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"Fine."
"Fine people don't faint."
"You don't know." I'm being stubborn and I know it. "I was tired. It must've been almost three in the morning."
His exasperation hangs in the air for a moment. "You do it every day, Rissie. You're telling me you faint every day after work?"
This isn't going well for me. "What's your point?"
"You should've let me take you to get checked out before." Guilt cracks his voice. "I should've made you go."
I don't have the energy to argue with him. I just want to close my eyes and fall asleep for a hundred years. The doctor was right; I haven't really been eating and drinking enough water. It's a little embarrassing to admit that I've been scrimping and saving. Pouring every dime into the club, for months, so that I feel like even money for the cheapest meal food could pay for nicer napkins or better straws,
You fainted in front of Matthias and now you're lying in his bed. I think being worried about being embarrassed is far gone.That bitch in my head never takes a day off, does she.
"I'll just lay here for a few minutes, and then I'll be on my way," I say, closing my eyes, laying back against the pillow.
"You're going to stay here until you feel better and I don't want to fucking talk about it." He looks agitated. Like he has the audacity to be pissed atmefor not wanting to be a burden to him.
Owing Matthias for anything doesn't sit well with me.
We don't talk for a few minutes. Me because the pounding in my head feels like it is playing a Strauss waltz on my optic nerve; Matthias probably because he's trying to figure out what we can argue about next.
A soft knock on the door interrupts our silence and he gets up to answer it. There's a rattling and a few murmurs and then the door closes.
Something weighs on the bed and out of pure curiosity, I open my eyes. Matthias has put down a silver tray next to me on the bed and is pouring something out of the teapot into a cup. Seeing it dislodges a painful memory from the past. The fine bone china tea set with this robin's egg wheat pattern was designed just for the Baxter family byAnnette by Baxter, the china and porcelain manufacturing business started by Matthias's great grandmother. Only a direct descendant of the Baxter line can own the tea set. Damien had a set too. And when I left, I smashed every last item. Not that it mattered. He could just get another set out of the family vault. But it was strangely satisfying.
The fragrance wafting from the cup is warming, a soft but permeating spice, with a touch of lavender. I don't recognize it. And that's hard for an Englishwoman to admit. Tea is my only luxury. And when I packed up my things, I took as many clothes as I could shove into my suitcases and three canisters of Harney & Sons Assam tea from my father's kitchen.
Matthias walks around the bed, the cup and saucer in his hands. Concern clouds his eyes. "Um." He looks down at his hands, over at me and then back at his hands. "Can you hold the saucer, or should I get you a mug?"
His thoughtfulness is touching. "I can hold it, thank you."
"Are you sure?" I look up to see if he's mocking me, but his eyes are open, genuine.
I just hold out my hand and take the saucer from him, concentrating to make sure my hand doesn't shake. "This smells amazing. What is it?"
"It's—" he starts and then closes his mouth. "It's a tea I found in an Asian tea shop. It's chrysanthemum, lavender and nutmeg. It should help your headache while we wait for the meds. And maybe help you sleep a little."
It surprises me that he has this concoction, but I think he might be right, even the scent wafting up my nose is already working its magic in my lungs. I take a little sip, the hot tea burning, momentarily helping to distract me from the other pains in my body.
"It's good?" Matthias asks. And I look down to see my cup is already empty.
He takes the cup from me, and I try to ignore the way he doesn't react when our fingers touch. He pours me another cup and holds it out to me, but I gesture to the nightstand next to me.
We sit in silence again. I don't know what he's thinking, but if it's anything like the thoughts running through my head, any minute now, he's going to get up out of his chair and make a run for it.
"Where's your apartment?" he asks when I open my eyes. "I'll have someone go grab some things for you over there."
The warmth that had spread through my body has instantly cooled.
He continues, "I know you don't want to stay here and I don't want to stress you out by talking about that right now. But you might feel more comfortable if you had your own clothes. I've put some t-shirts and tracks pants on that chair for you. But... I have a feeling they might not fit on you.
"Um." No matter what... he can never, ever know where I'm living right now.Never.So, I do the only thing I can think of... I redirect him. Leaning back on the pillows, I drape my hand over my head. "I really need to get some sleep. Do you mind if I just close my eyes for a few minutes?"
"Of course," he stands. I'm not lying, but somehow it still feels deceitful. "I'm in the bedroom right next door. Just get me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all."
I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod.
