“I’m right here.” I could just see the shape of her arm reaching out. Her hand found mine, and our fingers tangled. She was still so hot to the touch; a flash of worry coursed through me. What if the fever didn’t break? What if I wasn’t helping her?
“I’m sorry about today. I’m sorry I’m so, so much.” Her voice, slurry with sleep, caught in her throat.
“Mari.” Anger swelled in me at whoever had made her feel that way. I knelt next to the bed and brushed her hair from her face. I was surprised to feel the dampness of a tear on her cheek. “You aren’t too much.”
“I am. I know I am. But I can usually handle things myself. I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in it all. I’m sorry I got sick. I’m sorry I’m so upset now. I’m?—”
“Shh. Stop. You haven’t done anything wrong. People get sick. People need help sometimes.”
She didn’t respond but attempted to stifle a sniffle. Mari never shared this side of herself. Usually too strong and motivated, full of energy and life, to be so fragile and scared. Later, she might laugh at how a virus brought her down, but right now, nothing was funny about her fear. I would have done anything to take away her pain.
I stood when she reached out for me.
“Wait. Don’t go. I’m so tired of being alone.” She said it so quietly I almost missed it. I heard the desperation and vulnerability behind it. I shut my eyes, swallowing with effort. I knew what that confession cost her. I understood too well how it felt, claiming to want that utter solitude but knowing it crushed like a physical weight in the dark of night.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
I walked around to the other side of the bed, shucked off my shoes and a few layers, then opened the blanket and got in. The heat from her was like afurnace, yet her body was subtly vibrating with shivers and possibly overwrought emotions.
Without hesitation, I pulled her to me and endured the heat as her muscles relaxed and her shivers stopped. Eventually, her breathing evened out, and the tension eased from my clenched jaw.
I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I woke up with a start, we were face-to-face. She blinked dreamily at me. She had the comforter covering her mouth, so in the soft light, only her eyes were visible, glassy, and not quite back to normal. But maybe better?
“I’m alive,” she whispered.
“I did tell you.”
She clucked her tongue at being wrong. Her gaze traveled around as much as it could without her moving her head. “This is unusual. Nice but weird.”
Should I have not stayed here? Had I assumed too much? Maybe I should have sat in the chair and stood on guard. But the bed was so comfy...
“What?” I asked tentatively.
“Being taken care of. I forgot how nice it can be.”
This family of hers wasn’t much like a family at all. Who did she have? Who would she accept?
“It shouldn’t be unusual. You should have people lining up to take care of you,” I said.
I heard the sigh from under the blankets. How could her own family leave her all alone? Weren’t they worried about her at all?
“You should go. I don’t want to get you sick.” Her words came out muffled from behind the comforter.
“I’m telling you, immunity is my superpower.”
“Good album name.” Her eyes creased with a smile.
My heart beat like it was hit with one powerful thump on the bass drum. “Joking at a time like this.”
She blinked. Then blinked again, only this time her eyes remained shut.
I pushed the hair from her forehead. She was clammy and not back to normal temperature. “Mari? Don’t fall asleep yet. We need to take another dose.”
“Boo,” she moaned with eyes still shut.
She sat up and let me administer the medicine before falling back to be re-tucked in. I studied her, features melting into relaxation as she went back to sleep. It was too easy to take care of her. It was as natural as finding the tempo. I needed to get out of here and into my own space to remember that this was not real.
I snuck out of the room and went to the kitchen. Janice was just coming home. It was the middle of the night. My mother really did have a vibrant social life.
