t w e n t y - t w o

*

The pounding of my head wakes me up, a thick throbbing in my skull as though my brain's too big. I can't bear the thought of moving but I really have to pee, so I roll out of bed and try not to collapse beneath the weight of my headache. I don't dare turn on the lights, which I know will be sickeningly blinding, so I sit to pee and I rest my forehead on the cold wall.

When I return to the bedroom, squinting to make my way back to my bed, I catch sight of the arrogantly bright red numbers on the alarm clock. When the light stops shifting, I can just about make out that it's ten past five in the morning. Thank fuck I have three more hours before we need to meet in the lobby. Three hours to make myself feel more human.

My backpack is upended on the floor by my bed and I blindly fumble through the mess spilling out of it until I find a packet of paracetamol. The crinkling of the blister pack is an attack on my eardrums and I feel like I need to throw up, but also as though the force of throwing up would probably burst my eyeballs and increase the pressure in my head.

I have never drunk as much as I drank last night and I can feel it, and I can remember every single moment of yesterday. Snippets of conversations sear through my mind like flaming arrows, innocuous memories burning my brain as I think about playing card games and drinking vodka and texting George and hugging Arjun. It's all there in painful clarity, as though my hangover comes with extra sensory perception.

I honestly feel like I'm going to die. My head hurts that much. Next to me, barely ten inches between us across the narrow gap between our beds, Arjun is splayed out on top of his duvet in his boxers. He looks perfectly peaceful, and I imagine he'll wake up feeling fine. He can handle his drink; apparently I can't. I'm not used to vodka.

All I can do is lie as still as possible with my eyes closed, clutching my cold water bottle to my forehead. I desperately need to fall asleep again, to let my body heal itself while unconscious, before this pain actually kills me. Maybe alcohol is stronger over here. Maybe I'm just weaker.

*

The second time I wake up, there's the briefest moment of respite when I think I feel ok, before my brain remembers its agony and pain and nausea rear their ugly heads. It's seven fifty and we have to be downstairs in ten minutes, and I still feel like death warmed up. Arjun isn't next to me anymore, but I can't lift my head to look for him.

"Morning," he says when he comes out of the bathroom in a tiny towel tied low on his hips, a sight I can't even appreciate when I feel so shit. I barely grunt in response and he comes to sit on the end of his bed.

"How're you feeling?" he asks as he roots through his bag for clean underwear.

"Dead." My voice is hoarse and scratchy and my mouth feels bone dry and full of cotton wool and my stomach is roiling. "How are you not dead?"

"I guess I got lucky," he says. "Felt like utter shit when I woke up a couple of hours ago but I took some ibuprofen and had some water and a biscuit and that seems to have done the trick."

Once he's half dressed, having found underwear and tight shorts, he leans over me and puts a hand on my shoulder and gently shakes. He moves his hand to my cheek in such an intimate gesture that I'd be floored if I wasn't in bed. "Hey, you gonna be ok?"

"I'm dying."

"That better not be true," he says. "The healthcare system here is atrocious. Can you save your death until we're back in England?"

I grunt again.

"Need a hand?"

"I'm ok," I say. It's a lie, but I need him to move away so I can get up without him noticing my cursed morning glory.

"Ok, well, we need to be downstairs in eight minutes," Arjun says. He pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of flip-flops, and I manage to get up and hobble to the bathroom. We don't have much time, but I need a cold shower to wake me up and calm me down, and it's all I can do not to collapse under the chilly stream as I wash last night off me.

*

Somehow, at eight o'clock, I'm down in the lobby with my backpack at my feet. My hair's wet and my head's pounding but I'm on time, even if I'm not sure how much longer I can stay vertical for. It's an effort not to slide down to the cool floor as Sam goes over the day's itinerary, and I find myself leaning against Arjun when my balance fails me.

"Today's a mix of low and high intensity," Sam says. "Low in that we have no strict time restraints and only about four or five hours driving max, but high in that we're heading to Death Valley, where temperatures can reach up to one hundred thirty degrees Fahrenheit."

"What's that in English?" I mumble, each word an effort.

Arjun's the only one to hear me. "Really fucking hot," he murmurs. He Google's the answers and shows me his screen, and I squint and rub my eyes but they're not cooperating and Arjun's font is so small and frustration builds.

"I can't read that," I say, my words quiet and filled with tired irritation.

"It's about fifty-four degrees," he says.

"Fuck. That's really hot."

Sam seems to hear that because he chuckles and points at me and says, "March is correct – it's gonna be really fucking hot. I can't stress that enough. Please make sure y'all have plenty of water and sunscreen, and don't wander off – insane heat like this is dangerous."

