He watched that move over my face, his brow flicking up when he panned past me. He pointed. “Your, um… bed’s moving.”
Hershey.
She wiggled her little nose out of the sheets, exposing herself to definitely someone she should not be exposing herself to. Especially if he did know my dad in some type of capacity. He could tell him.
Royal stood upon seeing my little dog, that cocky smile of his broadening on his face.
“A puppy,” he quipped, his eyebrow arching. “Your dad let you get one of those?”
He really did know my dad. I wrestled with my hands. “No, yes. I mean, he will. I just haven’t had a chance to tell him yet.”
He smirked again. “He’s going to love that,” he said, attempting to look around me. “What’s her name?”
“Hershey, but she bites, so stay away.”
Hershey definitely didn’t bite, but she had whimpered in all of the two times she’d been in the same vicinity with him. Something about him she clearly found threatening.
That made two of us.
I was sure it was in different ways, but Royal Prinze was definitely threatening to me, my world, and everything I’d come to know about me and my history with my sister. He may have known her and been friends with her, but I didn’t know that life. I didn’t know him, and yes, I found that threatening.
Ignoring me, Royal angled a hand. “She doesn’t look like she bites.”
“She does. Stop. She doesn’t like you.”
After only a quick touch of the nose, Hershey pressed her head under Royal’s large palm and completely invalided my previous claims. She not
only nudged him, but licked him, seeking his attention and love, and he was quick to reciprocate, genuinely smiling at her when he scratched behind her ear.
“Yeah, she’s really vicious, hates me,” he said, obviously being sarcastic. Playing with her, he pushed her the way I did to get her to fall on her back. Of course, she did, getting a belly rub from a boy who most definitely shouldn’t be in my room. He sat on my bed with her, the two of them having a hell of a good time, but I was filled with nothing but questions.
“Why are you in here? Shouldn’t you be with Mira? Is she…” Failing to get the words out, I watched him play with my puppy, eventually sitting on the bed beside him. Royal played with Hershey in silence next to me, getting her to turn and nip at his lengthy fingers.
“She’s alive if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said, Hershey nibbling on his fingers now like a chew toy. This obviously didn’t bother him as he continued to tease and play with her. “She’s at the hospital. I rode over in the ambulance with her.”
Jesus.
“Is she okay, is she…” Feeling sick again, the queasiness consumed me. I thought I was going to vomit again and rummaged for a trash can.
“Hey, hey, hey. Wait a sec. Wait a sec. I got you.”
Royal did have me covered, on his knees and forcing the can by the side of my bed in front of my face in quick time. Once there, I let loose in it, choking, and Royal stayed on his knees by me, holding the can while I pressed my face into it. I gripped the bed in an attempt not to fall into it and him by association. Hershey whined beside me, crying during every grunt and moan I made, but I was in no position to soothe her.
I couldn’t even soothe myself.
“It’s okay,” came from Royal, surprisingly doing the soothing in this situation. He even did one better, his hand a fiery heat on my back when he nudged me toward the can. He held me there, keeping me steady. “Let it out. It’ll only feel better.”
It sucked right now, all of it did. The only thing that didn’t was his hand on my back, a hand that wouldn’t leave, a hand that kept me grounded and safe as I upchucked a lung in front of a pretty boy. He quite literally kept me from falling off the bed, pulling me back by the T-shirt when I finally stopped throwing up. He waited for a second, analyzing both me and the situation, and when it seemed like I wasn’t going to hurl up any more stomach bile, he returned the can to the floor. The next thing I knew, he was picking up my whimpering dog from my bed.
“What are you doing with her?” I mumbled out, too disoriented to stop him. He could take my dog right from under me, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
He returned with her in a box, her box from the closet. I had no idea how he knew about it. Maybe he just wandered until he found something, but quickly, my doggy was on the floor, watching from her vantage point while Royal picked up the can filled with my puke and left the room again. He returned not only with a clean can, but a wet rag.
“Get in bed, princess,” he urged, nodding toward the sheets, and in no position to argue, I did, pulling my legs in and curling up on my pillow. There, Royal handed me the rag, then pulled those same sheets over my body, now raging with shivers. I couldn’t keep warm, and suddenly, another blanket was on top of me too.
“Mira’s fine,” he said, getting it situated. It’d come from my closet, the pattern I recognized. “She’s going to feel like shit for a while, but she’s fine. They gave her fluids and she’s already turning around.”
Any relief from that fell away by my own current state, the epitome of the same shit he talked about. I was going to feel like shit too, and I had school in the morning.