The Truth About Unspeakable Things, Emily Myers [bookstand for reading TXT] 📗

in my seat. It’s not like me to drink this much. Maybe my subconscious believes Kat will be forced to bring me home early if I get too intoxicated. Or, at a minimum, anything I say can’t be taken as truth if I can’t even remember saying it. Either way, I win. At least until the hangover hits tomorrow morning.

“Uh,” I moan. Just the thought of my head hanging over the toilet makes me wish my head was over a toilet.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Kat asks, moving her arm around me to help hold me up.

“I just . . . I don’t feel good,” I say. My vision blurs and I force my eyes closed to help with the dizziness.

“She needs food. Waitress?” Ethan calls. “Can you take these away and bring us a Ginger Ale, Gatorade, and a generous helping of the macaroni and cheese?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” the waitress says. Though my eyes are closed, I can feel hers on me. “I’ll bring some bread too.”

“Thank you,” Kris says.

“It’s okay, Emma,” Kat says. “Just lean into me. We’ll get you feeling better real quick.” I lean into her and inhale the strawberry scent of her skin.

“You smell nice,” I mumble with a smile. “You know who else smells nice? Julian.” I laugh.

“Who’s Julian?” Kris whispers to Kat.

“Our new neighbor,” Kat whispers back.

“Must be a fine neighbor to grab Emma’s attention,” Ethan says. “She’s barely looked at a man, let alone had drunken fantasies about one since . . .” He stops himself, yet the sheer implied mention of one Beauregard Thomas triggers me.

“Don’t,” I say, shooting up straight. “Don’t say his name.”

“I . . . I wasn’t, Emma. I promise,” Ethan says. “I was just saying that this Julian must be really special.”

“Alright, Gatorade, Ginger Ale, bread, and Mac and Cheese,” the waitress says, placing the hangover remedy in front of me. “Anything else?”

The three of them look at me and wait for my response.

“It looks like brains,” I say, and before I can stop myself vomit spews from me onto the waitress’s shoes.

“Okay, let’s get her home,” Kat says.

Kris apologizes to the waitress and leaves an extra-large tip. Ethan agrees with Kat. And the second the vomiting stops, I am moved from the booth to the backseat of a cab.

“Are you sure you don’t need our help?” Kris asks as Kat slips in next to me.

“No, it’s okay,” Kat says. “I’ll text you when we make it home.” I rest my head in her lap.

“See you next week,” Ethan says. “Emma, if you can hear me, I’m sorry. Call me when you feel better,” he tells me, though I’m unable to respond.

* * *

“Alright, home at last,” I hear the cab driver say. “Can I help you ladies inside?” he asks, a bit too eager.

“No,” Kat tells him. “We’ve got it.”

My head falls against the seat as Kat slips out of the vehicle.

“Ow,” I groan, moving my hand to my head. It’s throbbing.

“Come on, Emma,” Kat says. I open my eyes and see her reaching out to me. “It’s time to go home.” I nod and attempt to force myself to a sitting position. I’m too weak. My throat fills with bile.

“Look, sweetie, I really don’t mind helping,” the driver says. “Here—”

“Don’t touch her,” Kat yells. Her voice sends shock waves down my spine and I suddenly find the strength to lift myself upright.

“What? What’s happening?” I ask.

“I was just trying to—” the cab driver starts.

“No need,” a familiar voice says, “I’ve got it from here.”

I turn to see the fuzzy outline of a boy with black hair and tanned skin. As the figure moves closer, I smell the faintest hint of fresh rain and sweet mint. As he moves his arms around me and helps me from the cab, I know I am safe. I know I’m with . . .

“Julian,” I say, allowing my body to move with his. And as if through sheer force of will, my vision clears just long enough to take him in. His eyes are hooded with intensity. His forehead wears wrinkles of concern. This is the third time he’s rescued me and without request, without promise for something in return. He cares about me, and I—I can’t help but . . .

“You are special,” I say, in response to Ethan’s question. “Thank you for always saving me.”

Julian stops. His eyes peer into mine. His lips, soft and wide, are so close I think they may touch mine. Instead, he smiles and scoops me into his arms, carrying me up the stairs.

* * *

“Why should we date one another?” Lorelai asks Max.

“Because we’re clearly attracted to one another,” Max replies.

“Well I’m attracted to pie. It doesn’t mean I feel the need to date pie,” Lorelai responds.

* * *

I wake up on the couch with a smile despite the heavy tension pulsing from one side of my head to the other. The episode of Gilmore Girls continues as I pull myself from the grogginess of sleep.

I find my phone on the floor next to a wastebasket, a bottle of water and three Advil with a note that says, “Take Me.” I oblige and discover via my glaringly bright cellphone that it’s 4:00 a.m. and I’m not alone. Julian sleeps on the opposite end of the sectional in a t-shirt and sweatpants. If I weren’t battling a migraine and mild nausea, I’d be more startled by his presence. It seems even my shock signals are dulled by the alcohol I consumed.

It’s then that I notice the handwriting on the note. It isn’t Kat’s, so it must be his. But why . . .? Choppy visions of Purple Death, the waitress’s face when I threw up on her shoes, and Julian as he carried me inside flood my already achy mind. Classy, Emma.

I force myself from the couch and gently place my blanket over Julian’s resting body. “Stay,” I tell him as if he can hear me.

I walk to the kitchen and brew myself a cup of black coffee—God’s gift to the inebriated—shower and then settle back into the couch with my laptop.