Page 40 of Malaise
THIRTEEN
Turns out Idon’t know squat. There was a lot of sleep. So much sleep that I never stirred when Carver left.
I stretch out, unsure if it’s a wise idea to move just yet, or if I should let my acidic stomach wake up properly. I’m definitely never drinking again. She says now….
One of the heavy drapes has been pulled open, and a mockingly blue sky is visible over the top of the trees that line the driveway. I stare out the window for what feels like forever, reluctant to get up and set the gears in motion.
I’ve been away all night. But I can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later I’ll have to return to my parents’ house to face the music—as in today to get my uniform, considering I’m working tonight. I slap a hand to my face and groan. How could I have forgotten that?
“What’s up?”
I roll my head to the right and almost groan all over again, yet for a vastly different reason. Carver leans against the doorjamb, with what I presume is a coffee in hand considering he doesn’t seem like a tea person, shirtless.
The man in only a pair of jeans is toxic to an unbalanced mind like mine.
“I just remembered I have a shift at the supermarket tonight.”
He sips his drink as though waiting for the punch line.
“Aaand my uniform is at home.” The word feels foreign on my tongue. Home. I don’t think I really have one anymore.
“Oh.” He lowers the mug to his waist, drawing my eye to his ridged, defined stomach. “That’s awkward then.”
“Yeah.”
He stays put, watching me as I fidget with the sheet over my chest.
“Could you….” I spin a finger toward the hallway.
“Right. Sorry.” He retreats, looking all kind of bashful and cute as hell at the same time, and shuts the door behind him.
I dash out of the bed, positive if I don’t find the toilet soon I’m going to be asking for more clean clothes. My phone tumbles from the pocket of Tanya’s jeans as I tug them up my legs. Snatching it in my fist, I hook a sharp right out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
Thank fuck for that.
With a sigh of relief, I sit and scroll through the messages from Dad, my euphoric state diminishing with every word.
Dad: Ring us.
Your mother is worried. Nice work on the guilt card, Dad.
Call now or I’ll phone the police. And say what? You threw your kid out and now you’re positive you fucked up?
Your things are in the garage. Key is by the side gate.
Well, at least that sorts the problem with my uniform. One night, and he’s done. One night. I shouldn’t feel this disappointment. It was to be expected, right? Everything I did led to this, so why the hell do I feel as though I wasn’t worth any real effort?
I finish up and head out to find where Carver went, my phone still in my hand, while I try to work out what I’ll do from here. Den’s funeral is in four days. In all honesty, all I have to do is make it until then and after that? I guess the options are endless, if I’m not fussy. I just need somewhere cheap to stay for a couple of weeks so I can continue to save while living off my pay from the supermarket. What I’ve got should at least get me a train ticket out of here and a few nights somewhere cheap while I look for more work. All good and well if you don’t want to eat. Yeah, there’s that.
“Something on your mind?”
It’d be a bald-faced lie if I said I wasn’t disappointed to find Carver now has a shirt on. “Just messages from Dad.”
“Yeah?” He shifts from where he’d been standing at the French doors that overlook the backyard, to the adjoining kitchen. “Like a coffee? Toast? We have muesli and possibly Cocoa Pops if you like?”
“No coffee”—he draws his eyebrows up in shock—“and muesli would be great.”
He moves around the room with an ease that shows he’s no stranger to the kitchen, and gathers up what’s required for my breakfast. “Can I ask what the messages said?”