The Heartbroken - S01 E155

Story 2 years ago

The Heartbroken - S01 E155

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 155

Somehow, I thought that realizing

that I had feelings for Seth would

have warranted a more dramatic

turn of events in my life, but when I

woke up at half past ten the next

morning, the only drama going on

was me mentally cursing whatever

virus I had managed to catch

overnight.

It seemed like my bedroom was

rocking when I sat up and I

struggled to keep myself up. My

head felt heavy, so my first instinct

was to press the back of my hand

against my forehead. My skin was

hot to touch and I felt as though I

might throw up any second, so I

immediately plopped back into the

bed.

Part of me still refused to

acknowledge my feelings for Seth,

but try as I might, I knew I could no

longer pretend that I hadn’t grown

to like him. I knew it was stupid,

but the damage was done now.

I stifled a groan and pushed him

out of my thoughts.

Just when I was about to fall asleep

again, I heard a soft tapping on my

door. My first thought was that it

was just my imagination, but then

the door creaked open.

I peeked from under the covers,

trying my best not to move my

head too much so I wouldn’t get

dizzy, and I was surprised to find

Mom holding a tray.

She must have expected me to still

be sleeping because the moment

our eyes met, she froze.

I didn’t know who was more

stunned between the two of us,

but then she recovered, blinking, as

she took small steps towards my

bed.

“I thought I’d bring you some

medicine,” she said, carefully

setting the tray on my bedside

drawer. “But don’t drink it with an

empty stomach. Try to eat at least a

few spoonfuls first.”

My eyes darted to the tray and I

was surprised to find a steaming

bowl of oatmeal, a glass of water

and some Paracetamol.

I looked back at her, half-convinced

that I was dreaming.

Apart from the time she’d given me

the earrings, we hadn’t talked in

days, and it didn’t make sense for

her to suddenly behave this way.

She must have been aware of this

too because there was a nervous

lilt to her voice when she said,

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I told her, easing myself

up into a sitting position.

“It was a good thing I checked up

on you,” she said, hesitantly sitting

down on my bed. “I wouldn’t have

known you were running a fever.”

“You checked up on me?”

I didn’t mean it to sound haughty,

but she flinched back at the words.

I clamped my mouth shut,

chastising myself for speaking

without thinking. I expected her to

leave, that my behavior had

somehow broken whatever was

going on between us right now,

but she didn’t.

Instead, she said, “I saw Seth’s car

in the driveway and thought maybe

he would be here, so I checked

your room and…” she trailed off,

lifting her shoulders into a slightly

apologetic shrug.

At first I was confused, but then

realization dawned on me.

I did bring Seth’s car home last

night, and I’d been so used to

Mom’s silence that I didn’t even

consider the possibility that she’d

ask me about it.

“We’re not—we didn’t have—he

didn’t come here,” I said, feeling my

already flushed cheeks burn even

further.

The idea of explaining the whole

thing to her seemed like a huge

step. Telling her about the car

meant that I had to tell her about

sneaking out in the middle of the

night, and that meant that I also

had to tell her about the reason

why I felt the need to sneak out in

the first place. It wasn’t that I didn’t

want to discuss things about Dad

with her; it just seemed so out of

place for the two of us to do that,

especially because we never really

did.