Insane heat is the opposite of what I need right now, but I am looking forward to getting in the van and being able to do nothing for a couple of hours. When Sam's briefing is over, I shoulder my bag and catch Young-mi's elbow.

"Hi, March! How was your night? Did you have fun?" she asks with a glint in her eyes.

"When I'm less hungover, I'm gonna kill you," I say. She looks alarmed for a moment, and then she laughs when she realises what I'm talking about.

"I don't want to embarrass you," she says, lowering her voice so only I can hear her. "You two are so close, and I think you like him ... yes?"

I nod, a pathetic little nod.

"And he ask for alcohol, I thought maybe ... it is better to be safe always, just in case. But I am so sorry if you are upset. Maybe it was bad idea."

She's so damn nice. I adore her. I can't be mad about the surprise condoms and lube. Dropping my shoulders, I say, "I'm not angry. I just wasn't expecting it. But we'll talk more when I feel better."

"Mmm. You don't look good," she says, a slight frown crossing her features as she cups my cheek and examines my face. "Was it good night?"

"Very good. We had fun – not that kind of fun – and now I think maybe I drank too much," I say. I wish we'd had that kind of fun last night, the kind Young-mi's gift anticipated, although if there's the slightest chance of anything happening with Arjun, I want it to be sober.

I don't want to wake up the next morning and wonder if any of it was real, if any of it was honest.

If I follow Mum's advice, that won't happen because I won't tell him how I feel, because that will muddy the waters and right now, we've got a good thing going. Painfully flirty, yeah, but I'd rather that than painfully awkward.

We have a quick breakfast of the usual pastries and bitter coffee, and I force myself to eat something even though I can't bear the thought of food. I need something, and a too-dry muffin will have to do, along with a swig of water. I slowly sip at the coffee Arjun makes me, so milky it looks like tea and with a splash of sugar. Just the way I like it.

He knows exactly what I like, and yet he doesn't seem to know I like him.

These guessing games are going to tear me apart; his unintentional flirtation is going to be the death of me when every wink sets my heartbeat off kilter and every graze of his thumb has me on the verge of passing out.

It's a struggle to haul myself into the van and I collapse into my seat with a mammoth sigh. Young-mi sits in front of me and I can smell her sweetly shampooed hair, something fruity and probably nice, but it's too much for my senses right now, clashing with Adedayo's woody aftershave and Carrie's sweet perfume and Arjun's deodorant. It's all a bit much, a sensory overload when I'm not running on all engines.

Arjun gets in next to me, leaving that space between us that I wish I could eradicate, and he gives me a pitying smile.

"Feeling a little worse for wear, hmm?"

"Lil bit," I say, resting my head against the window. The glass isn't even cool, though, heated by the incessant blistering Vegas sun, and I jerk away from the scalding pane. I don't know how long I can stay vertical, but there isn't much space in this van - I can't exactly bed down in the narrow aisle between the seats and the door.

"D'you want some painkillers?"

"Had some earlier." It's too much effort to speak in full sentences.

"What'd you have?"

"Paracetamol." I press my fingers to my temples, as though enough pressure outside my head will relieve the ridiculous pressure inside

"You can have a couple of ibuprofen then," he says. He digs out a couple of tablets and his water and passes both to me and I try not to gag when I swallow.

"Thanks."

"Any time. I've had my fair share of shitty hangovers," he says. "I'm sorry if I pushed it last night."

I raise a hand and feebly shake my head. "I loved last night," I say. "Just overdid it a bit. I'm not used to vodka."

The word alone makes me feel sick and I groan as we pull away from the hotel, beginning today's journey to Death Valley.

I feel like I'm already there.

I manage to stay upright in my seat until we're on the highway heading west, and then it's just too much to not be lying down. I stretch my seatbelt to lean against it, hovering over the gap between Arjun and me, but it isn't enough.

"You ok?"

"I need to lie down," I say, praying that I'll feel better when I'm horizontal.

"Here." Arjun grabs his jumper from the back of the van and bunches it up on his lap. He pats it and I meet his eye. "Lie down, if you need to."

I do need to, and I'm in no state of mind to question exactly what he's proposing, so I slip my seatbelt behind me and I lie down with my head on his lap.

My head is on his lap.

It resonates after a moment and I'm sure my entire body goes stiff at the realisation, but I already feel better and I don't want to say anything that will make it weird.

Arjun doesn't seem to know what to do with his hand. For a moment, he drapes it across the back of the seat next to him before he awkwardly lets it down and I feel the length of his forearm across my shoulder, and then his hand on my head.

