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I sink back into the bed with a groan. “Like a bus ran me over and then decided to double back and do it again.”
A hand on my forehead was brushing the stray hair back, “If you can complain, then you’re obviously feeling better.”
His cool hand feels so good against my skin that in the haze that blankets me, I wish for a heartbeat that he can just stay like this.
However, reality isn’t something I can push away. I open my eyes again, and it shakes me to see the tender look in his eyes.
I don’t know what to do with that.
I don’t know what to do with him taking care of me.
How am I supposed to interpret this situation?
His clothes are the same ones he had on when he walked into my apartment two days ago. He didn’t bother to change. Looks like he didn’t leave my side at all.
“Were you here the whole time?” I find the words leaving my lips.
“Of course.” Zayn watches me before leaning back.
“Why?”
The silence is long and drawn out before he finally says, “You’re not ready to hear my answer yet, Eve.” He then moves closer to me and my breath hitches before he tucks the blanket around me, murmuring, “You were crying in your sleep. And you said a lot of things.”
I stiffen. “That was the fever talking.”
Zayn doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Who’s Thomas?”
The blood drains from my face. “No one.”
He smiles, such a gentle look, and yet the carefully controlled menace laced in his tone doesn’t slip by me as he strokes my sweat-damped hair back. “I’ll find out eventually, Eve. All these secrets that you’re so determined to hide from me. I’ll unwrap them one by one, and if this Thomas is the person who hurt you, he’s going to pay dearly for it.”
His lips press against my forehead, and my body shudders at the thrill that shoots inside me at the contact, and the fear that Zayn doesn’t make promises he doesn’t intend to keep.
I am not ready to have my life laid bare before him, yet.
“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost hypnotic. He reaches out and grasps my hand. “I’ve got you. I’m watching over you. Sleep.”
I want to snarl at him at the implied expectation that I will obey his command and yet the rebellious side of me is tainted with exhaustion as well and grousing in the back of my mind. I try to ignore how safe I feel in the knowledge that Zayn is right next to me.
I don’t want to analyze this feeling.
My mind grows foggy, comforted by the larger hand grasping my slender one, and I mutter, “By the way.”
I feel his hand tightening on mine in question.
“I’m not fat.”
A deep-throated chuckle, and Zayn’s smooth voice hinting at delight, “What you are is gorgeous.”
“Damn right,” I mumble, half asleep, the pull of oblivion too powerful for me to resist.
The next time I come to, I am clearer headed, and the fever has broken. This time, Zayn is nowhere to be found. His shoes are on the floor next to the bed, so I know he is around.
I sit up, feeling more like myself.
The echoes of pain in my body still remain but as I let my feet dangle from the side of my bed, I ignore them and try to think of how much damage I did.
Zayn stayed here to look after me.
