Ache by P. J. Post Read Free Book Online Page A

same, and we just kept getting closer, but over the last three days, since she picked me up from the Emergency Room, it’s become something else, something special.  She looks at my stuff and then steps up onto the couch and collapses down over her legs, tucking them underneath.  She looks small sitting on the couch like that.  She leans her head against my shoulder and takes my hand, cradling it.
    “Was your dad there?” she asks.
    “No.”
    “Want to talk about it?” she asks.
    “Not really.”
    “Okay, you know I’m always here, right?”
    “Yeah, thanks.  Thanks for everything.  I’d have been fucked without you this past year.”
    “I’m your friend.  Friends don’t abandon each other, thick and thin.”
    I squeeze her hand and lay my head against hers.
    “What did you buy?” she asks.
    “I thought the bloody shoes were a bit much, might wear them on stage though.  I got some Reebok hi-tops.”
    “White?”
    “Of course.”
    “Socks?  Underwear?”
    “Who wears underwear?”
    “Commando? Gross.”  Her cheeks flush.  It’s cute.
    I laugh.  “Yeah, I got some from the house, which reminds me, we can’t use my dad’s washer and dryer anymore, so I need to go the Laundromat later. 
    She sits up.  “I didn’t think about that.  This totally sucks.”
    “It’s not that bad.”
    “Yeah it is.  The Laundromats are super nasty, my shoes always stick to the floor and I don’t even want to think about what that is,” she says as she holds her toes.
    “I’m out of clean pretty much everything.  I have to go.  Give me a ride?”
    “Yeah.”  She grins.  “You know what the worst part is?”
    “What” I ask.
    “I’m going to have to do my clothes there too.  Your dad really does suck.”
    “Because of the laundry?”
    “Well, yeah, why else?”  Her grin turns sheepish.
    “But we’re not going to talk about it, right?”  I remind her.
    “Yeah, but Connor, I do need to talk to you about something.  Can I talk to you, honestly?”
    “Always,” I say.
    “I mean, really honest?”
    “Yes.”  I lean forward so I can see her face and look at her with concern.
    She looks up at me, those big brown eyes all serious.
    Her mouth gets small.
    I’m suddenly worried.
    She turns away, pauses dramatically and then looks back up at me with puppy dog eyes.
    “What?  What?” I ask.
    “You stink, dude.  Can you please take a shower, like soon?  Please?” she says through a grin.
    I lift an arm and sniff and then look at her again.  “What?”
    “Grody!”
    She stands up and pulls me to my feet.  “Let’s take care of your head first.”
    “Yes, Mom ,” I answer.
    She leads me up the stairs to her small apartment.  It’s really just an empty room that doesn’t even have proper walls or a closet.  The bed is made with a lavender quilt and she has a small teddy bear resting against the pillows.  The walls and exposed framing are painted a deep maroon.  A clothes rack on wheels sits out from the wall amidst piles of clothes.  A space heater is the only other thing in the room.
    Fortunately, the one thing they did finished during the renovation was the bathroom.  It’s wrapped in white tile and has a real shower with real water pressure.
    She guides me in and sits me down on the toilet facing the wide mirror on the wall behind.
    “This may hurt,” she says and carefully pulls the ski cap off.  She grabs a few hair clips and pulls my hair away and pins it up to reveal the bandages.  Blood is soaking through.
    “You need to take it easy, but it’s not as bad as it was yesterday,” she says.
    She gently pulls at the edges of the bandage and begins to remove it.  I can feel it pulling at the scabs, it hurts, but nothing like it did — it’s more of a dull ache now.  I look up and see the concentration on her face.  I can see how careful she is trying to be.  The tip of her tongue is sticking out.
    “What’s your story?” I ask.
    “What do you