YOU ARE IN LOVE - gracie abrams

two

chapter two:

hungover

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This couch is uncomfortable, and the room is far too bright to sleep in—thank God I didn't drink last night; a hangover would be brutal right now.

Gracie must be feeling awful, though. I saw how much she had at the party—she never drinks like that.

I glance towards the hallway where her bedroom is; it's quiet; she must still be sleeping. A wave of concern washes over me—Gracie never lets herself go like that. Always the one to cut herself off after a drink or two, always in control.

But last night was different. Something was off. She always laughed a little too much and a little too loudly. She visited the bar more times than I could count and kept pouring herself another drink without thinking twice.

I should've pulled her to the side and asked her what was going on. But I didn't—I thought that maybe her boyfriend would've played that part. He should've played that part.

A soft groan comes from the hallway, and I know she's awake. I hear the shuffle of footsteps and then the sound of the bathroom door closing. I stand up and stretch my stiff limbs, but then I hear her throw up, and I rush to the bathroom.

I hold her hair back and run my hand up and down her back, just like I used to do when we were kids and her IBS made her vomit all the time.

She leans over the toilet bowl, her body shaking with each heave, and it hits me just how vulnerable she looks. I rub slow circles on her back, trying to comfort her as best as I can, the way I used to back in the day.

"Want some water?" I ask softly.

She nods, so I get up and fetch a glass, filling it from the kitchen sink. When I return, she takes it from me with shaky hands, sipping it slowly. The silence between us feels heavy; unspoken questions taunting the both of us.

I sit down beside her on the cold bathroom floor, leaning back against the tiled wall. I glance at her; I want to say something, but the words are hard to find.

"You hungry?" 

I was supposed to ask her what happened—why she let herself drink so much last night. But I can't; I can't scold her when she looks so small and fragile here on the bathroom floor.

She looks like the kid I first fell in love with on the swing set in elementary school. The kid I still see in her when she laughs and dances around the living room. The kid I swore I'd marry one day when we got older.

"Let's go get you some breakfast, Gray." I say quietly, and help her up from the floor. 

She stumbles a little as I help her up, her body still weak and unsteady. I keep a firm grip on her arm, making sure she doesn't fall, and she gives me a small, tired smile in return—a silent thanks.

We move slowly through the hallway and into the kitchen. The bright morning sun is still shining in through the windows, and it seems to hurt her eyes, so I close the curtains halfway and hope it's enough to spare her tired eyes.

She sits down at the table, her head resting in her hands, as she watches me cook up some food for the two of us. 

The house is quiet; Gracie's fighting sleep, and I'm stuck somewhere deep inside my head—shouldn't her boyfriend be here, cooking her breakfast and taking care of her?