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She shudders, pulling herself close to me and huddling against my warmth. The room is bitterly cold, and I can see that several of the windows are broken. She really made a mess out of this place in the few days I left her alone.
Jesus, never again.
She rubs the back of her neck, wincing and pulling her hand away. “I think I fell. I don’t know, but I was lightheaded and then I woke up to you.” She smiles. “My hero.”
I laugh in that sort of way like you’re about to cry, but I hold back the tears. I want to be strong for Taylor. I’m her hero now, after all.
“Come, we need to get you to a doctor,” I say, scooping her up in my arms. “You can’t stay here. It’s freezing.”
“Yeah, I was trying to cover the windows, but your pillows kept falling through them into the yard,” she says, her voice weak and raspy.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll have someone fix them,” I say, carrying her out of the room.
“I don’t need a doctor. I’m just hungry. Like, super hungry,” she says, her eyes growing large at the thought of food.
“I still want a doctor to look at you. Maybe you’d prefer to see one after you’ve eaten.”
She groans, snuggling into my chest and speaking into my shirt. “No doctors. I’m not sick, just starving.”
I don’t want to set her off again, so I don’t argue. I’m just glad that she’s here in my arms now. Even under the worst circumstances, having Taylor with me is better than being alone.
I take her to the dining room and order the chef to make us the soup that my grandmother used to cook when I got sick as a child. I remember once trying to get myself sick just so that she would make it for me, but it seems that the more you want something, the less likely it is to happen.
I hope that’s not the case with Taylor getting better. I can’t stand seeing her like this, and I blame myself for letting it get this bad. I should’ve known she’d be too stubborn to come out when she started feeling ill. She was willing to starve herself to death just to prove a point.
Point taken, but it’s not going to change what happened.
I seat her at the table and pull up a chair beside her, grabbing a bottle of mineral water and pouring her a glass.
“I hate this stuff,” she says, but she drinks it anyway.
I know she’s been living off tap water all week, and try as I might to fix what’s coming through the pipes, it still tastes like metal. Anything is better than that stuff.
She puts her glass down, grimacing and then looking over at me. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
I put my hand on top of hers, squeezing her cold fingers. “Don’t be sorry about anything. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Her dry lips turn up into a weak smile. “You’re sweet, even if you’re a horrible person.”
“Sweet to you, and horrible to everyone else,” I say with a grin.
She laughs. “I might be able to live with that.”
“I hope you can,” I reply, looking into her eyes and searching for validation. I need it after what we’ve been through.
Before either of us can say anything further, the waiter comes out with two hot bowls of soup and an entire loaf of sourdough bread. He lays it on the table and leaves quickly.
“Oh my god, that looks amazing. I’m going to get fat here,” Taylor says, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into her soup.
“You couldn’t get fat if you tried,” I reply.
She shoves the bread into her mouth and speaks with it still there. “Watch me.”
I would love to watch her eat, but I notice a long cut on her arm that I hadn’t seen before. I’m worried she’s been cutting herself on purpose, but it’s old enough to where it could’ve been sustained from her blind rage earlier in the week.
“What’s that from?” I ask, pointing with my spoon.
She looks at her arm and scoffs. “Oh, it was just the window. You know, the glass cut me when I was breaking it. It’s a little embarrassing, actually. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice it.”
