La Douleur Exquise

Twenty-Two

The cabin lights were off when I got back. Walking up the steps, I gently knock on the door before opening it and poking my head into the room. Darcie was no longer on the floor, that much I could make out. Stepping inside, I flick the light switch and find the girl lying on the bed, a familiar shirt covering her body. 

I stare at the maroon football jersey and instantly know that it isn't the one she was wearing earlier. Unlike the Pembroke Panthers jersey she wore this morning, this one was a training jersey that had the centenary emblem stitched onto the sleeve. The centenary that we celebrated last year, long after Sean Thomas had left Pembroke High. 

Was Darcie Scott sleeping in my practice jersey?

"Darcie?" I try to rouse her from her sleep gently. When she didn't stir, I crept closer to the bed and tried her name once more. On my third attempt, I placed my arm on her hip and shook her. "Darce, get up. You need to eat."

"Mm, ok," she mumbled. In her sleep, she smiled serenely and turned onto her side, hugging my shirt closer to her as she wrapped her arms around her waist. She grumbled a little more, nonsensical words coming from her lips. One word, however, I recognized. "Nixon."

I stared at Darcie, unsure whether she was still sleeping or not. "Darce, are you awake?" 

Her eyes opened then. She looked around the room, a little disorientated as she woke up. When she noticed me, she frowned but quickly got her bearings. Her eyes widened as her hands went to grab at the blankets to cover herself and she quickly sat upright, wincing as she moved. 

Setting her plate down on the bedside table, I duck into the bathroom to get some Aleve tablets and a glass of water, returning to the bedroom area a minute later and handing them to Darcie. Despite her wariness, Darcie took the tablets and swallowed them dry. 

"I have terrible gag reflexes," she explains unnecessarily while pushing the glass of water away. She rolls her shoulders back and rests against the mountain of pillows behind her. I set the glass down and pass her the plate, which she takes with a smile. "Thanks."

I frown. "Are you sick?" I can't help but ask. It would be the only explanation as to why she's suddenly being nice. She's calling me Nixon, she's being polite, and she was smiling. She must be dying or something. When Darcie stares at me with confusion held in her features, I guess that the answer to my question was 'no.' I laugh and take my place next to her on the bed, stealing a potato chip from her plate. "So, how was cheer practice, apart from leaving you sore all over?"

"It was ok," she shrugs. "My muscles will get used to the pain, but to be honest, I'm just amazed that I can still backflip. There's this one guy on the team and he talks way too much for my liking and-"

I laugh, earning a disapproving look from Darcie. I hold my hands up in surrender. "Sorry, but we are totally pillow talking right now."

"You sound like a former boy bander," Darcie scoffs. Then she turns serious. "I'm going to start getting ready for bed. We need to build a pillow wall between us. You might try to kill me in my sleep otherwise."