missing | gilinsky

58

Nadia

I wake up in a stranger's bed. 

Well, not necessarily a stranger. 

Jack Gilinsky's. 

I remember what his room looked like from when I was in here before the whole trip to New York happened. The boxes were still there, as well as the emptiness that lingered with it. 

At first I'm angry, but all that washes away the second I realize my head hurts. Bad. My stomach too. Basically, I'm screwed. 

That's when the door to his bedroom swings open, and he comes striding in with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees that I'm awake, and for a moment my heart does the same thing. 

"Good morning," he greets, ending up at the edge of the bed. I don't dare move an inch. "How are you feeling?"

I shrug, reaching for the medicine that could possibly relieve the pain I'm in. He hands it to me and watches as I take a big sip of water before swallowing two pills. 

"Thank you," I mutter, giving it back to him. He nods, looking around the room as if the awkwardness would somehow drift away from doing so. 

"I, uh. Do you remember anything from last night?"

I blush as soon as the words leave his mouth. Do I remember? Of course I remember. How could I forget something like that? Especially since I let it slip that I love him. But just because I remember doesn't mean I don't regret it. Although I'm starting to think regret is far from what I'm actually feeling. 

The only thing I'm really wondering is why he didn't say it back, but I can't think of that right now, there's other things I need to focus on. Like why I'm not at home in my own bed for instance.

"What am I doing here?" I ask, evading his question. 

"You were too drunk to take home, and Johnson was too high. Hannah and I covered for you guys saying we were all just gonna hang out at my place for the rest of the night, which wasn't really a lie considering that's what we did." 

"Oh, alright." 

An unprecedented silence fills the room, and my nausea only gets worse as time goes on. I want to tell Gilinsky to leave so I can sleep, but a part of me doesn't want him to go, even though I know he should.

"Are we okay?" He quavers. 

If he were to ask me that question before last night I would've told him straight up "No", because at that time I had been mad at him for what happened to Sam. But now I've had time to think and process everything, and as much as I want someone to blame that would be affected by it, I know I shouldn't put him at fault. 

"I think so," I answer, not wanting to meet his gaze. 

"You think?" He challenges.

"Can we talk about this later?" I object, massages my temples with my fingers. 

"Well...can I lie with you?" 

My stomach does a little flipflop at his request. Thinking of him being anywhere near me after what we did - well, he did - in his jeep last night makes my head spin. It's the only thing I could actually vividly recount, and I wasn't complaining. 

"Sure," I accept, patting the spot beside me. "But keep your hands to yourself."

He breaks out a smile, climbing into bed with me. And it just feels right. We lay side by side, stiff as boards. It only takes me a second to take back my demand as I turn to snuggle into his chest. He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around me.