Cold Kiss

bed.
    “Not so much.” And wow, that’s the understatement of the millennium, but I’m so exhausted and in so much pain, it’s amazing I can get my mouth to form words.
    In my pocket, my phone buzzes again—it’s been going off pretty steadily for the last half hour. I know it’s my mom, that school must have called when I didn’t show up for homeroom, but there’s no way I can even think about answering it now.
    There’s no way I can think, period. My brain is idling rougher and rougher, ready to sputter out and die, and as I stand there with Olivia frowning at me, I realize my stomach is going to backfire first.
    I’m not sure where the bathroom is, but I bolt in the direction of the bedrooms and see a door standing open to reveal old white tile and an even older pedestal sink. I make it that far and lean over, retching up I don’t even know what. I can’t remember the last time I ate.
    I’m mostly done when I feel a light hand on my shoulder, and lift my head to find Olivia there. She brushes the sweaty feathers of my bangs off my forehead and flips down the lid on the toilet so I can sit. I’m vibrating like a plucked guitar string, and my head is still screaming at me, hot red fury.
    I close my eyes, even though I can hear Gabriel’s footsteps, the creak of the door as he leans against it. The water’s running, and the next thing I know a cool washcloth is gently passed over my forehead and my cheeks. Olivia picks up my hands and runs the cloth over each wrist, and it feels so good, I sigh out loud.
    “You need to lie down, kiddo.” Olivia gently tilts my head forward and presses the washcloth to the back of my neck. “Think you can stand up?”
    I open my eyes and nod, and Gabriel steps out of the way when Olivia helps me to my feet and steers me toward the door. My phone buzzes again, and as I collapse onto the sofa I pull it out and toss it across the room. It lands somewhere with a plastic thud, and Olivia winces.
    “Can you give us a minute?” Gabriel says quietly, and I study the dirty knees of my jeans so I don’t have to see the look I know is probably passing between them.
    “I need to know the whole story here at some point, guys,” Olivia says, and although her voice is sharp, her hand in my hair is as gentle as it was in the bathroom. “I’m guessing we don’t need nine-one-one for the kid in your room?”
    “No.” It’s little more than a croak, but it’s the best I can do.
    Gabriel sits down next to me. After a silent moment that stretches so thin I can almost hear it snapping, Olivia nods and goes into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
    “I can’t,” I say when she’s gone, and Gabriel’s reaching out to put his arms around me. I’m still trembling, and even holding my head up is an effort. There’s no power humming inside me now, just the stale backwash of adrenaline and fear and exhaustion. “Not right now.”
    Somewhere across the room my phone buzzes again, and Gabriel gets up. “I’ll put that on silent, okay?”
    I’m not sure if I even nod. I’m out before my head hits the arm of the sofa, and for once I don’t even dream.
    There’s a warm, heavy weight against my thigh when I open my eyes, and I struggle up on my elbows to find that it’s Gabriel’s head. He’s on the floor beside the sofa, and in sleep his head has rolled back against my leg.
    The temptation to run my fingers through that fine, sandy hair is almost overwhelming, before I’m fully awake and everything comes rushing back.
    It hits me like a slap in the face, and I blink as I sit up and look for a clock. There isn’t one, but Gabriel’s phone is lying on the floor next to him. I have to reach around him to pick it up, and he stirs as I do.
    “Hey,” he says, rubbing his eyes as I squint at the screen of his phone. Two o’clock. Mom must be frantic.
    I think I sort of grunt at Gabriel in reply, because suddenly all I can think about is finding my phone, listening to the messages I know must be on there, and figuring out what the hell to do next. And that’s before even considering Danny, who I hope is still in Gabriel’s room.
    If he’s not, I don’t want to think about what will happen next.
    My left leg is asleep, and I wince as I set it down, pins and needles prickling hot. My head doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m still vaguely nauseous, hollowed out. Gabriel catches hold of my hand before I try to stand.
    “I’ll get your phone,” he says, “and