8. Paula

Paula

B y the time we were walking back to our room in athlete's housing, I was feeling much better about my roommate. Once I knew about her anxiety and the fact that she was neurodivergent, I rewrote all of our previous interactions in my head.

Honestly, I felt guilty about how harshly I'd judged her. If I'd tried to get to know her instead of blowing her off and thinking she was robotic and rude, I would have realized how wrong my first impression of her had been.

Our steps slowed as we reached our room. Jet lag was hitting me hard now, and I suspected that Deena was having the same issue. It took her three tries to get the key in the lock for our door. We changed clothes quickly, then we both practically fell into our beds.

A few hours later I awoke from a deep sleep when I heard a soft scream followed by a stream of unintelligible words. What the hell?

I turned on the flashlight on my phone, and when there was another scream, this one louder, I realized that it was Deena. I flipped on the bedside lamp and crossed the few feet between our beds. The sheet she'd covered up with was on the floor, revealing very short sleep shorts and a cami top that had ridden up so high on her torso that I could see the enticing undercurve of her breasts.

Chastising myself for being a pervert, I stepped closer, wondering if I should wake her up.

"No!" Deena gasped as she tossed from one side of the narrow bed to the other, coming precariously close to the edge. The organizers of the Games had only provided us with narrow twin beds, not a lot of space even for someone slim like Deena.

"Deena," I whispered, tapping her bare shoulder.

She flopped over to face the wall, groaned, then rolled onto her back again.

"Deena!" I said more loudly this time, wrapping my hand around her shoulder and giving it a little shake. Her skin felt soft under my hand.

"What!" Deena shot up to a seated position so quickly she almost head-butted me. She looked around with a wild look in her eye, still coming out of her dream.

"Deena, you're okay. You're safe."

I risked touching her again and when she didn't smack me, I rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "It's me, Paula. Your roommate."

Deena took a deep breath, then her eyes cleared as she recognized me.

"I'm sorry for waking you," she said quietly.

"There's nothing to apologize for," I said, sitting on the side of the bed by her knees and fervently hoping the cardboard frame would hold us both. "You were having a nightmare."

I'd seen other athletes post videos on social media where they were jumping on these cardboard beds or piling a couple other people on them to prove they were sturdy enough for the most popular sport at the International Games – sex – but I still didn't fully trust them.

"What were you dreaming about?" I asked.

Deena's gaze skittered to my face before returning to her lap. "When I'm in a new place or something happens to push me out of my comfort zone, sometimes I have these dreams where someone is closing me up in a box and burying me alive."

"Jesus. That sounds terrible," I said with a wince.

"It's really weird because nothing remotely similar to that has ever happened to me."

I noticed that she was shaking. Standing up, I ordered, "Scoot over."

When Deena complied, I sat back down on the bed next to her, leaning against the wall and sliding my arm around her shoulder.

"You're okay now," I said, giving her a little squeeze.

"Sorry I'm such a mess," she said, sounding miserable. It almost made me miss her usual robotic tone.

"Wait until you see what a mess I am," I said in a spooky voice, like I was telling a ghost story at summer camp. "You won't believe it. My hair is going to frizz in this heat, and I'll probably chip my manicure, plus I forgot my favorite moisturizing sunscreen. Let me tell you, it's going to be tragic. In about two days I'm going to look like an aging clown wearing a Brillo pad wig."

Deena burst out laughing at my dramatics. I realized it was the first time I'd ever heard her laugh in the years I'd known her. I felt quite proud of myself for distracting her from her nightmare.

I hugged her closer to me, and to my surprise, she laid her head on my shoulder and promptly fell back asleep. I figured I'd wait a few minutes to make sure she was really okay before I went back to my own bed, but I must have fallen asleep because when the alarm on my phone went off the next morning, I was still in Deena's bed.

Grabbing the phone that I'd dropped on her bedside table when I came to wake her up, I silenced the alarm and looked down at my sleeping companion. At some point during the night we'd both slid down from our positions sitting up against the wall. My head was on one of her pillows, which was bunched up against the wall. I could already feel the crick in my neck from sleeping at such a weird angle, which meant a trip to the massage room was in my future.

Deena had scooted farther down, and she had her arm around my hips with her head resting on my lower ribs. It couldn't have been a comfortable place to rest her head, but she didn't seem to mind.

I stroked my hand down her hair a few times, marveling at how soft the fine strands were.

"Deena?"

She groaned and snuggled closer, moving her arm up to my abdomen, which had the unfortunate effect of making me realize I desperately needed to pee.

"Deena!" I said a little louder, tapping her shoulder. "Come on, sleepy head. It's time to get up for practice."