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I answer as best I can, but it’s mostly Caleb who’s taking charge. Normally I’d resent his interference, but right now it’s saving me from the painful effort of holding a lucid conversation and making good decisions for myself.
The doctor agrees I have a concussion. As far as I can tell, he isn’t too worried, but he wants to take a scan of my head to make sure there’s no serious damage.
I say yes because Caleb’s expression makes it clear that’s the only answer he’ll tolerate. I doubt I would have said no anyway. Medical expenses aren’t a concern of mine, and I try not to make foolish decisions based on a petty, mindless resistance to authority.
Caleb might be bossy, but it doesn’t mean he’s not right.
The scan reveals there’s no worrisome damage, so we just need to take care of the concussion for the next couple of days. Caleb is to make sure I can regularly wake up from sleep and that I can eat and talk and function like normal.
It sounds easy enough to me.
It’s been about three hours when I’m discharged. I feel quite a bit better now, although my head is still aching. I can probably walk on my own, but Caleb puts his arm around me anyway so I can lean on him.
So judge me if you must. But I don’t pull away.
When we get home, Caleb helps me change into one of my pajama sets. I’m sure I could do it on my own, but he doesn’t ask. He simply begins to help me, and I don’t see much reason to stop him. He sees me in my bra, but he keeps his gaze away from my chest level. Then I turn my back to him to take it off and pull on a tank top.
I go to the bathroom, wash up, brush my teeth, and splash water on my face. Then I braid my hair into two plaits to keep it out of the way but not poke into my scalp the way ponytails always do.
When I come out, Caleb is waiting. He’s turned down the covers of my bed and gotten me a glass of water.
“Thank you,” I tell him, climbing in.
I’m glad he’s here. This whole thing would have been a lot worse without him.
“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”
“No. I think I’m okay. I’m just going to listen to music and close my eyes.”
“Okay. But I’m going to wake you up every hour like the doctor said. Try not to get mad at me.” His face is a little softer than it’s been since Saturday night. It makes my heart clench slightly.
“I’ll get mad at you if you deserve it.”
He huffs with what sounds like amusement. “Yes, you will. But I’ll be waking you up anyway.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
He frowns, standing beside the bed and gazing down at me. “For what?”
“What do you mean, for what? For helping me. You really helped me. Thank you.”
He nods slightly, barely more than an incline of his head. “You’re welcome.”
I still feel like shit as I close my eyes, but better because I know Caleb is still there, looking out for me.
* * *
The night isn’t all that great. Every time it feels like I really get to sleep, there’s Caleb, shaking me awake and making me talk to him and follow a small flashlight with my eyes.
I do as he says each time, but I can’t promise I don’t sound kind of grumpy.
My moods have never fazed him in the slightest. It’s long past time when he should be off duty, but it’s always him who wakes me up. And once when I wake up terribly thirsty and lift my head in the dark to look for my water, he’s suddenly by my bed, moving the water into my hand so I can sip it.
When I close my eyes, I’m warmed by the thought that he must be sitting in the pretty turquoise slipper chair in the corner of my bedroom. How else would he know I needed water?
In the morning, Caleb makes me get up—something I really don’t feel like doing—and even worse, makes me take a shower.
I’m actually feeling better today. The headache and dizziness are gone. I mostly feel unusually weak and sleepy. But that doesn’t mean I want to take a shower at eight o’clock in the morning.
