Ten | newtmas

thirty two

I kissed a boy.

    It's my first thought when my mind regains consciousnesses. Before my eyes even open, it's there, and my day starts off with a fresh dosage of anxiety. It doesn't help when I start replaying the night over again.

    I'm sprawled out on the bed, and it takes me a moment to remember that someone else should be there. I fell asleep next to Thomas, didn't I?

    I finally open my eyes, and my anxiety starts to settle a little bit when I see Thomas sitting at the end of the bed. His back is turned, and he's presumably watching the TV. He's also wearing different clothes, so he's probably been awake far longer than I have. That's slightly embarrassing for some reason, but I'm too tired to think about that.

    When I sit up, Thomas turns around with a soft smile.

    "Hi," he says. "I was just about to wake you, actually. How're you feeling?"

    Scared? Anxious? Tired? "Okay," I say. I turn to my left to see the time, and it's nearly ten o'clock.

    "I've got our medication in my bag," Thomas says, hopping up from the bed. "Do you want to take it now?"

    "Um," I start, my brain still foggy from sleep. "Yeah, let me just... get ready first."

    "Sure, sure," Thomas says, nodding. He seems oddly peppy. "Can I get anything for you? I can walk or wheel you to the bathroom, too."

    "I'm alright, thank you," I say, reaching up and rubbing my eyes. This is later than I can normally sleep in, but I was also up impossibly late.

    I scoot myself to the side of the bed, then look at my suitcase. It's so far across the room. Wouldn't it be nice if I could just get up, walk over to it, then go get dressed like a normal person? I've got my tens and a broken ankle standing in the way of that.

    As if Thomas heard my thoughts, he picks up my suitcase and puts it on the bed next to me before I have the chance to protest. I give him a small gracious smile, then look through my things, picking out clothes. Jeans and a blue long sleeved shirt, something I haven't worn at TIMI.

    I get up and count my steps as I get into the bathroom, holding my outfit. I'm in there at six steps, then turn to close the door, making it seven. When I turn and look in the mirror, it's eight.

    For some reason, I look different. I can't put my finger on anything specific, but I seem... older? Same brown eyes, same blonde hair. I'm tired, so my cheeks are rosy from sleep and my eyelids are droopy. But that's not what it is—I feel different too.

    Once I get out of the bathroom, holding my old clothes, Thomas looks up at me. He's sitting on the bed with two little containers on his lap.

    "You can keep that if you want to," Thomas says. I frown in confusion, so he clarifies. "The hoodie, I mean. You can keep it."

    "Oh," I say, my blush turning into one of embarrassment. After last night, the offer sends my brain into overdrive. Does that mean something, or is it just a kind gesture? "I couldn't, um—"

    "Don't worry about it, I insist. Now come sit down before I start thinking that the hoodie is green," Thomas says, chuckling and nodding to the spot next to him on the bed. How he can make light of something so serious baffles me, but I know that humor is a common coping mechanism.

    I'm on seven. That's important to remember. I make it to the bed in three steps, then sit down, snapping my fingers to drown out the nagging thoughts about the hoodie that I place in my suitcase now.