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“You have to take them,” he says. He holds them out to me again.
“Nuh-uh,” I grunt at him, turning my face farther away. “They’re too big.”
“That’s what she said too,” he mutters. Then he laughs to himself and walks back to the kitchen. A minute later, he’s handing me two pills that have been cut into pieces. I hold out my hand so he can lay them in my palm. One by one, I drop the pieces on my tongue and take a sip after each one. They feel like shards of glass going down, but I need them. I ache all over.
He looks at me like he’s examining me. “How long have you been sick?”
“I woke up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck.” I kick the covers down to my feet, suddenly hot again, not even thinking that I’m wearing nothing but a Lake Fisher t-shirt and panties. His eyes glance down and then quickly back up.
“Why didn’t you come and get me?”
He brushes my hair back from my forehead, and I preen like a cat, pushing against his palm. He very lightly starts to drag his fingertips across the feverish skin under my bangs, and it feels so good.
“You had Mitchell,” I remind him.
“So your staying away was just because you were sick?” he asks. I open my eyes and find him staring down at me, his gaze open and trusting, but wary.
I nod even though that hurts too. “What else would it be?”
“I thought maybe after last night…”
“No, I had planned to come and see you guys today. I just couldn’t make it.”
I roll over onto my stomach and shift one leg to the side, trying to get comfortable. I feel my panties ride up into my butt crack, but I’m just too sick to care.
I don’t complain when I feel his fingertips grab the hem of my panties and pull them out of my butt so that I’m fully covered. “Thank you,” I murmur.
He chuckles. “I live to serve,” he replies. He lifts the sheet from the foot of the bed and covers me up to my waist. “What can I get you?”
“Nuffin’,” I mutter into my pillow.
“I’m going to run home and get my book, and then I’ll be back, okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “You can go. I don’t want you to get sick too.”
“Give me five minutes. I’ll be right back.”
I wake up a few hours later, and I find him lying next to me on the queen-size bed. He’s on the outside of the covers while I’m on the inside. He has one arm behind his head and a book lies open, upside down, on his chest. A small lamp burns on the bedside table. His mouth is open a little, and tiny snoring sounds come from his nose.
He jerks awake when I move. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m sick.” I try to get up, but my body hurts too bad, so I just moan as I roll onto my back.
“What can I do for you?”
“Nothing.” My voice is not more than a whisper. That’s because it hurts to talk. It hurts to breathe, too, but I’m doing it. Out of necessity.
“It’s time for more meds.” He sits up and drops his feet to the floor. I see his shoes sitting next to the wall. “Do you want me to cut them up again?”
“Only if you want me to take them.”
He chuckles as he goes to the kitchen, and he comes back a minute later with a fresh glass of purple juice and some more pain relievers.
I take them from him. “How long has it been since I took the last ones?”
“About three hours, but when I called your grandmother she said I could alternate the two different kinds I bought, and you would feel better.”
“You talked to Gran?” I take the pill pieces from him and drop them onto my tongue one by one, then swallow them quickly.
