Sweaty.

I’m almost to my room when there’s a creak across the kitchen and Shayna steps out of her room, crossing her arms over her chest. “No.” She waves a hand at the couch. “You need to sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

My excuse is locked and loaded. “I stayed the night at a friend’s house.”

She snorts. “You don’t have friends.”

I wince. Should have thought that one through a little better. “Wow, you’re really going to call me out like that?”

For a beat, she pretends to think about it. “Yes. I am.”

Rolling my eyes, I cross to the couch and flop down, tucking the manila envelope under my thigh. She takes her time meandering over to me, propping her butt on the table that serves as a television stand. “Yesterday, you got three gifts in the mail. Sauteed that eggplant last night with some garlic, by the way. Very tasty.”

My mouth drops open. “What happened to the separate food rule?”

“You weren’t going to eat it,” she claps back, as if she had that rebuttal locked and loaded. “You only eat things that require a bowl. Soup, cereal, noodles…”

“Fine. I guess that tracks.”

“Also, you didn’t leave the address where you were going on the freezer. We both broke a rule, so we’re even.”

“I never follow that rule.”

“You don’t go out, that’s why. No matter how often I invite you.”

“Is this going to get emotional, because I’m…” I scrub my eyes with the heels of my hands, not caring what it does to my already tragic makeup. “I’m drained.”

“Why?”

My hands fall into my lap. “Why do you care?”

“Because I like you. You’re funny. You’re driven. You remind me of me before I started going to therapy.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I want to be your friend. Deal with it.”

“This conversation makes me want to jump out the window.”

“Me too.”

“Ooh. Even after therapy?”

“Therapy is an ongoing project. It doesn’t fix you.”

I exhale toward the ceiling and leave my head there. For some reason, my neck is sore from last night and not having to hold my head up feels amazing. Also, when I’m not looking directly at Shayna, the act of opening up is slightly less repugnant. “Look, it’s not you. It’s me.”

“I know.”

I give her a dry look, then go back to staring at the ceiling.

Shayna chuckles. “Tell me where you were last night and I’ll leave you alone.”

“I don’t want to tell you. It’s like…” I shake my head, vision from the hotel room vivid, playing out in the front of my mind, stealing a considerable amount of my breath. “Something no one would understand unless they were in this exact situation.”

Shayna sits down beside me on the couch. “I’m going to riot unless you give me more.”

“Figured that.” I study her for a moment, wondering what it would be like to come home and tell her about my day. Listen to a funny story about hers. Have plans to hang out. It would be great, wouldn’t it? I’d have that axe-drop feeling the whole time. Still, maybe I could test the waters? After all, I didn’t spend last night alone and company didn’t kill me. Yet. “Tell me something about yourself first.”