"Hi!"
A deep, muscular voice greeted me — more like shouted — over the blaring music from the hallway.
I turned and squinted, trying to place the face. He looked familiar. One of Sandy's friends from the party, I realized. I just couldn't remember his name.
"Hi," I replied, matching his loudness.
He grinned, nodding toward the door on his left. "We were at the party when she told me you live here."
She? My stomach dropped. I blinked to make sure I wasn't imagining it. But there she was — Sandy — standing a few feet behind him, giggling with her hand over her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes red as tomatoes. Drunk. Maybe even stoned.
So she was back.
"I thought I could come see what you're up to," he said casually.
"Nothing much," I muttered, but my attention was fixed on Sandy.
"Hi," she slurred, her voice dragging like syrup.
I gave her a small nod. "How long have you been out to be this drunk?" I asked, still watching her.
"Not that long," her friend said, glancing at her helplessly. "We got here like twenty minutes ago."
He scratched the back of his neck. "I think something's troubling her."
Of course. So she hadn't even told her friends about our fight. So much for the one who lectured me about bottling things up.
I walked past him and reached for Sandy's hand. It was ice cold. She wasn't even wearing a sweater. "Get in here," I said firmly, trying to pull her toward my apartment.
"Leave me alone!" she slurred, yanking her hand free.
"Come on, you're too drunk to be out here," I said sharply, reaching for her again. But she stumbled back, bumping into someone behind her, and laughed.
"What do you care? Go back to your apartment and mind your own business," she snapped, voice rising enough to draw stares from down the hallway.
"Stop being stubborn," the guy — Derek, that was his name — said, catching her before she fell. "You can't even stand."
"I'm not going into her house!" Sandy shouted, clinging to Derek's arm. "Take me back to Chase's."
"I can't do that," Derek said firmly.
"Then take me home," she tried to say, the words tripping over her tongue. She started staggering toward the elevator.
"You want your mom to see you like this?" I asked, shaking my head. Her mom was kind, but strict enough to make even me nervous. The thought of her seeing Sandy drunk was enough to end her life for a week.
"Ju—just mind your business!" Sandy stammered, waving her hand. "I'm never getting in your apartment, no matter what you say!"
"Am I missing something?" Derek asked, frowning.
"We had a fight," I said shortly.
"Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "That explains a lot. But what are we going to do with her? My parents are home — I can't take her back to mine."
"She'll have to quit being a baby," I muttered, stepping beside him. Together, we tried to lift her again.
"Let go!" she shouted, pushing me hard enough to stumble, but I stayed firm. I looked at Derek, giving him a nod, and he understood.
Ignoring her protests, we half-dragged, half-guided Sandy into my apartment. She was crying now — loud, broken sobs between hiccups. Her breath came fast, and she coughed as we got her into the spare room.
"I'm not staying here!" she cried, trying to get off the bed the second we laid her down. She didn't make it far — just dropped to her knees and vomited all over the carpet. Then she went limp.
"Damn," Derek muttered, helping me lift her back onto the bed.
I went to the bathroom and came back with a wet towel. Derek stood silently by the door while I knelt beside her. Gently, I wiped her mouth, then her face. Her breathing slowed, eyes fluttering shut. The anger drained out of me.
She looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
I brushed her hair back, my fingers lingering there longer than they should have. I'd missed her. Missed the way she made every noise around her feel less loud. Missed her laughter, her stubborn warmth. And now, seeing her like this — fragile and hurting — I could feel guilt crawling up my throat like a weight I couldn't swallow.
Why did I have to yell that night?
Why couldn't I have just listened?
A quiet throat-clearing snapped me out of it. "I'll wait in the other room," Derek said softly.
"Okay," I murmured, pulling my hand away.
Once he left, I slipped off her shoes, then found a clean set of pajamas. Changing her felt oddly intimate — a strange mix of care and guilt twisting in my chest. When I was done, I tucked her in and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "Just… please forgive me soon."
Leaving the room, I found Derek sitting on the couch, a glass of water in his hand.
"Hope you don't mind," he said with a small smile. "I helped myself."
"No problem," I said, collapsing next to him. I exhaled, leaning my head back against the couch. The room smelled like alcohol, sweat, and chaos. "When am I ever going to get one quiet night without drama?" I muttered.
Derek chuckled. "You okay, man?"
"I'm just tired," I said, rubbing my face. "Want a beer?"
"Sure."
I grabbed two from the fridge and handed him one.
"You wanna talk about it?" he asked after a sip.
"Not really." I cracked mine open and took a long gulp, letting the bitterness wash over my tongue. "She didn't tell you anything?"
"Nope," he said. "But she's been acting weird lately. I figured maybe she was fighting with her boyfriend."
The words made something inside me twist. Our fight had really gotten to her.
"Oh," was all I could manage.
Derek hesitated, rubbing his palms together. "Can I ask you something? It's… a bit weird."
"Shoot," I said, curious.
He looked at me for a moment, like he was studying my face. "Is something going on between you two? Like… romantically?"
I blinked, stunned. Then laughed. "Why does everyone think that?"
"So nothing's going on?" he pressed, still watching me closely.
"God, no," I said, shaking my head, trying to tone down the laughter. "She has a boyfriend, for heaven's sake."
"You guys are just… close. A little more than friendly, maybe."
"And?" I raised an eyebrow.
He shrugged. "People talk."
"Let them," I said firmly. "Sandy's like my sister."
He nodded, his expression softening. "She's lucky to have you."
"No," I said quietly. "I'm the lucky one. I probably wouldn't be here today if it weren't for her."
Derek studied me for a second, then smiled. "If you say so. But you've gotta tell me your secret."
"Secret?" I asked, confused.
"Yeah, man — everyone seems to like you."
I laughed, choking mid-sip. "You're joking, right?"
"I'm serious," he said, smirking. "My sister can't stop talking about you. I'm this close to sending her to live with you just so she'll shut up about Jolls."
I blinked. "Your sister?"
He grinned. "Yeah. Samantha."
For a moment, I just stared. Samantha?
My mind raced — her voice, her texts, the smile in her words. She was Derek's sister?
I couldn't get it my head.
"She talks about me?" I asked, trying — and failing — to sound casual.
"All the damn time," he said with a laugh, finishing his beer. "And don't tell her I told you that, or she'll kill me."
I laughed too, picturing Samantha scolding him — or me. The thought weirdly warmed me.
"I would've never guessed you two were related," I admitted.
"Yeah, I get that a lot," he said, crushing the empty can in his hand. "Anyway, I should get back to the party. Rachel's probably wondering where I disappeared to."
"Have fun," I said, standing as he walked to the door. "Tell her I said hi."
"You're not coming?" he asked, raising a brow.
"I don't think it's a goo—"
My door swung open before I could finish.