alone in the spinning bathroom? Right.”

I smiled. “So…” I had no idea how to make small talk in this particular situation.

“So,” he said, and it sounded like he did it through a smile. “Were your parents mad when you got home late?”

“I think they counted themselves lucky I came back, period.” I was too honest for my own good, as usual.

“Why’s that?”

“Uh, I almost didn’t. A while back.”

“You ran away?”

“Not exactly, no. Can I move my head now?”

---