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He stands there for the longest time. I don’t look up. Not because I don’t want to, but because I know I can’t. All the desperation that’s locked up in me would spill out, and he’d see it and know I care too much.
I care too much. Maybe I really do.
I sit there feeling nauseated. I just watch the needle and the thread, and make the “e” in ‘bitterness.’ Until he kneels in front of me.
His hand comes over my knee, and I can feel his eyes on my face. “Cleo?”
God—I’ve really missed his normal voice. Not just his dirty whispers, but his real voice.
“Mmm?” I feel terrible for it, but I can’t look at him.
His hand squeezes my leg and tension builds between us. “I want to tell you something,” he says quietly.
“That’s new.” I can’t help it. I’m hurt.
“I want you to go after your... after you donate.” His voice is low and husky, making chills roll over my skin. “You’re giving me enough... you’ve been here long enough... you have your own life to get bac
k to. I know I... have to let you go.” The words are thick and soft. I feel a shot of hope. My heart pit-patters as his blue eyes come to mine. “I’m being selfish,” he confesses hoarsely. “It’s my default with you.”
I put my hoop on the table by the chair and reach for his handsome face. His eyes are full of pain. I lean in close because despite that, I feel the need to look at him. I want to kiss him, but at the last minute, I decide it feels better just to press my cheek against his.
“Kell...” My arm goes around his shoulders. “It’s not like that with us.”
He inhales, and I can tell it hurts his ribs because he also tenses. He presses his cheek gently against mine and wraps his right arm tight around my back.
“What is it like?” he whispers. “Tell me.”
I curl my hand around his nape and kiss him near his ear. “It’s like I really care about you. I love you... and I just want to be here with you. Close, so I can see you every day.”
He pulls away. His face looks anguished. “I feel like such a fucking bastard.”
“No.” I pull him back to me. “Why would you say that?”
I cup his head, and he lowers his forehead to my shoulder. His arm wraps back around me. I feel his fist clenched above my shoulder blade. “Everything I do will hurt you.” His voice shakes. “I make you go...” He shakes his head. “I love you, I’m a liability to you. I fucking hate myself.”
“You are not a liability.” He lifts his head at that, his blue eyes wide and pooling with emotion. Which gives me hope. He cares what I say here. I kiss his lips lightly. “I love you and I want you any way you are.”
His mouth tightens, as if my words hurt him. He hides his face back in my hair, and for a moment, I can feel him breathing hard.
“It’s gonna get worse,” he says in a broken voice. “You might... watch me die here. I don’t want that for you. Goddamn, Cleo. I want you to go. Just get as far from here as you can and don’t look back. If I come through—” he shakes his head, his forehead rocking on my shoulder. “You’re never gonna need this shit.”
He lifts his head. His are wide, intense. “Can you do that? Leave here after the donation?”
I smile sadly. “You know I can’t.” I drift my fingers along his collar bone on the side where he’s still bruised from the wreck. “I’ve got a total Heathcliff thing going for you.” I stroke his neck. “Now I know you know that. You’re English and finance, aren’t you? R. said he was an English major.”
He shuts his eyes. “Cleo, you aren’t Heathcliff. Don’t be. Please?” He peeks his eyes open and pulls me close enough to kiss me. But he doesn’t kiss me. His lips move against my chin, and I can smell the wintergreen mouth wash he’s been using. “You be Cathy. You be rational…and logical.” His voice is soft and low. I love the sound of it. The feel of his words against my jaw.
“You know I’m the one who got your blow-up palm tree, right? And the bubbles for when the marijuana tincture gets here and you’re high? I’m not logical. I don’t want to be.”
I squeeze him to me, nuzzling his scratchy cheek. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he’s looking rougeish. “Let’s lay down, okay?”
His eyes slip closed just for a second, then he nods. He reaches around me for the chair, and I step out of his way.
“Can I—” help, I’m going to ask. But he pulls himself up, wraps his hand around the IV pole, and steps over to the bed. I hang back and let him get settled on his own. It’s hard because I can tell he’s sore, and I feel so bad that I let him kneel there for so long.
When he’s lying on his not-sore side, I climb up behind him and snuggle up against his back.
Silence wraps its arms around us. I shut my eyes and focus on the heat of Kellan’s body. I promise myself he’ll be okay. All that stuff he said about me leaving... I tell myself it’s not some prescient feeling he’s having that things will go badly for him. He’s just showing me he loves me.
