Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Sure.” He nodded with a dip of his chin. “Thank you for…you know. Saving my ass again.”
“It’s a nice ass,” I replied, walking out.
I was tired, fucking exhausted, but still too wired to sleep. Hopefully, the food would help. At this rate, I wasn’t gonna get to bed till five in the morning, and I had to get up at nine.
Tomorrow was gonna be awesome.
“So, does Angie live here in the city?” I opened the microwave and dumped the lasagna onto two plates.
“She does,” he confirmed.
I glanced over at him, thankful he was at least wearing boxer briefs. With him, I could never be sure.
“She’s a coordinator of some sort at Northwestern Memorial,” he said. “She wants me to go stay with her now that her ex has moved out, but—”
“But why would you do that?” I retorted. It’d been the reason I’d asked in the first place. If he could live with family somewhere. “You can spare me another rant about you being a burden, Ben.”
“You sound like her.”
I put the microwave on two minutes and then leaned back against the counter.
I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t need to.
He wasn’t stupid. Was he?
I went in another direction instead. “How come you’ve been staying in the alley?”
He cleared his throat and averted his gaze to the floor space where a kitchen table should stand. There wasn’t one, because I had no use for it.
After a moment, he swallowed hard and winced, and he rubbed at his chest.
Either something was up, or he was struggling to phrase hims—
“Excuse me.” He stalked off abruptly, and I stiffened as I heard him shut the bathroom door.
Was he—
Fuck.
He was throwing up.
I ran a hand through my hair, and I had to fight every urge to fret through the door. Nobody wanted a million questions when they were emptying their stomach. But what if it wasn’t just the flu? Had he eaten too fast? He’d told me he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and I assumed he hadn’t exactly had the healthiest diet. I knew how many homeless people lived on cheap bread, coffee, fries, and whatever they could find on clearance or the cheapest takeout menus.
The microwave dinged, and I hesitated. Ma’s lasagna wasn’t too unhealthy, though maybe I should add something? I could run downstairs and get lettuce or whatever. Or maybe he couldn’t stomach food at the moment. I probably wouldn’t.
I’d ask him.
Fuck, why was this so hard? And why did my chest feel all…uncomfortable? I had this tightness—I couldn’t describe it. But it was as if a physical restraint was slinging more worries on the pile. What if he needed to go to the hospital? I didn’t know how long he’d been surviving on too little food. He could be severely dehydrated too.
Screw it.
I headed for the hallway and knocked on the door. “Ben? Are you sure it’s just the flu?”
I heard him wretch and spit into the toilet.
Maybe Ziggy had given him rabies. If Ben started foaming at the mouth, I was calling animal control.
“You need a priest?” I threw that out there too.
He made a croaky, coughy sound. “Jackass.”
I grinned slightly, quickly, just wanting him to be okay.
“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely. “I caught whatever Angie had and…” He flushed the toilet. “Kinda hard to be your own nurse out there.”
I could imagine.
“I haven’t eaten well. Too little to drink too.”
And undoubtedly not enough proper rest and warmth. Yeah, no wonder. Okay, but this felt better. Additionally, he’d chugged two Cokes and eaten two slices of pizza. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to reintroduce his stomach to food and drink.
I made a mental note to talk to Ma tomorrow. She was helping us at the soup kitchen.
Hearing the telltale sound of someone brushing their teeth, I returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Which…was a sorry sight. I mean, the door was filled with condiments, but that was about it. I did have a banana that was reserved for my favorite weekend breakfast, toast with Nutella and sliced banana. Would that be better? ’Cause otherwise, we were looking at beer, two Styrofoam containers, a packet of kielbasa, two jars of Ma’s giardiniera, and half a churro from Costco that Chip hadn’t finished.
Banana, it is.
I was going to eat lasagna, and Ben was going to eat a banana and drink water—if he could stomach anything at all.
Good deal.
I brought everything to the front room and practiced patience while I sat down on the foot of the bed and channel-surfed.
When that didn’t work, I pulled out my phone and texted my mother.
I know it’s late. Don’t give me shit. Just wondering what foods to eat when u have the flu. (It’s for a friend.) Answer when u wake up.
Finally. The bathroom door opened, and Ben soon reappeared in the doorway.