Mom
Are you sure that’s the tone you want totake with me RN?
Trevor
…
Mom
That’s what I thought.
Mariah
Brooke is okay. She’s in good hands.
10
Brooke
Holy shit. I can breathe through my nose.
I pull in a lungful of air, appreciating the way it easily passes through my nasal passages. It’s one of those things you really don’t appreciate until you can’t do it.
Like making choices about your own life.
I shift around, testing the achiness that was the first indication I was getting sick. It’s still there, but not nearly as bad as it was when I called Titus to tell him I wouldn’t be coming into work.
“Ugh.” I groan, bringing one arm to rest across my eyes. “Titus is going to kill me.”
“He better not fucking try.”
Uhh…
Lifting the arm over my eyes, I peek around the room that isnotthe bedroom I’ve been sleeping in at Deidre’s. A foggy recollection worms through my brain. Memories of Tobias holding me. Helping me drink. Tucking me in and gently touching my face.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is filled with concern ashe comes into view, lowering to a crouch next to me. “You ready for something to drink?”
I run the tip of my tongue over my fuzzy teeth and grimace. “Maybe?”
I start to sit up, but before I can make much headway, Tobias’s strong arm is banded behind my back, angling me upright. His other hand brings the rim of a plastic bottle to my lips, tipping it back until the icy cool liquid inside teases against my tongue. It’s not super sweet, but still tastes so freaking good against my dry tongue. I swallow down a few greedy mouthfuls, but then Tobias pulls it away.
“Not too much until I know your stomach can handle it.” He gives me a grin. “Don’t want to have to hold your hair while you puke it all back up.”
I lick my lips, wanting every last bit of the cool liquid. “My hair’s already back.”
Tobias’s eyes skim across the messy bun hanging crookedly at the top of my head. “Barely.” He sets the drink down on the coffee table next to a box of tissues and a jar of weirdly shaped dog treats. “Come here.”
His long fingers dig into my bun, gently loosening the strands from the scrunchie holding it in place. Once it’s free, he begins raking through the waves, working out most of the tangles. It feels so good, my eyes slip closed. No one else has done my hair but a hairstylist since I was little, and this is totally different from the salon experience. It’s soothing. Relaxing.
Intimate.
My eyes snap open just as Tobias finishes wrapping a fresh bun into place.
“There you go.” He shifts away, getting to his feet. “How’s that drink sitting? You feeling okay?”
“I feel much better than I did this morning.” My eyes go to the closed blinds. Not even a little sunlight warms the wood or tries to peek between the slats. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to eat.” Tobias adjusts the rolled cuffs of his sleeves.
