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I hadn’t tried again since then.
“You could try again,” Taylor suggested in a softer voice. “Look, I know you think it was just a fluke, but I’ve never heard you talk that way about anyone. He made you happy, Rach. Even if it’s just for one night, I think he’s worth finding.”
“I don’t think I’m ever going to find him,” I admitted before setting my fry down and pushing my plate away. “Maybe I should stop looking.”
Taylor sighed. “I don’t think you should. Look, I’m going to be coming to town in a few weeks. I can help you look then if you want.”
“You’re the best, Taylor.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
As soon as I hung up, I stood up and took my plate back to the kitchen. The rest of the day went by in a rush of orders and cleaning tables. On my way home, I stopped to give my bag of food to a homeless man with rows of decaying yellow teeth in the park. I climbed up the stairs to my apartment and shoved the door open.
It creaked and groaned as I swung it shut.
Once I set my bag down, I saw the puddle of water on the ceiling and the water stains on the floor, and I frowned. Immediately, I hurried into the kitchen to get a bucket and a mop. My muscles screamed and ached when I crawled into bed a short while later, fully clothed and with my stomach growling.
Over the next few weeks, I did my best to forget about Bernard altogether.
Still, he came to me at night, and I saw him propped up on the hotel bed, a wicked smirk on his face. I saw him looming over me, holding himself still as he kissed me, his mouth strong and searing against mine. And I saw him as we moved together, kissing and biting until we were covered in sweat and desperate for each other.
I wanted to move on and forget about him, but I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to.
By the time Taylor came to visit a few weeks later, I was relieved.
We spent the first few days staying up late into the night, eating cheap Chinese food and giggling. In the mornings, while I went to work, Taylor stayed in my apartment and worked. By the fourth day, we had established a routine and steered clear of any mention of Bernard.
On the fifth day, after a long day at work, I came home smelling of oil and ash. I let my bag fall to the floor and stepped out of my shoes. Then I darted into the bathroom and emptied the contents of my stomach. Taylor rubbed my back and handed me a box of tissues when I was done. The next morning, I threw up the breakfast that Taylor had made.
I was bent over the toilet seat after another day of throwing up when Taylor came into the bathroom and knelt down in front of me. “You need to go to a doctor, Rach. It looks like you have some kind of flu.”
After flushing the toilet, I drew my knees up to my chest and pressed my back against the wall. “I can’t afford it.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Taylor offered gently. “But you can’t keep ignoring it and hoping it’ll go away. Whatever it is, it’s not going to.”
“You’re overreacting,” I muttered, squinting into the fluorescent lights above. “It’s probably just the flu.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Taylor replied before helping me to my feet. She half-carried and half-dragged me into my bedroom, where I fell face-first onto the mattress. Slowly, I curled onto my side and watched as she picked up several items of clothing off the floor and tossed them into the hamper. Then she drew the curtains shut and closed the closet doors.
“What would I do without you?”
Taylor stood in the doorway, dark hair piled on top of her head and her hazel eyes tight with worry. “Hopefully, you never have to find out.”
I fell asleep a few moments later.
When I woke up, there was a bowl of soup on my nightstand and ginger ale. I pushed away the bowl, downed the entire can of ginger ale, and pulled the covers up over my head. In the morning, Taylor shook me awake and waited for me toget dressed. In silence, we piled into a cab and settled in the backseat.
The doctor’s office was pristine with white tile floors, powder blue walls, and nurses and doctors in blue scrubs hurrying past in either direction. We were shown to a waiting room with an exam table, a desk, and two chairs opposite it. A window was propped open, letting in a warm breeze and overlooking a park with lush green foliage and kids running around.
I sat on the exam table and swung my legs back and forth. “You’re going to feel bad for overreacting.”
Taylor glanced up from her phone and gave me a small smile. “Deal.”
“Ms. Booth. I’m Doctor Perez.” He stepped into the room, in his white lab coat, with a stethoscope around his neck, and fixed his bright eyes on me. “We just got your blood results back. Thankfully, you don’t have any stomach issues.”
