After almost five more hours on the road, we check in to a nearby motel, once the stars have risen high up in the sky.

I fiddle with my fingers, as Ronnie chats up the woman standing behind the reception’s desk, distracting her from the fact that we’re really, really not supposed to be here.

A few minutes later, he turns around and returns with a key that dangles from his index finger. “I’m so glad I’m finally eighteen.” Ronnie huffs, motioning for me to follow upstairs, out of the lobby. “I don’t need to do that fake ID crap anymore. I swear I felt terrible each time I’d take that thing out.”

I raise a brow. “Uh… Then why do it the first place?”

He smirks, looks over his shoulder and says: “For the ladies.”

I cringe. “Gross.”

“Come on! You don’t—” Ronnie pauses, key in hand, hand in the air in front of our room’s door. “Wait,” he says, slowly turning to face me. “I don’t actually think we’ve had this talk.”

I snatch the keys from his fist and twist them in the lock.

The door creaks as it opens, and the smell of dust comes to greet my nose.

As I throw the keys back to Ronnie: “What talk?” I ask him.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I know you’re a dude, dude. But… Ladies? No ladies? Banana-milkshake?” Ronnie stuffs his hands into his pockets, “or is it just the tentacles?” He says.

I sigh. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

He chuckles. “Nope.”

My back hits the mattress of my temporary bed. I look to the ceiling. It’s partially covered with what I hope isn’t, yet probably is, mold.

Another sigh escapes past my lips. “Also,” I say, “I don’t know about the ladies. They look nice and all, but they’re also somewhat terrifying.”

Ronnie gulps. “Okay, yeah.” He crosses his arms and nods, “I can totally see that.”

I tilt my head to get a better view of his face. “Hey,” I say, voice low as parts of my bangs come to shield my eyes. “You look a little pale, you doing okay?”

Ronnie’s laughter grows awkward. “Actually…” He scratches the back of his head. The dumbest smile I’ve ever seen on him, tugs at his lips, as he says: “You know that birthday cake we ate?”

I raise a brow, ask him: “Yeah?” But at the same time, I also think: Shit, this can’t be good.

And it’s not, because he blurts: “I’m lactose intolerant.”

Well, fuck me sideways with a broomstick, this took a turn.

“I didn’t want to break the mood, and… I didn’t think one slice would do so much damage, but…” His stomach growls. His shoulders tense. “Um, I think I need to go to the bathroom,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Wait!” I lean against my elbow, push myself up and reach for him, but ultimately, I only manage to touch the air. “Do you need some help? Meds?” I ask him. “I could go fetch something in the lobby if you want.”

Ronnie covers his mouth. He nods and gives me a thumbs-up before running to the bathroom.

I hear him throw up, twice.

I walk over to him. His head has almost entirely disappeared into the toilet. I imagine it’s just about the same with his dignity, so I say nothing more than a simple: “I’ll be back.”

Stroking his back once, I step away and exit our room.