Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,9

minutes, he sagged onto the bed. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

“I have my phone and earbuds. You want to listen to music?”

“Oh, sure,” he sneered. “I’ll be cured for good if I listen to your crappy new age—”

“Listen to whatever you like.” I got my phone off the charger and handed it over, along with my earbuds. “Go ahead.”

“No.”

“Why not? Music can take you out of your head.”

“Out of my head?” he asked. “Are you high?”

“No.” Hand to God though, I’d have done almost anything for a drink. For the briefest instant I considered it. There was probably a liquor store or a bar somewhere close by…

As if he’d read my mind, he said, “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then. Leave.” He bit off each word.

I pretended to think about it. “Nah. I’ll stick around a while.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sure there’s something I can do to help. Here. Have a sour gummy worm.” When he opened his mouth to protest, I fed him the candy like a baby bird—not with my mouth or anything, but I felt like a bird parent. “How can you eat those? My salivary glands hurt just thinking about them.”

He chewed, his face turned away. “You don’t know shit. They’re awesome.”

“I prefer… buttered popcorn saltwater taffy.” Taffy had always been my favorite, much to my dentist’s horror. “Here. Drink some water.”

“Can’t.”

“I’ve gotta be firm on this. You’ve sweated a ton. Drink.”

“I hate water.”

“Drop some candy in it. Ever drink those hint of fruit waters?”

“The fuck? Do I look like I drink fruit waters?”

“Hey, you want to punch me?” I got pillows from the second bed and shoved my hands into the cases to hold them like boxing targets. “Go ahead.”

He gave my left hand a wallop so hard it stung my skin even through the foam rubber. That didn’t deter me from the activity.

“Left now.” He walloped the pillows, left, right, left. We were doing fine until he retched and ran to the bathroom.

“Leave it unlocked.”

The bathroom door slammed shut. I didn’t try it because I knew I could open it easily even if he had locked it. From inside, the sound of his body throwing off poison could be heard, along with cursing and crying. The shower started. The unmistakable smell of sick and feces stole into the room like a fog.

Just another day in paradise.

I got up and did a couple yoga poses to stretch and relax.

After a while, I knocked. “You need anything?”

Silence.

“Tug?” When we’d first arrived, I’d checked the bathroom window.

It was too small for an adult to crawl through. It might be possible for someone thin who was really determined. It would scrape him up pretty badly though. I braced myself and opened the door. Tug lay in the tub covered with a wet sheet. At first, I was sure he was dead—he was so pale—but his chest rose and fell.

I didn’t touch him, not even to cover him more. Gayle told me he’d sleep in fits and starts, and I couldn’t bear to cheat him out of the rest he was getting. If it went on too long, I’d have to worry about his body temperature, but the room was still warm with steam, and the sheet hadn’t cooled.

There was a mess on the floor, but I stayed clear of it. I closed the door, sat with my back to it, and listened to the sound of him breathing.

If my friends could see me now. They would totally believe this because I was known for taking care of sick people. I didn’t really mind it, whereas my mom, for example, threw up whenever the dog got sick.

Would I ever get used to the smell of puke and diarrhea?

Nope. Not ever.

We’re not meant to get used to those things. They’re the body’s red alert that something has gone wrong. We’re meant to respond viscerally to the smell of decay, or rot, or filth. Our hindbrain should say, “Run away. Danger.”

My lizard brain was functioning perfectly, but I ignored it on behalf of the man asleep in the tub.

Five minutes went by. Ten.

“No.” He startled awake. “Shit.”

He rose with a wet slurp and crawled out of the tub, leaving the sheet behind.

Oh my. Tug was all grown-up.

I glimpsed his nakedness for a brief, shocking second before turning away.

“Your ears are turning red.” Guess he caught me.

“Yeah, well. Venus on the half shell you are not.” I tossed him a couple of hand towels I’d brought from home. “Mind cleaning up? I’ll