Chapter 21
Three agonizing weeks later, I sat on a bench, an open technology textbook perched on my knee and a hat pulled low over my head. All part of my incognito spy outfit. That way if she saw me, I wouldn’t be instantly recognizable. It had worked so far. We hadn’t spoken since that day in the water, and she hadn’t looked at me even once.
I’d seen to it.
It was five o’clock, and the soft ocean breeze calmed my otherwise fraught nerves. Soon she would come out. I’d been following her around. Watched her help out at the cancer race. Watched her go to the soup kitchen, even though I stood outside of it now. Watched her give away clothes and food and money—but not once had she done anything fun for herself. She just studied and helped and volunteered.
No fun. No games. Hardly ever any smiles.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she missed me. But she didn’t.
Carrie came out of the building five minutes earlier than usual, her hair frizzy and her face lowered. Even with her hair sticking up every which way to Sunday, she was the picture of perfection. A breath of fresh air on a hot, smoggy day. I tensed as she walked right past me, but she didn’t even glance my way.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, her steps quickening. Was that a groan I heard? No, I must’ve been imagining things. I stood up, tucking the book into my bag as I shadowed her steps. She walked faster than usual, but had some odd kind of shuffle to her step. Like a supersonic zombie. What was wrong with her?
When she slapped a hand over her mouth and ran for the cover of the bushes that lined either side of the walkway, I got my answer. She was sick. I sprinted after her, my stomach twisting in response to the retching sounds that came from her. Any time someone vomited, I always felt sympathy nausea. Sometimes, that sympathy turned into my own bout of puking my guts up.
So, as a rule, I avoided people who were throwing up, but this was Carrie.
I dropped to my knees at her side, grabbing her hair and holding it back from her face so she wouldn’t get it dirty. She didn’t even bother to look my way or tell me to f**k off. She just kept puking. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, but I tightened my grip on her hair and made sure to breathe through my mouth—not my nose.
Shallow, slow breaths.
“Sh. It’s okay.” With my free hand, I rubbed her back in wide, sweeping circles. “I’ve got you.”
She shuddered, one last gag making its way out of her body before she let her head hang. Not knowing what else to do, I kept rubbing her back and holding her hair. After what seemed like an eternity of sitting by the putrid vomit, she lifted her head. Her blue eyes were hard, but they held a touch of vulnerability to them.
“Go away, Finn,” she mumbled. Swiping a hand across her mouth, she struggled to stand up. “I’m fine.”
I quickly rose and lifted her to her feet. When she stumbled sideways, almost right into her puke, I gripped her hips. “Shit. Stay still.”
“I’m trying,” she muttered, clinging to my shoulders. “The world won’t stop spinning.”
“Can you walk?”
She lifted her chin. “Of course I can.”
“Okay.”
I let go of her, even though every instinct screamed at me to hold on tighter and never let go. She took one step and almost fell flat on her face. I caught her effortlessly, swinging her up in my arms.
Her head flopped down on my chest, and she looked anything but ready to be released. “God, it hurts.”
“I’ll take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.
My heart seized at the look on her face as she drifted off. She was pale and listless. Her small hand rested on my chest, right above my heart. She liked putting it there, as if she knew she owned it and was re-staking her claim. “I know you can, but I want to help you. Now rest.”
I dropped a quick kiss to her clammy forehead and headed for my bike. I almost reached it before I realized I couldn’t ride home with an unconscious Carrie on my lap. I hesitated, not sure what to do. Should I get a cab and take her back to my place? Or should I carry her up to her room and take care of her there?
I spotted Marie walking to the dorm, three girls on either side of her. They were laughing loudly, talking about a study session involving alcohol in Marie’s room. Carrie stirred at their laughter, her brow furrowing. I held her closer, kissing her temple.
“Take me home,” she muttered restlessly. She burrowed closer to me, let out a ragged sigh, and fell asleep.
Well, that settled it. Home. My home.
Walking right past my bike, I managed to call a taxi without waking Carrie. Once it arrived, I settled into the back of the cab with her curled up on my lap. I smoothed her hair off her face, studying her delicate features. Her small nose was red at the tip, and she had bags under her eyes that hinted she hadn’t been sleeping well lately. I hadn’t been either.
I missed Carrie too much.
Somehow I doubted I was the cause of her insomnia, though. More likely, it had been because she’d been hitting the books harder than usual. Midterms were coming up, so she had been preparing for those. I had seen her in the library with Lover Boy almost every day this week. Whenever she studied, Cory did too.
Fucking annoying pansy.
The cab stopped in front of my place, and I shuffled Carrie in my arms so I could reach my wallet. The cabbie eyed Carrie. “Is she dead? If so, it’ll cost extra.”
I rolled my eyes. “Glad to know humanity is still at its peak.”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’.”
“So am I.” I tossed the cash at the man. “She’s not dead. She’s sick.”
“Then get her out of my cab before she ruins it.”
I glanced pointedly at the cigarette burns covering the seat and the crack in the glass of the window. “I think it’s too late for that.”
“Whatever.” The man dismissed me with a casual flick of his wrist. “Just go.”
I was getting damned sick of people telling me to “just go,” but now wasn’t the time to address that. I had a sick Carrie on my hands—one who might explode at any given time. I opened the door, hugging her closer to my chest as I bent to get out. She jerked awake, her eyes wide. She looked…ah, f**k.
She looked green.
I picked up the pace. “Are you going to make it inside?”
She nodded frantically and squeezed her eyes shut. I practically ran to my door, unlocked it, and deposited her in front of the toilet. She waved her hand at me, clearly wanting me to leave, but I hovered in the doorway. Though my stomach demanded I do as she wished, I couldn’t leave her.