The engine cuts to the eerie silence. I rouse awake, as a door opens, closes, and opens again, cold air chilling my body.
'Shh, careful,' Nate lifts me effortlessly out of the car. I grab onto him instinctively.
I tell myself that I'm sober, that I don't need to be carried like a child, that I can handle myself. But his warmth, his intoxicating scent invites me to burrow into his shirt. Maybe I'm drunk enough to forget about this, but that's a lie too. I'll remember everything tomorrow.
I'm vaguely aware of him trudging through long grass, the blades tickling my bare feet.
Where are my shoes?
'Nate,' I murmur, looking up, rubbing a hand over my eyes. A headache pounds at my skull. My hair sticks to my face. I know I'll try wash it multiple times and not get out the disgusting, greasy feeling. I know I'll hate myself for this tomorrow.
'How do I get in?' he asks me softly, setting me gently on my feet. An arm remains securely around my waist, letting me put my weight completely on him.
'Under the- the plant?' I manage to get out, realizing my throat was horribly dry and gravelly.
He finds the key in no time and lets us in, efficiently and somehow silently too. I stumble ungracefully, cursing myself mentally. I can't let him see me like this. Not Nate.
He maneuvers through the dark house, finding my room with no problem and sets on my bed. 'Get undressed. I'll be back in a bit.'
I'm about to make a comment about him never going to see me naked but he's gone before I can even open my mouth. I do as he says though and slip off my jacket, stripping off my torn dress and tights. Just as I get under my covers and lay my head on the pillow, he reemerges with a glass of water.
He sits on my bed, handing me the glass. 'Drink,' he tells me, his blue eyes worn with concern.
I take a sip, relieving my throat, and then hand it back to him.
He shakes his head, 'All of it.'
I look at him, saying nothing, daring him.
Nate sighs, and moves to sit next to me, taking matters into his own hands. He takes the glass and sits me up straight, ignoring my protests.
'You'll thank me in the morning,' he says, lifting the cup to my lips. 'It helps with the headache.'
I don't know why I let him do it, but I just do. My eyes flicker up to his, but he's not watching me. He's looking at the water. Or my lips. He lets me take tiny sips at a time, pulling away each time to let me swallow.
The intimacy scares me. Because it's Nate. Nate doesn't do the chivalrous act. He doesn't save the damsel in distress. He sticks to himself, and he does everything he does, for himself.
At the thought of this, I take the glass from his hand and down it all in one go.
The corner of his lips quirk up, but he says nothing.
I sink down into my bed again and pull my covers to my chin. He leans down, and to my utter shock, plants a light kiss on my forehead. 'Sweet dreams.'
I don't say anything at first, but when he turns to leave, I reach out and touch his hand.
He looks back, an eyebrow raised.
'Thank you,' I whisper with vulnerability in my voice.
He lingers a moment more, as if contemplating what to say, but he only turns and walks away, clicking the door shut after him.
