And then I finally walked out.
Two days later, I wake up with a sore throat and a fever.
I take three tests—they’re all negative but who the fuck knows? They’ve been lying around here for, what? A year? Isn’t there an expiration date on these fuckers?
The anxiety’s choking me. I feel sick, and my pulse is going a mile a minute. I wash my hands until they’re red. It doesn’t help. It’s too late, I’m already sick. Fuck!
I dig through my medicine drawer, coming up empty. I’ve run out of tests. I clench my fists, trying to get my breathing under control, and then I call Seth.
“Yo,” he drawls, sounding like he’s still asleep.
“Can you get me a test?” I rush out.
“What?”
“Can you—” I take a breath. “I need a test, Seth. I’m all out. Can you go buy me a test and bring it here?”
“What are you talking about? What te—are you sick?”
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing. “I woke up with a fever, and my throat is fucking killing me, and I need a test, Seth. Can you please—”
“Yeah, okay. Okay. I’ll be right there!”
I don’t know how much time passes, but I’m sweating and cold, and my hands are shaking when I crack open the door, leaving only three inches for Seth to hand me the bag.
“Hey,” he says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know. You should leave. Thanks!” I take the bag from him, and close the door.
I take all four tests he bought me—they’re negative too, but the feeling in my stomach isn’t going anywhere. Fuck!
All because of a fucking bachelor party. I knew it! I fucking knew it.
I said I didn’t want to go, and look what fucking happened.
I’m never leaving my house again.
36
Seth
Kaden’sbeenhomefromwork all week. And he won’t let anyone come see him.
It’s not COVID, it’s just a cold, but he’s been manic. I’ve been over a few times, but he only takes the bags of food and closes the door before I can say anything. And that won’t do.
It’s Friday, and I’m done with my last customer early afternoon, so I clean up and hurry home. I take a quick shower, get dressed and then I make a pit stop at Trader Joe’s, picking up all of his favorite food and snacks.
He opens the door in sweats and a Henley, looking freshly showered, but sporting huge, dark circles under his eyes.
“Hey, babe.” I tilt my head, going for a cautious smile.
“Sup?”
“Brought you some food,” I say, holding the bag up. “You hungry?”
“Thanks,” he says. I step into his apartment before he can take the bag from me and shut me out.
I help him put the groceries away before we make it over to his couch and he goes to lie down.
