Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Charlie looked away. “Nothing.”
“Is it about these two?” I jerked my thumb behind my back. “’Cause I can kick them out. They’re used to it.”
Charlie munched on his inner cheek. “Drop it.”
“That bad?” I asked gently.
“Worse.”
So it must be terminal. My heart slowed, heavy in my chest. If he didn’t want to say, I didn’t want to press.
“Got it. No more questions.” I nodded.
“Appreciate it.”
“Other than one,” I amended, holding my joint up in the air between us. “Where’s your wheelchair, asshole?”
It took charming two nurses and flirting with one doctor before I could get a wheelchair for Charlie. Then another fifteen minutes for us to find our way out to the communal garden. It was mostly empty. Better for us, since I’d brought over Blue Dream, my favorite weed. Chef’s kiss. Michelin-starred marijuana.
I put the brakes on Charlie’s chair and leaned against a fake plant, giving him the honor of lighting up. He took a long hit, waited until the smoke reached the bottom of his lungs, then released, coughing a little.
He kicked his head back and closed his eyes. “Haven’t had one of those since I was twenty.”
“A doobie?” I asked, surprised. “Don’t like the effect?”
“On the contrary. I love it. Not so much the person it turns me into, though.”
I decided not to pry, since he was already dealing with a terminal disease and the shit ton of problems it brought with it. I couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to die alone, since that was exactly what was about to happen to Charlie. And, one day, to me.
“Well, now that you have a mysterious disease, you can be whoever you want.” I watched as he puffed on his spliff. “The perks of dying are never ending.”
He laughed and coughed at the same time. “Everything has an ending. That’s the point of living.” There was a brief silence. “So. How is Duffy?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone.”
“Give me the meat then.”
“She’s fine.” Then, when he kept looking at me and grinning, I groaned. “She’s coming to visit you tonight.”
“I’m more interested to know how you feel about living with her. You guys seemed close when I met you in the hallway the other day.”
I liked that he didn’t feel embarrassed about the state he’d been in that day.
“She’s way too young.” It was the only thing I could think of saying, since “She’s too hell bent on marrying up” sounded lame and “I’m too scared of commitment” seemed too personal.
“If anything, you’re too young for her.” He wiggled his brows, taking another toke.
I laughed. “Are you gonna pass me that joint this century?”
“Nope.”
“Pfft.” My eyes grazed the side of his face. “You’re lucky you’re dying, you know. I’m normally not that forgiving.”
“So lucky.” Charlie nodded weakly.
After he was done, I wheeled him back to his room and asked if I could grab him something from the cafeteria before I left. Charlie said he was good. That whole time, Christian and Arsène were waiting in the room’s small balcony.
They slid the glass door and walked back inside when they noticed me helping Charlie back into his bed. There was something really depressing about helping out this big, muscular man do something so trivial.
“Ready to go?” Christian clapped my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “But I think I’m heading home.”
“Home?” Arsène raised an eyebrow. “Nice choice of word.”
“Don’t read too much into it,” I quipped. “Bye, Charles.”
“Bye, kids.” Charlie was already engrossed in a Discovery magazine he was flipping through.
The three of us made our way to the elevator. Christian and Arsène exchanged looks.
“Who should tell him?” Arsène asked, businesslike.
Tell who what? I was too preoccupied for his brand of bullshit.
“Not me.” Christian held up his hands. “If he goes through a mental breakdown, Arya’s gonna expect me to spend time with him. I lack the patience. And sympathy.”
“Who’s having a mental breakdown?” I asked, thinking they must’ve been continuing their conversation from the balcony.
“No one,” Christian said, at the same time Arsène said, “You, idiot.”
“Why would I have a mental breakdown?” We all stopped by the elevator.
Christian glanced behind his shoulder, to the room we’d just left Charlie in.
“When the old man dies.”
I gave him a puzzled look. “He’s a nice guy, but a meltdown is a stretch.”
The elevator slid open.
“Maybe it’s my destiny”—Arsène shook his head, looking upward—“to be surrounded by morons.”
The day just kept going progressively shittier.
After bailing on drinks with my friends, I made my way back to Duffy’s. When I got to her floor, I couldn’t find the door. Not because it had disappeared, but because there were approximately eighty thousand fucking roses waiting for her, blocking the path to the entire hallway.
Who did something so stupid? Sent someone who lived in a tiny apartment in New York thousands of roses, cramming up the entire goddamn building? But the answer was clear—Cocksucker. Cocksucker, who never had to live anywhere smaller than four-thousand-square-foot houses, even in college, I bet.