but that was the only way that his level of hotness would be any kind of fair. He needed some huge flaw to make him more approachable and human. If he wasn’t dumb, then maybe he picked his nose.
No, that wasn’t bad enough to balance all the hotness. He would have to pick his nose and then eat it.
I tried to imagine him doing that and couldn’t.
And now that I was thinking about it, he didn’t come off as dumb at all. I was the one that acted like a moron.
I wiped a hand down my face and felt something wet on my chin.
Oh my fucking God. Did I drool?
No. Even I couldn’t be that much of an awkward mess.
Shit. I’d barely gotten out a word without bumbling it.
Goddammit, Cassie. Way to make a fool of yourself.
It wasn’t like I had a hope of dating a guy like that. Talk about a different league—a different planet entirely. But it would’ve been nice if his first impression of me was something a little better than a drooling idiot who stank like the hospital.
I pushed off the door and walked through my apartment. My mother had furnished it, and I hated it. The couch wasn’t comfortable. The chairs had no cushions. And there wasn’t enough color in any of it. Most of everything was shades of gray, black, or blue. Boring.
One day, I’d have my own job—my own money—and not feel weird replacing everything she’d picked out for me.
I walked into my bedroom and dropped my backpack next to my bed. It was a tossup which I needed more—food or a shower. I was starving and I’d showered at the hospital, but I still felt gross. These were the same clothes I’d worn all day at the coffee shop, and I had to get out of them. There was no way I’d enjoy eating until I was clean. Which meant the shower came first.
I moved into the bathroom and quickly stripped off my clothes. I turned to throw them in the hamper and caught my reflection in the mirror.
Damn it. Two days in the hospital had cost me some weight. I was thinner again. I could count my ribs, and if I lost any more weight, I knew I’d be in big trouble. Not just with Mother, but in terms of my general health. I couldn’t afford to lose any, and yet, I still managed to lose some.
I stepped under the hot spray and let the water wash away the last of the hospital smells. I could fix this weight problem. In a few minutes, I’d fix myself some food, and it would get better.
The good news was that I hadn’t gotten ahold of mother—not since she called me in the coffee shop. I’d missed a bunch of texts from her while I’d been asleep, and the last one said that if I was behaving like a child and ignoring her, then she had better things to do. She was going on a trip and would be out of touch for a while.
I couldn’t believe my luck. Her being MIA meant that I didn’t have to check in with my regular doctor, which meant no extra tests. I’d texted her with an apology and that I would be around if she needed me. I hadn’t heard back yet. I hoped it’d be a while before I heard back, and then instantly felt bad about that.
I shouldn’t feel such animosity toward my own mother, and yet, I couldn’t help it. Something about the way she treated me and how she talked down to me bred nothing but enmity. The less I saw her, the less I talked to her, the better for everyone.
When I got out of the shower, I quickly dressed and then made a list. Item one was checking in with my professor. Georgine called to tell me that she’d talked to him for me, but I needed to reach out. I took a picture of the medical excuse the nurse from the hospital gave me this morning, and then attached it to my quick email asking when I could retake the test.
There. That was done.
Item two was food. A lot of food.
I was used to being hungry all the time, but it was still annoying. I ate more than any other average girl ate. Nothing ever seemed to be enough.
My stomach growled, and I moved into the kitchen. The kitchen was pretty standard for apartments in the area—plain oak cabinets with a light grade laminate countertop—but it was the one place in the apartment that felt like me. It was the only thing that I’d stocked myself.
Mother wanted to have a meal service drop off a bag of food at the security desk in the lobby of the building every morning. I went along with it for the first few weeks I’d lived here. Using them made sure that I ate a specific number of calories a day, which meant I never underrate, but I was hungry all the time.
It took a bit, but I finally got her to let me make my own food. If I’d been a good cook before the accident, I didn’t remember any of it. So, I started from scratch. I watched a ton of cooking shows, and I bought dishes and pans as I needed them over the last year. Now I could make a bunch of things, but today, I wanted some simple comfort.
I grabbed my favorite pan and pulled out the ingredients I needed—butter, bread, and cheese. As the scent of warm butter and bread filled the room, I knew a grilled cheese was just the ticket for the crazy day I’d had.
My mind kept going back to my neighbor. I hadn’t been interested in a guy in a long time. Maybe my reaction to him meant that I was ready to try dating again. It’d been maybe a year, and I’d only been on those four dates. Maybe it was time to sign up for one of those apps. Most of them sounded like a meat market, but I overheard a few girls in my lit class talking about one. It matched people based on a personality test. I’d have to search the margins of my notes for the name of it. I knew I’d written it down somewhere.
Tomorrow. I’d add it to my list for tomorrow.
While I waited for the bread to finish browning, I walked to the living room and flipped on the TV, turning on The Returned. It was my favorite French show. Not only was it good, but the sound of the French language being spoken always soothed me when I was stressed.