“I’m finding that your honesty is making me more attracted to you,” he says seriously.

I cackle. It sounds shallow and broken. “I’m finding that you’re weird,” I cough out. That’s when my knees give way again, and Zarar has to re-prop me upright.

Five minutes of agonizingly slow walking later, we make it to Terry’s cabin. My head hurts an obnoxious amount, and I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding again because the bandage feels wet against my forehead. Zarar keeps glancing at me in fear, like the end is nigh. All he’s mumbled since my knees buckled is the phrase We’re almost there, you’re going to be okay on repeat. This is the second time a human has gone on repeat in front of me today, and I can’t say I’m enjoying it.

At the foot of Terry’s steps, Zarar scoops me up again. And then he’s setting me down on the soft fabric of a comfy-looking worn-in couch in a room plastered with … framed children’s art? Terry. Art teacher.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Zarar says suddenly.

I didn’t even realize I had closed them. I open them groggily. “Wow, I can’t believe I managed to nod off. You’ve been engaging me in such scintillating conversation this last leg of the trip.”

“I’m sorry, I’m worried. I think I should change your bandage. The doctor should be here soon, but maybe not soon enough.”

“Maybe not soon enough?” I blink and it takes conscious effort to open my eyes again. “Where’d that dude go who wouldn’t shut up about how okay I’m going to be ten seconds ago?”

He mashes his lips together.

I nod. “Go ahead and change it then, stud.”

“Your jokes are getting less and less interesting. I think it’s correlating directly with your loss of blood.”

I glare at him, my eyes feeling heavy. “Wow, burn. Get your shit together then and fix me, sweetheart.”

Zarar gently begins to pull at my current bandage. He’s holding his breath, trying not to cause me any additional pain. “Za-rawr,” I slur.

He drops his hands in fear. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Just get it off. Do it already.”

He positions one hand on the Band-Aid and the other comes up to carefully cradle my chin. My chin tingles.

That’s when the door bursts open. We both startle—Zarar drops my chin, accidentally ripping off the Band-Aid.

“MOTHER FUCKER BALLS BASKET,” I scream as my forehead explodes with pain.

13. Angst and All-Consuming Confusion

SIRI

August 29, Saturday Morning

Colorado

Zarar and Doctor Mariana find me lying in the fetal position on my yoga mat.

My brain is still short-circuiting. I need something to do with myself. I need a kitchen. I need a recipe. I need to chop something. I need my music.