Dorm Boy

Part II

I woke up on the bathroom floor. Drool lay in a puddle where my mouth had been for God knows how long. I wiped my face with the back of my cold clammy hand. How long had I been lying there?

I checked my watch. 4:43 AM. Judging from the sounds -- or lack thereof -- outside the bathroom, it seemed everyone had either left the party or passed out.

I sat up abruptly, something in my back cracking in the process. "Ow."

I massaged a sore spot in my neck as whispers crept through the other side of the door, followed by a soft knock. "Is somebody in there?"

"Yeah, it's me." What the hell? Why did I say that?

"Oh, good." Silence. "Need some help?"

"Yes, please." I slid my butt over to the door, reached up, and unlocked it. "Come in."

He looked young. No younger than me, but young nonetheless. And short. 

After helping me out of the bathroom, he showed me the kitchen and sat me down on a stool at the counter.

"You need some water." He strolled over to the sink, a glass in his hand. I watched him turn the faucet and fill the glass.

"Here."

I took the offering. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I started drinking. I gulped quickly, finishing the water in a matter of seconds. 

"More," I demanded quietly, my voice still hoarse from sleep.

As he refilled the glass, I searched my field of vision for anyone who might have been lingering from the party, a.k.a. Ezra. 

Red and blue plastic cups were scattered around the kitchen, some toppled over with their remaining contents spilled, others tossed carelessly into the sink. Morsels of leftover snacks hid in plain sight: a cheese curl that had been mashed against the floor by someone's shoe, popcorn kernels sitting in a bowl on the counter. A party had happened but no one was in sight.

My fingers massaged my temples as I crossed my legs. "Where is everyone?" I whispered. A.k.a. Ezra. 

"We don't like people staying over," he said plainly, pulling at the wrinkled sleeves of his button-down.

I looked up at him and took the glass from his hands. "You live here?"

"Yeah, it's not super permanent or anything. Probably for the summer." He sat on the stool next to me and leaned his elbows on the counter. "It's not just me; there's a few other people."

I nodded, tracing my fingers over the granite countertop. Neither of us spoke for a few minutes, but there was no pressure to spark a conversation. I kept moving my eyes from my skin to his because he was very tan but I didn't think questions about ethnicity would be appropriate. He chuckled at me lightheartedly every time he met my bleary, confused gaze, furrowing his thick, straight-across eyebrows and flashing his dark eyes in my direction.

When he did speak, he did it slowly and with small words, because he knew I was still mind-numbingly tipsy. He was comfortably lovely, understatedly cool, modestly intelligent, hardly intimidating, the loveliest person I'd met since setting foot in Manhattan. 

"I'm Rostam, by the way." He held out his hand as he bared an endearing, toothy smile.

"Nina," I replied, shaking his hand. My fingers were weak and I really needed a cigarette. 

His forehead wrinkled in subtle amusement. "You're not Jen's roommate Nina, are you?"

The smile stayed on my face but I widened my eyes, broadcasting my annoyance. "I am." A hollow laugh flitted from my throat as I pictured Jen reciting pages from my nonexistent diary to Rostam and Ezra and just about everyone on the planet.