“What, Ruby?” he calls back, my name like a song on his lips, like he longs to say it over and over and I swallow hard again, my thoughts lost.
“Ruby!” Mila’s voice screeches and when I turn around, I see her barefoot and slinking through the front yard of the house next door to Reid’s. She’s in exactly what she went to sleep in last night, which is barely anything but hot shorts and a tank top. Her hair is matted and disheveled, her makeup from last night smudged across her face.
“Oh my god, Mila! What the fuck are you doing? Are you doing a walk of shame right now?” The appalled tone falls from my lips with such conviction that I don’t even realize I look like I’m doing the exact same thing.
“Don’t you dare!” she yells out, pointing an accusing finger at me, her mouth falling open. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m going home,” I assert, hands on my hips now, my hangover put on hold for the moment. “Nothing happened here. I just slept on Reid’s couch since you were snoring… Wait a minute!” I shout and now it’s me pointing a finger in Mila’s direction. “You were asleep when I left. Did you seriously sneak out and find someone to hook up with at like three a.m.?” I sound completely judgmental like our mother, my nose wrinkling up in disgust at both what Mila has done and at the way I sound like our mother.
“There’s a perfectly good couch at your own house,” she teases, her words said in singsong, like she doesn’t believe that I just came here to sleep.
“Stop throwing this back on me and anyway, you had to have known I was gone when you went out to find some trashy hookup in the middle of the night!”
The two of us are screaming at each other in Reid’s front yard, the sun rising higher in the sky, but it won’t be the sun that wakes the neighbors. It will be our loud asses, carrying on about something that doesn’t really matter. Well, it kind of matters because at least I was with someone I know. Who the fuck knows where Mila was?
“Stop being such a judgy bitch,” Mila spits out, stomping past me and tossing a shoulder into me as she does. “You have puke in your hair!” she screams now as she passes me.
“So do you!” I scream back, storming off after her.
When I look back over my shoulder, Caleb is still standing in the doorway, a smirk painted on his perfect face, a dimple showing on his left cheek. Just seeing his face calms me instantly and I want to go back to sleep on the couch with him and forget this ever happened.
“Bye Ruby,” he calls. “Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you later.”
I wake a second time to the sound of cooking in the kitchen, pans being moved and water running as Mila mouth-breathes next to me like Darth Vader. My lips curl into a sneer as I listen to her, wanting to smother her with a pillow. The arguing didn’t stop in the yard, continuing once we were in the house and only stopping when Sienna screamed at us to shut up.
She was only carrying on about me staying the night with Caleb to deflect from the fact that she snuck out and shacked up with some random guy. She just doesn’t see how unsafe that really is and I do realize I sound like our mother, but had I been home, I would’ve been worried about her. Not to mention that our parents would’ve killed me if something had happened to her.
“Stop thinking about killing me in my sleep,” Mila mutters, her eyes still closed. “I’m still pissed at you, too.”
“Do you have any idea how unsafe it is for you to be sneaking around in the night looking for a guy to hook up with?”
“Yeah, I hear you loud and clear. Got it,” she growls, rolling over and taking the pillow with her, her head now buried under it. “You’re a hypocrite,” are the muffled words I hear from underneath it.
“Yeah, maybe, but still. Next time at least tell me where you’re going.”
“How could I tell you when you weren’t here?” she fires back and I giggle a little, my anger dissipating.
“See? I’m right.”
“You’re not right,” I huff out, tossing the blanket over her as I leave her and her damn good argument in the bed.
I walk into the kitchen and find Caleb cooking a bunch of eggs, the smell not nearly as nauseating as it would’ve been just a few hours ago.
“Hey,” I say as I collapse in a chair, rubbing my hands over my face. “Sie up yet?”
“No, not yet. How about Mila?”
“Sorta. She’s in there being all pissed off at me.” I glare at the bedroom and even though I’m thoroughly annoyed with her right now, it will pass. This is just how we are and in an hour, we’ll be back to normal.
“I mean, I get what she thought was happening,” Caleb says. “You can’t act like what we’re doing doesn’t look like hooking up.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s nobody’s business what we’re doing. Even if we were hooking up, it’s still not their business.”
Mila doesn’t know the full details of why Caleb and I have been sharing a bed because it’s not my story to tell. Caleb doesn’t need the world knowing he’s struggling to sleep. He doesn’t need people knowing he has nightmares and finds comfort in having me close. It will get misconstrued and cause unnecessary drama.
“Thanks, Ruby,” he now adds, his words a little quieter. “It feels like everyone who looks at me knows I’m fucked up. Like they can tell I’m different on a daily basis and I know I am. No day is the same and sometimes it feels like I cycle through a million different emotions. People can see it on my face, in my body language.”
“So what,” I insist. “Let them talk about you because until they’ve experienced it, they don’t get to judge. If sharing a bed with me makes your day better, then I don’t give a shit if Mila or anyone else thinks we’re hooking up.”
I’m still hungover and crabby, and I begin shoving eggs into my mouth from the plate Caleb has just set down in front of me. There’s a scowl on my face as I eat and Caleb laughs a little.
“You’re pretty fucking cute when you’re pissed,” he says, smiling at me.
“I’m not even trying to be cute. You should see when I’m trying,” I tease him, smirking now.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen every side of you, Ruby and they’re all perfect.”
Why does he say things like this?
Is he trying to make me fall for him?
“How’ve you been feeling?” I ask, changing the subject, wondering if he’ll even answer me.
“I’ve been okay and I think the extra sleep I’ve been getting is helping. I’m getting more comfortable at work and here,” he adds, motioning around the kitchen. “But I still have moments where I feel…” He stops speaking and I know he’s not searching for the right words. He doesn’t want to admit out loud that he’s having panic attacks. I’ve seen it. I’ve watched him leave a room and hide out in the bathroom for ten or fifteen minutes, returning with a damp face and shaky hands.
“Do you know what triggers them?” I ask, again not saying the words.
“No, I honestly have no idea,” he confesses and even though I know that’s not true, I don’t push it. He knows what triggers them, but saying it out loud can bring on those same feelings.