But instead of helping me, she was angry. So angry. As angry as only a god could be, and—
I sat up straight, hitting my head on that eave I thought made the room so cozy. “Ouch.” I drew out the word, squeezed my eyes tight, and put my hand on my forehead. Already, a small egg formed beneath my fingertips.
Great.
A quick rap on the door was the only warning I was given before it creaked open. Pollux stood, half in, half out, studying me with worried eyes. “I heard a bang.”
“Yeah,” I answered, keeping my fingers over the egg. “It was me.”
He came inside, approaching the bed slowly. “Can I see?”
His gaze was on my hand, not on the stretched out Henley I used as a sleep shirt. I’d gotten it back in eighth grade when we’d taken a class camping trip. I had expected tents and nature, and so I’d brought long johns and flannel. It turned out we were sleeping in deluxe campers, and doing more of a “glamp,” than a “camp.”
Still—I’d gotten about fifteen years out of this shirt, so I figured it was worth my enduring disappointment.
Sucking in a breath, he winced at what he found. “You’re going to have a bruise.”
That stuff was easy to see on skin as pale as mine. “Yeah.”
“Come on.” Dropping his hand, he stood and waited for me to follow.
“Um.” I had on my old-ass Henley, a pair of flannel p.j. pants covered in cats eating pizza, and no bra.
And I’d gone to bed with wet hair. I was a train wreck.
He waited, eyebrows raised. Did he not see it? The hot mess that was me? I gestured down my body, and it was then he realized why I paused.
“No one cares, and if you don’t get ice on that, it’ll get worse.” Grabbing my hand, he gave me a small tug. “There’s breakfast.”
He wasn’t pulling, but he exerted enough pressure that I had no choice but to follow him. My body was sore, like I’d worked out, and it made me clumsier than normal. “Pollux, no.” Even without a rat’s nest of hair, I wasn’t ready to be with people yet. I needed a second to get my feet under me. If I didn’t, any situation he thrust me into would… well, I was bound to make an uncomfortable situation worse. And if I was feeling self-conscious? Forget it.
“It’s eight in the morning. No one expects you to be ready for the day. Orestes is still in joggers.”
“Yeah, but Orestes looks like a Disney prince, so that’s not a fair comparison.”
He frowned so quickly, I almost missed it.
“Pollux, seriously.” Anxiety welled in my chest. I needed a minute. “I have bangs. I can cover the bruise.”
There was panic in my voice, and he stopped. Eyes roving over my face, he stepped closer. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“I just need a minute.” I grabbed my bag from the floor, backing out of the room.
The reflection in the mirror was worse than I thought. Calling my hair a rat’s nest was being generous. It was more like an orange mushroom cloud around my head. The only thing that would help was to start over.
That was how I ended up with a wet head, but clean teeth, and real clothes. I didn’t bother with makeup, since I wasn’t skilled enough to do it fast and effectively. Accepting that I was as good as I could get, I opened the door.
Pollux was waiting for me, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. He glanced at my forehead and then the rest of me. “Better?”
Yesterday, he’d been so much more expressive. It seemed like we were back to one-word answers, and the least amount of words possible to get a message across.
I nodded. I could have used a dreamless night of sleep, but all things considered? I was alive. That was something.
I was also sore, but it would probably go away as I moved around more. In stocking feet, I followed Pollux downstairs.
At the base of the steps, the scent of bread and tea wafted toward me. Trailing after Pollux, I arrived in a kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, this room seemed to be under construction. One wall was newly plastered, and I could catch the lingering smell of paint.
It was still gorgeous. Exposed beams, a deep hearth, an antique range. Orestes sat at the table, a cup of tea in front of him, while Hector stood, leaning against the counter. He held a cup in one hand, but he didn’t have tea.