No, not just his hand on my head. His fingers in my hair. He is slowly massaging my scalp with one hand and I don't know how I'm supposed to control myself when I have my head in his lap and his fingers in my hair, and he's touching me in such a strange and sensitive way that I can't untangle my brain.

"My mum used to do this any time I felt a bit shit," he murmurs, his voice quiet and low and delicious. "She would make me lie down with my head on her lap and she'd do this"-his fingers gently knead my skin and my pulse is through the roof-"and I don't know why, but I always felt better. Maybe it was just the contact."

I want to turn over and look up at him, to stare into his eyes as he touches me, but it's not like he's trying to drive me crazy; he's only trying to help. He's passing on his mother's tricks; he isn't trying to drive me into a state of almost painful arousal. But he is succeeding, and I'm glad I'm lying on my side with my knees pulled up else he'd be painfully aware of that fact.

A few minutes pass. Neither of us say anything, and he doesn't stop, and his touch would be lulling me to sleep if I wasn't so damn alert right now. Then his hand moves and I feel empty.

Until he says, "Give me your hand."

I do as I'm told. He takes my hand in both of his and squeezes the soft skin between my thumb and my index finger, and I give myself in to him completely. He can do whatever he wants; he has me totally whipped and I can't pretend otherwise. He could paint my face and plait my hair and tell me it's a hangover cure and I'd be down.

"You have a pressure point right here," he says, his hands warming mine. "Massaging it like this is supposed to help with headaches."

His voice is a lullaby, so soft that I could fall asleep to his words if I wasn't hanging off every single one.

"My dad's a doctor," Arjun says, "and Mum's an aromatherapist, so I've grown up with the best of both worlds. If the ibuprofen and the paracetamol don't help, maybe this will."

I can't think straight, but at least I'm distracted from the pain. I can't think about the throbbing in my head when all I can think about is how fucking soft his hands are, how strong his grip is, how comfortable his lap is.

"Hey," he says, "how come you can never find any painkillers in the jungle?"

"Huh?"

"Because the paracetamol." Arjun laughs at his own joke - I can feel him laughing – but I don't get it. A moment passes and he explains. "The parrots eat them all."

"Ohh."

"Ok, ok, I can do better. Um ... what do you get if you cross a sheep with a kangaroo?"

"An evolutionary mistake," I mumble. Arjun chuckles, still massaging my hand.

"A woolly jumper."

"Your jokes are dad jokes," I say, but I don't want him to stop. I feel better than I did before, lying here as he works the pressure point in my palm.

"What can I say? I learnt from the best." He shifts in his seat; my head bumps against his stomach. "Why can't you hear a pterodactyl on the loo?"

"Because they're extinct."

"Because the p is silent."

I shift my head enough to glance up at him, and he grins down at me like he just told the world's best joke. Even at this angle, he looks incredible and while part of that is probably the rose-tinted glasses of my crush, he is undeniably beautiful.

"Ok, one more," he says. "What's it called when Sam breaks a promise?"

"That's not even a joke," I say. "I don't know."

Arjun adopts a bad American accent and says, "Betray'all."

It earns a snort. "Ok, that wasn't bad," I say, the words distorted by a yawn that I can't stop. I try to adjust my position without seeming like I'm trying to grind my face into his crotch. "Ugh. I'm so fucking tired."

"Well, we've got another couple of hours on the road before we hit Death Valley," Arjun says. "Feel free to fall asleep."

"But then you're trapped."

He laughs that brain-scrambling laugh and says, "It's not like I'm going anywhere." He lets go of my hand and I want to tuck it under my head, but then I'll be clutching his thigh and that seems like a step too far, no matter the signals he's giving off right now.

My head and my heart are firing in all different directions right now, his every word and touch scrambling my thoughts until I don't know which way I'm pointing. It's getting harder and harder to keep Mum's advice at the forefront of my thoughts when Arjun is so touchy.

I want his hands all over me, not just in my hair and my hand. I want his palm against my cheek and his lips on mine; I want to know for sure. I just want to know where his head's at.

I may not know that, but I know where his hand's at: as though there's no other way he can sit, his fingers have returned to my hair, and that's all I'm aware of as his rhythmic touch and the rumble of the van lulls me to a much needed sleep.

*

this chapter was super fun to write so i really hope you enjoyed it! i love writing these two disastrous kids <3 

in other news, as you know, this story is based on the same trip that i did in 2015. in 2018, i did another trip with the same company, this time an east coast adventure from new jersey to miami, via pennsylvania / west virginia / tennessee / louisiana and more. i'm having so much fun writing this that i'm quite tempted to write a sequel to ABGTTAW featuring that trip, possibly with young-mi as the protagonist. it's just a thought right now that i wanted to air!

would that be of interest? please let me know!