“You don’t like it?” he breaks my thoughts.
“Huh?” I glance down at my plate, realizing I’ve managed to pull it apart into a dozen tiny bites instead of actually eating it, “no, it’s . . .”My stomach still hurts, and I’m afraid if I put food in it, I might puke all over everything, even though I really do need to eat, and I can’t stop thinking about the life I wish I could have.
“Asra,” he tilts his head down until I meet his piercing gaze, “it’s just breakfast.” He shrugs. “I don’t like eating alone, and you’re one of the few people I know here.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“All I’m saying is this isn’t a date. It’s two people sharing a meal. Nothing else.” When I don't respond, he flashes a grin that looks so much like his brother’s. “I know you actually eat, unless you’d prefer that I feed you?”
I shake my head, plopping a bite into my mouth. The juvenile side of me wants to stick my tongue out at him. Yet even as I think about it, heat crawls up my spine and my cheeks flush.
He chuckles, the sound going straight to my confused vagina. “It’s stillnota date, but you’re cute when you blush.”
“I’m not blushing,” I lie, looking down at my plate.
“Knowing why those cheeks are all red is even hotter.”
I glance up at him through my lashes. He winks as he takes a bite. His smooth, square jaw moves up and down as he chews before swallowing. I wonder what his jaw would taste like. How he would react if I licked the nape of his neck.
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. The pulsing between my thighs doesn’t matter. No one wants the girl who can’t spend a single day in the sun. No one wants to deal with the ‘invisible sickness.’ No one wants me. He might have said it last night. But all he meant was me when I’m healthy. The happy me. Even my ex liked me when I was happy. It’s when I’m not that no one wants me.
“Hey, is everything alright?”
I force a smile. “Yeah, of course.”My life is shit, I don’t get to make any of the decisions I want, and no one will ever want all of me.But that’s not the answer anyone wants to hear. And I know it’s not all true.
An attack is coming.
I can feel it in my stomach and sour mood. It’s going to be bad.
This isn’t me. Not the healthy me. Crying to the person who would turn his back on me if he knew the truth won’t accomplish anything. So I force my smile wider, keep the mask in place.
“I’m sorry if I said or did anything wrong. I like you, Asra, I’m not going to lie. And even if I can’t have you, I would still like to consider you a friend. I really don’t want this to be awkward between us.”
“No, it’s not you,” I sigh, picking at my food once more, “I’m just tired.”
He scratches his chin. “Is everything alright?”
“Just peachy.” I force another smile and shove a tiny bite in my mouth.
I pick at my food a little more until the check comes. I’m a horrible date. A horrible friend. I should call Vivian, thank her for the dresses, check in on her. Maybe tonight.
My mood doesn’t improve as we stroll back to my place. It’s a long, awkward walk. That’s my fault, too. But I can’t find it in me to hold any semblance of a conversation. Not when my stomach feels like someone is sticking a flaming-hot fire poker straight through my belly button and twirling it all around.
I glance over at him and notice his large hand swinging between us. Memories of that hand on me bring more heat, but good heat, flooding my system. I wish he would hold me, that I could cry in his strong arms while he whispers that everything will be fine.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks as we reach my steps.
“Yeah, great.”
He nods, but his frown only intensifies while something dark flashes across his eyes.
My chest constricts, cracking from the inside. I don’t date. I don’t do the awkward breakups, the promise to still be friends. That’s what this feels like. “Thanks for breakfast.” I wave. It’s awkward, too. Ducking inside my white, picket fence, I hurry along the sidewalk to my porch.
“Asra,” he calls out when I reach the top step. I stall, glancing over my shoulder. He’s still in the same position. “If you need anything, literally anything at all, even someone to talk to, we’re here.”
I nod, then hurry inside.
He’d be here for the happy me. Not the sick me. No one’s here for the sick me.