Page 24

I blink rapidly into the pitch-black room, trying to get my bearings.

I smack the nightstand beside me in search of my lamp, flicking it on when I feel the cool porcelain base beneath my fingertips.

I have no idea what time it is when I finally open my eyes, but it must be late judging by how dark my room is.

I’ve had a day or so to come to terms with my actions and apologise to everyone involved. Everyone other than Rafael, anyway.

My friends are just thankful I’m okay now, but Dad was pissed. I explained that the whole incident had been entirely my fault and begged him not to take it out on Rafael, which turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

As it seems, my dad wasn’t upset with Rafael at all. It wasn’t his fault that I so selfishly avoided telling him about my medications or that he had to rescue me after the fact.

And he’s right—it is my sole responsibility. My massive mistake.

I swallow several times, scratching at the base of my throat. I’m always making mistakes. My skin flushes, and sweat coats my brow, embarrassment mingling with the undercurrent of guilt and frustration.

I never should’ve stopped my medication.

I realise that now more than ever, but I’d genuinely believed that a few days off of it wouldn’t be such a big deal.

By the time we all got tested, I was already in the first throws of mania and unable to work myself back into taking my meds.

Thanks to Rafael bringing me to the hospital right away, this hadn’t technically qualified as a manic episode, seeing as it didn’t fit the criteria of lasting more than seven days from onset.

Chelsea told me that when the rest of the team went back home while I was in the hospital, Rafael never did.

He stayed the whole time, even after my dad got there to see me through the rest of my visit.

I’d asked how she would know that, but he missed all of their practices and sent them an email saying he’d be away for a few days.

It didn't take a genius to figure out why.

Dad only confirmed that theory this morning when he demanded I join him for breakfast. All I wanted was to stay in bed and sleep the weekend away, but he left no room for argument.

I love my dad, and knowing I worried him for no reason has clawed at my insides ever since I found my way back to reality.

This morning, he made sure I was aware that Rafael is on my side, even if he might not seem like it. He missed his Friday match to be there for my discharge from the hospital, according to my dad.

That knowledge is something I really hadn’t needed. It weighs heavily on my chest, and the emotions I’m feeling surrounding that concern me. I can’t figure them out, and I’m not sure I want to.

I attempt to blink the sleep out of my eyes again, finally managing to sit up. My limbs feel heavy, as do my eyelids.

I move slowly, making my way into the bathroom that connects to Chelsea’s room.

When I’ve finished my shower and I’m back in bed, I roll over, grab my cell off of my nightstand, and open up my email.

There’s a message from Rafael already waiting for me, and luckily, he’s just the person I needed to speak with.

His message reads, “I hope you’re okay.”

That’s all it says. Four words, five if you count the contraction.

I think I may have finally met someone as shit at processing their emotions as I am. I click “Reply” and wait a beat while I figure out what I want to say. I keep it simple, saying, “I am. Thank you. Talk tomorrow?”

A text comes through, but my shoulders sag when I see the name “Noah” flash across the screen.

Noah

Just let me take you out to dinner, Elise. I can show you what a good time we’ll have and maybe you’ll change your mind about your “no dating rule”

I clench my jaw, typing out a quick “No”, and focus my attention back on my emails, awaiting a reply from someone I know won’t bother me with questions about my dating life or lack thereof.

Minutes pass, and I’m ready to put my phone down and try to go back to sleep, but my notifications ping with an email.

“Yes. Be there early.”

Well, alright then.