Page 23 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Four Years Ago, October

My pillowcases smell like your hair. Like lilacs. I have a hard time forcing myself to wash them.

A bout twice a year since I was fifteen, I’d suffered from fully debilitating migraines.

These were beyond the typical migraine, which were still terrible in their own way.

I got those once every couple of months.

But the fully debilitating migraines—sent straight from Hades himself—were the kind that left me in dark rooms for hours, under heaping piles of blankets with a cold compress held over my eyes.

In the past, they’d left me so horrifically nauseated I was unable to keep down food, so disoriented my vision went blurry, so tense my muscles ached.

This was one of those migraines.

What started as a dull pressure behind my left eye progressed to a sharp, stabbing pain in my left temple that shot around the crown of my head, behind my ear, and down the back of my neck.

I tried to get ahead of it, but none of my attempts worked. Nibbling on a piece of toast felt impossible, my jaw was so tight my teeth hurt. Water made my stomach roil. Moving my tense neck sent bolts of lightning down the top of my spine.

After taking medicine and piddling around my apartment for two hours, hoping I could shake it before it truly set in, I crawled back into bed. Wincing at the shuttered windows that still let entirely too much light in, I closed my eyes and was down for the count.

I dozed on and off through the late morning, willing my body to shut down and sleep the migraine off. When Nate texted me wondering if I wanted to come over to his place, I told him my current state in as few words as possible before rolling back under the covers and closing my eyes.

Gemma checked on me at some point, bringing me a piece of banana bread hot out of the oven and insisting I should eat something.

Begrudgingly, I obliged, sitting up in bed long enough to savor the combination of sweet, buttery saltiness.

I opened my laptop before slouching back into my pillows, and turned on a documentary I’d been saving for Halloween season, even though I’d probably have to rewatch it.

My brain was too heavy to pay attention, synapses moving too fast and too slow all at once.

I didn’t realize I’d dozed off again until a soft rapping at my door had my eyes snapping open, refocusing on the laptop balanced on a pillow in front of my face.

Odd for Gemma to knock, but I swallowed and croaked a quiet, “Come in.”

When she didn’t say anything, I lifted my head and squinted as the door swung open. To my surprise, it was Nate in my doorway, staring at me with a pitying look.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been in my apartment. He’d been over for game night before, but it’d always been a pre-planned group setting. Never out of the blue and never resulting in him seeing the inside of my bedroom.

Pressing pause on my laptop, I propped myself up on an elbow, wincing at the shot of pain down my neck.

“Don’t get up,” he said as he shut the door with his foot.

“What are you doing here?” I groaned, shielding my eyes.

“My mom gets migraines,” he said simply. “Gemma let me in. I brought reinforcements.” Only then did I notice the plastic bags in his hand.

I only stared as he took the two steps to my bed and perched at my feet like he’d been there a hundred times. Placing the bags into the crook of my bent knees, he began pulling items out one by one.

“Sometimes caffeine helps her, so I brought this.” He revealed a bottle of soda, chilled and sweating drops of condensation onto my quilted comforter.

“Or if you’re dehydrated.” He produced a large bottle of water, but dove back into the bag without pause.

“Did you know capsaicin can help with headaches? I couldn’t remember if you liked spicy stuff, but I brought this.

” He produced a jar of spicy salsa and a small bag of tortilla chips.

But a second later, he continued. “Oh! And I found these. Figured they’d be worth a shot.

” He lifted a small bag of ginger hard candies and handed them to me.

“Or if all else fails, your favorite.” He tossed a small colorful package that landed with a plop next to my laptop. Sour gummies.

I studied the items strewn across my bed in disbelief, my thoughts too slow to take in the impact of his thoughtfulness just yet. When my eyes at last landed back on him, I blinked against his amused expression.

“You’re in my room.”

He chuckled, eyes darting around the room as if he was just having that realization as well.

Rising to his feet, he went to the stack of unsorted vinyl records piled on top of my dresser.

Helping himself, he lifted the top one, examining it front and back before rifling through the rest. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he took another glance around my bedroom, studying the succulents with skull shaped pots in my window, yesterday’s half-full mug of tea on my bedside table, my thrifted vanity and mirror—complete with a pile of laundry on the matching chair—before settling back on me, lying under a pile of thick blankets.

“Cute. It’s very you .” He settled back at my feet, splaying a hand across my hip. “How are you feeling, McLaren?”

I relaxed back into my pillows and pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes, relieving the pressure there. “Like my head is about to explode, but better than earlier.” I peered at him between my fingers. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll let you rest; I just wanted to drop by and check on you.”

When he rose, I caught his fingertips with mine. He paused, rubbing a thumb over my knuckles.

“You know, you don’t have to go,” I said. “I mean, I’m not the best company right now, but since you’re already here?”

Nate smiled, stealing my breath even as he bent to kiss my hairline. Just as I considered taking my words back, certain he was turning to leave, he steadied himself against the dresser and toed off his sneakers.

A minute later, after tidying all the goodies, he crawled onto the bed. I shuffled and adjusted around his long limbs to give him blankets as he settled behind me, snuggling close with an arm around my middle.

“What are we watching?” he asked.

I adjusted the laptop so we could both see and pressed play. “Murder documentary. ”

“Relaxing.”

Over the next hour, Nate’s chest rose and fell against me. His slow, steady breaths in my ear lulled me into a faraway, drifting sort of sleep. I distantly registered his movements, his legs tangling with mine, his body pressing closer, the fading sound of the documentary.

When I woke, it was completely dark outside, and my laptop sat paused with the screen asking Are You Still There?

I tested the migraine, rolling my head right and left, noting the dull ache in my muscles.

When no punishment came, I twisted around slowly.

Nate’s arm around my middle constricted, tugging me closer as soon as I was facing him.

I snuggled into him, burying my face into the hollow of his neck, breathing in his scent even as he sleepily pulled me tighter.

“How’re you feeling?” his gravelly voice mumbled.

“Better. Do you need to get home to Billie?”

He yawned, settling his chin atop my head. “She’ll be fine for one night. I’m too comfy.”

Sleep tugged again at the corners of my consciousness, unwilling to care about anything but being there, wrapped in his arms. “Me, too.”