Just months before I start medical school in Boston, I decide to let loose for one night. A dark club, a loud band, strong drinks--and the attention of a dangerous-looking man who says he's in the city for only a week.
I know exactly what he is: a...
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"Evan. It's eight-thirty. You getting up?" Kerri's normally raspy voice is uncharacteristically soft and my eyes flutter open, then closed.
"Not going to class today," I mumble, pulling the comforter away from my face.
I've been in bed since yesterday, since that disastrous visit to Matteo's house. I've only drank a can of Coca-Cola since, and skipped both dinner and breakfast at the dining hall. Shame and anger are still swirling in my gut, mixed with some old-fashioned sickness vibes.
Good times.
"I think you should get up and go."
I open my eyes in time to see Kerri looming over my bed, inspecting me. "Nope. I feel like shit."
"You'll feel better if you shower, put on some makeup, and walk across the street to class. Today's psychology, right? You always talk about how easy that is. You like the professor, too."
I don't respond, trying to remember what day it is. Monday? Yes, it's Monday. Which means early psych class, held closest to our dorm in the lecture hall across the street. It's held Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and starts at nine. I could still make it, stumble out of the dorm and across the street.
But sleep and exhaustion press down on my body, and I'm physically unable to do what my mind is considering.
"My head feels like it's splitting in two. I think I have a fever." I follow up with a groan.
Kerri's arm extends downward, and her cool hand presses against my forehead. "You do feel warm. Why don't I bring you some breakfast?"
The cafeteria is in the bottom floor of the lecture hall. Kerri wouldn't have far to go. Since it's Monday, Kerri doesn't have class until ten. "You don't have to."
"Shut up. I'm going to run across the street. Don't move."
"Not planning to move ever again," I grumble, and I hear her footsteps, then the opening and shutting of the door. Physical exertion is not on my agenda.
I lapse back into a sweaty sleep, my emotions about Matteo still all over the place. Like last night, I dream of him, of his kisses, of his smooth skin, of those glowing eyes.
This truly sucks.
Sometime later, I wake with a start. Alarmed, I look around the room, briefly unaware of where I am.
Kerri's in the middle of the room, struggling to open one of those small cartons of cereal. "Fuck this plastic wrapping shit. Oh hey, good morning, sunshine! I got your favorite kind, the Froot Loops," she says in a sing-song. "You can eat it dry or I got some milk and a plastic bowl and spoon. Your choice."
"Don't want any."
"Come on, try to eat. Sit up. I'll feed you."
Exhausted, I haul myself up so I'm sitting against the wall. Having Kerri spoon feed me is beyond mortifying. "Dry. I'll try it dry. I'm not that sick."
