My head was throbbing when I woke up the next morning, beating faintly against the pillow. The sun pouring in from the window only made it worse.

"Why is the blind open?" I groaned, pulling the covers over my head.

I realized I wasn't in my bedroom when I saw the white paint on the walls. I realized I wasn't alone when I heard his chuckle.

"Morning, little devil."

I sat up and screamed. Truman only rolled his eyes and turned back to the magazine resting on his lap.

"Where am I?" I demanded, tugging the blanket to higher. "And why are you here?"

Glancing around the room told me I was in a hotel, the minimal furniture was enough to give that away.

"Truman," I said again when he didn't respond.

He sighed and closed the magazine. "You fell asleep in my car last night after your little rendezvous with the lead singer."

I ignored the last part. "So you brought me to a hotel?"

His eyes met mine and they were narrowed. I ignored the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he crossed them over his chest.

"Did you want me to leave you in the fucking street? It was either that or drop you off at your parents house, drunk out of your mind." I sighed and he returned back to the magazine. "I thought so."

"I don't live with them anymore," I mumbled, collapsing back on the bed. His head turned to the side, showing the slightest of interest. "I'm living on my own—in an apartment."

Truman only nodded his head and returned back to the magazine, biting his lip as he flipped between the pages.

"Does Satan"—I coughed—"Santana know you're here with me?"

He held up the magazine and I eyed the cover with a half naked woman on it. "Tryin' to read here," he said.

I scoffed. "I'll be impressed when you read something that doesn't objectify women." He chuckled and threw it onto the dresser. "Answer my question," I said.

Truman ran a hand through his hair. It looked darker than I remembered it. "Yes, she knows I'm here."

I raised my eyebrows. "Here with me?"

He looked away. "May have left out that part," he grumbled.

Lovely.

"How long are you in the city?"

He shrugged. "Permanently ."

"You're not leaving again?" I asked. "I thought running away was your thing."

He grimaced, all the while ignoring me.

I sighed and sat up, determined to get out of this hotel before this turned into some sort of bonding moment. That was when I realized I wasn't wearing any pants. I shrieked and jumped back into bed.

When I met Truman's eyes, he was smirking.

"Where are my pants?" I hissed.

Truman pointed to the floor at the end of the bed. "You threw them there last night before jumping into bed." He shrugged. "I slept here the whole time, don't give me that face."

"Can you give me them?" He only leaned back, watching me with a grin. "Truman," I gritted.

He chuckled, grabbed my jeans off the floor and tossed them over to me. I wiggled them on underneath the covers before running my fingers through my knotted hair and standing up.

"Going somewhere?" he called as I made my way to the door.

"Yes." I slipped my feet into my heels, wincing before I even took a step.

"Where?" he asked again.

I turned to him and smiled. "Somewhere you're not."

"You're mean in the mornings." He rose from the chair and walked towards me, leaning against the wall.

"I have work in"—I checked my phone and groaned—"an hour. Shit."

My hand was wrapped around the door handle when I felt his hand on my elbow, stopping me.

"Eden," he began. I didn't turn around.

"I meant what I said last night, Tru. Leave me alone."

I left before he could get another word out, glancing over my shoulder every second as I waited for the elevator, just to make sure he didn't follow.

When the door to Truman's room remained closed, I couldn't tell if I was relieved or upset.

I managed to stumble into the bar only twenty minutes late, clutching my heels in between my fingers. I couldn't even make it down the hotel elevator with those deathtraps on.

"I'm here!" I called out, running into the back.

"You're lucky I adore you, cariño." I chuckled and wrapped my arm around Alba's shoulders, giving her a squeeze. She was the manager, and my stand in mother while I was living in the city, an hour from home.

"This is my first time being late," I pointed out, wrapping an apron around my waist.

"I'll pretend that's true."

Alba patted my back, smiling as she pushed me through the door and out behind the bar. The motion alone made my head swim and I braced myself against the door, regaining my breath.

"Eden?" she asked, stepping beside me. "What's the matter?"

I swallowed down the vomit and forced myself to smile. "Nothing," I lied. I couldn't exactly tell her I was nursing a hangover.

Alba gripped my face between her hands, tilting it side to side. Her eyes narrowed and I knew I was doomed.

"How much did you drink?" she asked.

"Nothing?" She gave me a look. "Fine," I groaned. "A lot, but I had a good reason."

Alba reached into her pocket and pulled out a bottle of Advil. She handed me two and watched as I swallowed.

"Go home," she said.

I shook my head. It took me a week to get my parents to accept me working at a bar. They weren't exactly thrilled to have their eighteen-year-old daughter spending her mornings in class, and her evenings serving alcohol.

But it was the only job I could find. And it was close to the hospital, too.

"I'm fine," I said, sticking out my tongue to show her the pills were gone. "I just need ten minutes."

Alba was already pushing me back out the door, throwing my purse into my hands. "Go home," she said. "I'll get someone to cover your shift."

I smiled at her gratefully. She was made of kindness, just a little rough around the edges.

"Thanks, Alba. And please don't tell—"

She rolled her eyes. "If this is the first and last time, I won't."

___

I really was planning on returning home. The problem is that the route to my apartment passes the hospital Katie's in. Every time, I ended up at her bedside instead.

Today was no different.

The Advil managed to help, and by the time I was standing outside Katie's room, my head was no longer pounding.

My heart was another story.

There were fresh flowers on the table in front of the window, bright red and pink roses. A wrinkled blanket laid over the small couch in the corner and I knew someone had spent the night—probably her mom.

I tiptoed to the edge of her bed and stood there, staring. Four months later and the words still couldn't come out. The words were stuck in my throat, lodged behind a million forms of sorry.

If I didn't know better, I'd think she was only taking a nap and, that if I came back in an hour, her eyes would be open and we could talk again. I'd tell her about senior year and my new job at the bar. I'd show her my new nose piercing and she'd roll her eyes.

Maybe I'd even find the words to tell her about the kiss, and the promise I broke.

But what if's were dangerous. The doctors told us to have hope, that it was still possible for her to wake up. And I could see her parents cling to it desperately every time her mother brushed her hair or her dad sat in that couch, reading Katie a book.

I gave up hope a while ago. Katie's eyes were closed, and I doubted I'd ever see the day they opened again.

I grabbed my best friend's hand and squeezed it. "Goodbye," I whispered, because it was the only word I knew how to say.

I was so damn close. My feet were just about to step into the parking lot when I heard someone call my name. It was Truman, sitting on a bench with a cigarette between his lips, clutching a bouquet of flowers in his other hand.

He barely said hello before I started to cry.

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hello from Paris!! currently on vacay and having a blast— thoughts on this chapter? xx