Purposefully Accidental: The Interlude

Chapter Eight

I dragged myself out of bed, slipping into a thick knitted cardigan as soon as I left the warm safety of my blanket mountain. The master bedroom was upstairs, and when I knocked on Freddie's door, it took a while before the door opened.

"Hey. You okay?" I greeted, immediately frowning at the sight of him still in his silk pajamas, hair all over the face, a slight crease on his forehead.

He blinked as if he was confused. "Yeah. Shit. What time's it? Sorry, must've lost track of time."

"It's almost ten. Hey, um, can I come in? Feeling a little winded suddenly. I think I need to sit down." I pressed one palm on my chest. I must've stood up too fast earlier. I shouldn't have rushed the stairs. I was getting a bit dizzy now—I was trying to blink it away, but now there were white spots in my vision.

"Shit. Sure—come in. It's a little messy, though. Here," he said, leading me to a small couch. "I'm so sorry. Was it the trip upstairs? I'll get you water."

I hadn't been in his bedroom before. It really wasn't messy at all. It was very spacious, though—which only emphasized how empty the room was. I observed the room. There was a king-size bed with bedside tables, and some clutter—an alarm clock, a box of tissue, charging cables. A dresser, decorated with trinkets—one of them a photo frame of his mom. A small sitting area with a couch, a lounge chair, and an end table. A walk-in closet that led to the bathroom. All in bare white, just like the rest of the house—but with accents of gray and black here and there.

He returned with a glass of water, which I accepted readily. "I asked Garcia to bring the food here so you won't have to make the trip back to your room. You can just nap here—I'll have to tidy up first—"

"Hey, it's fine," I stopped him. It was at this moment that I finally noticed that he was a little wide-eyed, that his movements had looked a little bit frantic. "Freddie. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, um." He sniffed. Scratched the back of his head. "It's Connor, he... my dad's—it's not looking good, his nurse said. And Harvey called, and he said—uh, I needed to, um. Be prepared. So."

I took his hands and pulled him, forcing him to sit down on the couch. He obliged. "Freddie, I'm so sorry."

Freddie scoffed, avoiding my eyes. "I'm not—don't. I'm fine. He's not dead yet. And I'm prepared. I've been prepared for two years now."

But something in his voice told me that he wasn't. "Can I hug you?"

There was a pause before he nodded. I wrapped my arms around him, and he melted into my embrace. "He's still here. but they think it won't be long now. He's in and out, and barely responsive."

"I'm so sorry," I murmured.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm not—sad. I've already grieved his loss."

"It's okay to feel sad about your dad."

He inhaled. "Right."

I held him there, patting his back softly. He shuddered once before letting himself out of my arms.

"You alright, Hannah? It seems like yesterday's session really did a number on you," Freddie said with a frown, placing the back of his hand under my jaw. "You look pale."

I hadn't seen what I looked like in the mirror, not yet, but I could already imagine how gaunt I must be right now. I'd lost so much weight that all my clothes seemed to swallow me. I knew I had eye bags the size of Texas right now—I could feel it even without seeing it. I said to Freddie, "Yeah, I'm not feeling all that great right now."

"I'm sorry I couldn't come with you yesterday—"

"It's okay, I'm a big girl," I said with a smile that immediately fell. "But, um. Tony just called me. He and Kate are positive."