Page 94 of The Design of Goodbye
“Have people been saying stuff to you?” He shrugged, and my heart clenched painfully because, if whispers and stares had been following me around all day, I couldn’t imagine what’d been following him. “I don’t care what people are saying, okay?”
He dropped the pop to his lap, looking understandably uncertain. “You don’t?”
“I don’t.Really.” I didn’t care what people thought about me and Liam anymore. I was done keeping our friendship a secret. I was tired of hurting him. “No more avoiding me. I care about you and don’t need—or want—space, okay?”
He smiled through his pain. “If you say so.”
“I say so.” I opened my backpack and took out the stuff he’d left yesterday. I hesitated before adding his sketchbook to the pile. I didn’t want to part with it. While I’d stayed awake last night, worrying, I’d flipped through his sketchbook more times than I could count. His paintings had helped me feel close to him because all I’d wanted, there, in my lonely bedroom, had been him. I hated I had to give that up, but his paintings comforted him, too, and he needed them back. “You left those behind yesterday.”
“Oh.” He let out a shaky breath. “Thanks.”
“You’re not okay, are you?”
He pressed his palms against his eyes. “Not really.”
I fought the urge to run my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, but I had no idea how he’d react, so I trapped my hands underneath my legs to fight the urge.
“Do you get migraines a lot?” I asked.
“Only after I started getting panic attacks.”
“Did this one start yesterday?”
“Yeah, during work.” He took a few moments to continue, as if his brain was having a hard time keeping up. “Sleeping normally helps, but the pain kept waking me up last night.”
“Hopefully, the medicine works.”
“Hope so,” he said.
“When’s the last time you ate?” I asked.
“Don’t remember.”
I grabbed the candy bar on his lap and opened it. “Eat.” He took it from me but made no move to take a bite. “I’ll feed it to you myself if I have to.”
“I’ll try to eat it,” he said, “but I actually feel sick.”
I grimaced. “You mean like you might get sick?”
“Maybe,” he muttered. “Hope not.”
“You need to go home.” My worry had skyrocketed because he was feeling worse than I’d realized. “I can drive you.”
“I can’t.”
“Liam,” I started, trying to reason with him, “how are you going to get through the rest of your classes?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t go to my house. I have work tonight anyway.” He took a small bite of the candy bar, but it was only to appease me because he immediately wrapped it back up.
“How about I bring you coffee after I get off work?” I suggested, desperate to help him feel better. “Coffee always makes things better, and the caffeine should help.”
“You don’t need to,” he said.
“I want to.”
“Then, I’d like that.” He smiled his thanks before saying, “About yesterday.”
“What about it?”
