Page 41 of The Order of Disorder

He frowns, brow twitching. “Max…”

He’s not confused. He’s concerned. Alarmed, even.

“Put something on,” he says quietly. “Even just a shirt.”

“No,” I say, low and seductive. “Just touch me. Please, Wy—“

“Shh.” His finger is at my mouth before I can get the word out. “Max, please. Sweetheart, please lie down. You need to get some sleep, okay?”

But I don’t want to sleep. I can’t sleep. I need something to take the edge off, because the edge is coming fast—and it’s sharp.

My mouth waters. My stomach clenches. The twist comes out of nowhere.

“Oh,shit,” I breathe.

A sharp, low cramp radiates through my gut and down my thighs, and I tense, sucking in a breath.

“Max?”

I clutch my abdomen, trying to breathe through it, but it gets worse. Cold tingles over my skin, like someone dumped a bucket of ice down my spine, and a shiver wracks through me so hard my teeth knock together.

“It’s okay,” Wyatt is saying, reaching for the blanket and wrapping it tight around me.

“I don’t feel good,” I manage to say.

“I know,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around me tight, like he’s holding me together. “I’ve got you.”

I close my eyes. My body starts trembling. My teeth chatter. Cramps spread like ripples in a pond.

I think about Rox. About Maze. About the empty baggie in Billy’s room and how much I’d give to have one more of those little pills melting under my tongue right now.

Just a little relief. Just one more breath where it doesn’t hurt to be awake.

“Can I have an aspirin?” I whisper.

“Of course,” Wyatt says softly.

He lets go of me, unscrews the cap, hands me a pill and the water bottle.

I toss it back and take a long sip—

And everything turns.

My stomach clenches hard. Heat flashes up my neck. The bile is instant, no warning.

I stagger off the bed, find the garbage bin, and drop to my knees. Watery vomit splashes into the plastic.

“Shit,” Wyatt says behind me. The lamp clicks on. The room fills with soft, yellow light.

Shit indeed.

The room spins. My skin feels wrong. Too hot, too tight, too thin.

I sit on the floor and rest the back of my head against the wall, my breath coming in short, shallow pulls.

I stare blankly at the ceiling, focusing on my breath, keeping it steady and smooth. Each one hurts.

And then, for the first time, I see it. Blinking red in the corner—just a tiny pinprick of light, almost impossible to notice.