Other Side

17 | Literary Apology

Zaid could freeze for all Talia cared, which wasn't very much.

Curbing volatile emotions while breathing through the confines of three layers of blankets wasn't the recipe for a restful sleep—or sleep at all. Every hour, on the dot, her eyes would snap open and adjust to the fuzzy black abyss before her. Even a floor up, she could always sense movement or hear a few heavy breaths being expelled into the air, informing her that Zaid was awake. Once or twice, she'd flirted with the temptation to return downstairs, before her ice-cold ego held her back.

The next time she awoke, a light blinded her. She rubbed the corners of her sleep-crusted eyes and then blinked, wondering how the sun could shine so brightly this early in the morning. A simple reorientation of her body made her realize this light was no sunshine, because the sun hadn't even risen yet.

This was electricity.

She never imagined she could be so grateful for two dimply lit bulbs in her bedroom ceiling until this very moment, as they signaled to her that at least some sense of normalcy had returned. Springing to her feet, she dashed downstairs to inform Zaid, before she remembered she was still mad at him.

Standing in the doorway, she watched him lying on the couch across the room, passed out on his stomach. He'd taken one of the many blankets from the floor, but it seemed far too thin for winter and most certainly not for the frigid inside of this house. Pushing last night's thoughts aside, she grabbed the heaviest blanket from the wrinkly mess below her and pattered across the hardwood, heart drumming a little faster with every step. She could think of multiple reasons why she didn't want him to wake up—mostly glaringly that if he stayed asleep, she couldn't argue with him again.

And if she couldn't argue with him, she couldn't say something she'd regret. Because so far, she regretted nothing.

She draped the thick blanket loosely over his back, letting the ends fall onto the empty sides of the couch. As she retracted her hand, it brushed against his resting on the cushion. The touch lasted no more than three seconds, but she could feel how cold he was down to the bone, and her heart sank.

Wait, never mind, I'm still mad.

It was just nearing seven by the time she'd showered and wrapped up her morning routine, and she crept back down the stairs, unsure if Zaid had yet awoken. Sure enough, he was still deeply asleep, now curled up on his side.

Settling herself in the kitchen, she opened her nearly dead phone and winced as Logan's story popped before her eyes. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the typical grainy quality of Snapchat photos, but the girl under his arm was impossible to miss. With soft curly hair, striking hazel eyes, and two dimples, she was the girl of books, alluring from a mile away. He paled in comparison next to her, and perhaps he recognized that, as his smile was dull and tight-lipped.

No geo-filter dotted a corner of the photo, making her wonder if he was back home, but a click to the next story confirmed that he was, a quick video of his dining room table. She held her breath as she watched the video again, swearing Brandon had a grabby hand on his younger brother's girlfriend in the corner.

Or maybe she was reading too much into what was a glimpse of Logan's actual life. She could have very well slapped an old photo of her and her maternal grandmother on Instagram with a sonnet of a caption about her dedication to kindness and equality. Social media was deceptive, sometimes dangerously so, so with one click out of the app, she put all of her thoughts about Logan behind her.

Because another man stood before her.

Zaid looked, for lack of better words she simply did not know, like hell. With deep bags under his bloodshot eyes and hair sticking up in three different directions, he was the poster child for shitty sleep, a job she freely took on during midterms and finals. He guzzled half of a water bottle in front of her, eyes flickering around the strangely lit-up kitchen, while hers settled on his right hand. There was a sizable bandage crookedly stuck to the base of his thumb that definitely hadn't been there earlier last night. He put down the bottle and rested his hand on the counter behind him when her caught me looking, and she quirked a brow.