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Chapter 20

I perch on the edge of the neatly made bed. The sheets smelling so strongly of detergent it's almost offensive—like even the fabric knows I'm a mess. I'm not hot anymore. With the stupid pajama only halfway up, the top still hanging around my waist, the cold seeps in, settling inside my bones like it's building a home and throwing a housewarming party.

He comes back with a wool cardigan and a glass of something that looks like water with dust in it. I don't know, but if a doctor tells me to drink whatever it is, I'm going to drink it. I take a sip. It tastes disgusting, like electrolyte powder and salt mixed with tap water.

He steps closer, the cardigan hovering near my shoulders. I shrug back immediately. "Jesus, I can dress myself." I take the cardigan and pull it around me. The warmth seeps into my bones and I let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.

He looks down on me for a second. His eyes trace me like I'm about to break down any moment now. Then he sits down next to me. "Wanna explain to me what just happened?"

My foot keeps bouncing against the floor. I don't say a word. Instead, I focus on picking at the dead skin on my lower lip with my teeth.

"Why didn't you stop?" His voice is calm—the opposite of the chaos in my head. Hard to admit, but his voice has something warm in it, something that soothes my nerves. Like the father who was never there for me. Yeah, just my daddy issues showing up again.

"Look, I'm sorry if some of it got on you, but I didn't see this coming, okay? I thought it was fine until it was too late."

"Sweetheart, I don't judge you."

I grimace. "Don't call me sweetheart, man, what the fuck? I'm not a child."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He exhales deeply, taking his time before he speaks. "Is it about the money?"

I look away, my jaw tightening, knowing it's over now with the money. I want to throw up again just thinking about all the bills and fines piled up at home. And let's not even talk about the disappointment my class will have in me.

"How about we talk about what went wrong? We can figure another way. I can still cover you."

"It doesn't matter. I needed it today." My throat burns as I talk.

"You're evading, Oscar. I'll decide if I'm still giving you the money."

"Why would you do that?"

"Believe it or not, I'm a human with compassion. How much do you need?"

"It's none of your fucking business, man, just leave it. It's over."

He gets up, letting out a deep exhale that sounds almost pissed. Then he just walks away. Panic bubbles up in me. Did I just miss out on an opportunity because of my pride? Would he really have given me the money? Why? Why the hell would he? I don't want to be in his debt. But God, what if it really was that easy?

"I hate it," I say in a low voice, and he stops. Everything in me resists going further, opening up, saying something I've never admitted even to myself, but now I'm speaking it out loud and clearly. I wrap the cardigan tighter around me. "I hate the smell, the taste, seeing it, touching it, or having it anywhere near me. It fucking freaks me out."

He turns around and looks at me. "What is it?"

"Don't you dare make me spell it out. You should be glad I told you. This is private on another level."

"I would like to avoid further misunderstandings. You're talking about cocks, right?"

"Jesus..." I hide my face behind my hands. "Yes."