He pulls me into his lap and I curl into a ball and cry. Long, loud and messy sobs. Will keeps handing me tissues, rubs my back soothingly and holds me, letting me cry.
"Isn't it lucky holding your sister like this?" I ask.
"Not when you're this sick." He responds and he's right.
I'm sick.
"Wake up, Jules."
Someone is jostling my shoulder and squeezing my head with a vice. I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright.
"Go away," I croak.
"It's almost noon."
I moan and turn onto my back. My body is sore from stress and grief. My eyes are swollen from crying and my head is killing me.
"Here," Will holds out a glass of water and some pills. "Take these and get in the shower."
"I think I'll just stay in bed." I frown and look around. I'm still in my work clothes from yesterday, and I don't remember climbing into bed. I just remember crying, long into the night, and Will holding me.
"No, you won't."
"I'll do whatever I want," I respond defiantly.
"You're not going to bury yourself in this bed for days, Jules. You're stronger than that."
"No I'm not," I whisper as yesterday's events run through my head. I don't need to cry anymore, but I'm drained.
"Yeah, you are. Come on, get up. Shower, get some food in you, and then you can go to the gym with me and beat the shit out of something."
Beating the shit out of something sounds really good. I take the pills he's holding out to me and climb gingerly out of the bed. "I'll be down in fifteen."