14

At some point, Astrid and I fell asleep.

It was a dreamless nap that only lasted for around fifteen to twenty minutes. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was her face. Then she threw up on the bathroom floor. I asked if she was okay, and she said she was fine, before she left the bathroom to get some coffee. When she returned - I don't know if this is just my drunken self speaking - but she looked pale.

Like she was scared of something.

Maybe someone?

"You okay?" I asked.

"I got you coffee, too."

She sat in front of me again. "I'm sorry for my vomit on the floor right now."

"I don't mind." Actually, I did. So I poured water on it. I stared as it went down the drain. "You were probably too drunk."

"I really hope that's the reason," she said. "I just don't like remembering some things."

"Things like what?" I was starting to feel frustrated because she talked in blank spaces. "Is this somehow connected to the afternoon you were talking about earlier?"

She smirked. "You remember everything I say? That can be dangerous."

"I don't have enough energy to try to understand you right now."

"Then don't try to. Just live in this moment, talking to me, drinking coffee. Whatever. This is fun."

I paused. She was right.

"So . . . why did you go here, Clover? Seems like you have no other friends."

That question reminded me of everything I unknowingly ran away from as I spent hours with her in that bathroom. My best friend. The murderer. Elle. Douglas. My parents.

"I'd rather not say. Now that I think about it, it's just stupid."

"Why do I feel like I trust you?"

"What?" She suddenly brought that up that it brought me a different kind of feeling when I looked at her face.

"Like I can tell you all the secrets I've kept since fourth grade, and I'd be assured it wouldn't get out."

"You can."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," I said. I smirked at her. "Try me."

"Then let me tell you a secret."

"Shoot it."

"Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"I promise."

She sighed and stretched her legs. "My boyfriend . . . is weird."

"I'm pretty sure every boyfriend is weird. Or every word with a boy in it. Like what the fuck is a water boy? Boyarism, right?"

"Shut up. Anyway, Douglas, he's into . . . blood. One time when we were having sex, he asked if he could slightly cut me because the sight of blood in me turns him on." She licked her lower lip and exhaled loudly. "I didn't want to ruin the mood, but like, I was like, what the actual fuck?"

I wished words easily come out of your tongue especially when you're weirded out. I pulled my knees closer to my chest. "Didn't he talk to you about that strange fetish of his?"

"No."

"You should have left him the moment he asked to cut you. I mean, I'm not shaming him or anything, but if he wouldn't be open about that and then suddenly surprise you with it, it's weird."

"I swear, I didn't mean to stay." She looked at my knees before she played with the edge of her pants. "It's only been like . . . two weeks. I wish I'd left already right after that, but things just happened."

"What things?"

She looked back up in my eyes.

"Can I ask you something?"

From outside, I could hear cheering. I think I also heard smashing plates. It was funny how much things were going on outside, but the only thing that mattered for me during the moment was the warmth of the bathroom with Astrid in it.

"What is it?"

I thought the whole bathroom was warm until I realized it was just me. My face was warm. My hands were. I think it was because of her.

Astrid inched herself closer to me, so close that our knees were already touching. I could smell her breath. Her fingertips were on my hands. She was looking at me through her frizzy, pink hair again and I knew even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to look away.

"If ten minutes from now, I were to grab a knife and kill you . . . what would you do?"

I didn't even realize the absurdity of the question, and the fact that it was supposed to make me scared. I was just too focused on the scent of her breath and the coldness of her skin and her hair against my hair that all logic I could have used to answer her question ran out the door.

"I'd kiss you."

She smiled. Slowly, she smiled.

"The funny thing is," she said, as her fingers gripped on my shirt. "I was thinking of doing the same thing."

I was just waiting for her lips to touch mine.

It didn't come.

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