Us Against the World

25. The Funeral

Ezra is beside me when I wake up.

It's late in the morning. I'm supposed to be at work, wasting my day away behind a desk and trying to ignore muscle cramps in order to get my paycheck. However, money is the last thing on my mind when I finally allow myself to wipe the crust from my eyes and face my brutally bleak day.

He doesn't notice me at first, but he's definitely awake. His chest vibrates with the song that he's humming softly, and his gaze is trained on the ceiling like he's trying to memorize the outline of the glow-in-the-dark stickers I used to have.

Why is he still here? I muse, studying the relaxed muscles of his jaw. He should be at work...

"Hey." I shift on my side. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking care of you," he replies, unfazed. He continues to stare at the ceiling. "I took the day off, today."

"Why?" I frown. "You should go to work. I'll be fine."

"You're a terrible liar, Meera," Ezra chuckles. He moves his body so that there's a crooked curve between our bodies and his hand reaches my face. My skin is sticky and a bit salty from last night, but it doesn't seem to bother him. "I'm going to stay with you until you're better. Work can wait."

"I...whatever. Do what you want." I'm in no mood to argue with him, and I know I shouldn't be as snappy as I am, but I can't help it. Somehow, his generosity annoys me. Perhaps I'm mistaking it for pity, or perhaps it could be pity that I'm mistaking for generosity. I'm not sure, but it's not a thought that I fathom dwelling on.

"Where are you going?" Ezra rises onto his elbow and watches me as I get off the bed and onto my knees. Dropping to all fours, I crawl to my dresser and put my hand on the top, using the wooden case as an object I can lean onto and lift myself to my feet.

"Shower," I reply. "The funeral is today. I'd like to get it done with quickly."

"We can do it another day," Ezra suggests. "On the weekend, maybe?"

"No. It has to be today," I say firmly, standing my ground. Ezra's keen eyes study me for a moment, paving over my wobbling frame. It's like he has a gun to my head and I stand still, quietly waiting for his assessment to be complete.

"Alright," he says at last. He lugs out of bed, no longer dressed in his immaculate uniform. Instead, he dons a plain white shirt and loose, checkered pajama pants. "I'll get started on breakfast. Do you need any help?"

"No." I hold up my grabber, clenching the lever. The mouth of the machine goes up and down, mimicking that of a crocodile. "Is Chandini up?"

"I'm not sure. I'll check before going to the kitchen," Ezra says. "Oh, Aceline went to work already. She said to call her when you have time."

"Okay. Is Felix still here?"

"Yeah. He slept in the guest room. I hope that's okay?" He grimaces. "Sorry, it just occurred to me now that we invaded your home without asking."

"Don't worry about it," I shrug carelessly. "I'd rather have you here with me than be alone."

"Sure, then." He smiles. "See you in five."

"Five?" I scoff. "More like sixty, but yeah, see you soon."

Ezra leaves shortly after. I wait until I'm sure he's in the kitchen (the only way I know this is because I can hear him rummaging through the cabinets), then I head down the hall to the insanely small room that we call a bathroom.

Unlike my usual hour-long shower, I take less than three minutes to bathe myself. I'm in and out and in front of the mirror brushing my teeth five minutes after. I try not to look at my reflection, but that's nearly impossible to do so when the mirror takes up almost the entire wall space. My ratty hair needs to be combed - it's sticking up in odd directions like an anime character. My eyes are red and puffy, and my face glistens with salt. God, I look like such a wreck. Is this what Ezra slept with last night? This...this monster?