She nods, her eyes almost closing. I look at my watch, concentrating on it for a couple of seconds until my vision finally focuses. 3.30 AM.

Her head falls and she relaxes back on the couch. I decide to carry her upstairs, but when I try to get up, my legs are like jelly.

I look around and find a blanket. Grabbing it with shaky hands, I place it over her, getting a soft growl.

I stretch out on the huge sofa and yawn. “Do you want to go apartment hunting with me?” I whisper, not sure if she’ll hear me.

“Mhmm,” she murmurs, turning.

“Okay.” My voice cracks and my eyes close, sleep finally taking me.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

INDIGO

My body has never felt this weird.

It wants food, but it doesn’t because every time I eat something I barf it up a minute later. It wants water, but that makes my tummy feel funny. It wants sleep, but when I try to, I feel vomit rising in my throat.

I usually drink enough to feel dumb. Yesterday, I drank enough to become a whole new person.

The toilet seat supports my cheek as I puke out all the Hugos. I locked the bathroom door so Elias would stop insisting on helping me. I can throw up on my own, thanks.

Can’t say it worked. He still knocks on the door every two minutes. And my temples hurt so much from the banging that I want to drown in the toilet. A groan slips from my lips as I lift my head too quickly.

“Open the door,” he says, knocking again. I shake my head at no one.

I stand on wobbly legs and look in the mirror. The reflection isn’t that bad. Some dark bags under my eyes. Messy hair, but it’s like that most days. Probably the worst thing is my breath.

I turn on the water and wash my face as the knocking continues. “Go use the one upstairs!”

He still knocks, not giving a fuck about my headache. I growl and brush my teeth, tie my hair in a new bun, dry my hands, and open the door with a loud bang.

And there he is, lying on the floor, two cups of tea and some painkillers next to him. He smiles, his bruised chin showing.

I clear my throat and close the door behind me. “You should’ve drunk yours. I’m sure it’s cold now.”

He nods. “We got drunk together; we fight the hangover together.”

“Yeah.”

My body slides down until it lands on the floor beside him, and I take a sip of the tea, gripping the cup in my hands.

“Well, yesterday was a blast,” he laughs.

I eye him curiously. He got drunk for my sake, waited for me as I puked my guts up, dressed in the same clothes as the previous day, and even made me some tea.