With shaky, hesitant hands, I reach up to my scalp but stop, not wanting to feel bald spots. Instead, I grab my favorite hoodie—the huge UNC one—from the dresser and pull it on, hood up. I take two seconds to gather myself before walking out of the bedroom.
My eyes shoot to my vintage clock on the bookshelves, and I see it's half past seven. I’m surprised. Usually, my body's internal clock wakes me up a little before six, and I'll just lie there till my alarm goes off.
When I look through the peephole, I suck in a breath. Callum stands there, knocking frantically with worry on his face. Iunlock and open the door. Callum visibly sighs with relief when he sees me.
"Sophie. Hey." His voice is a little breathless; his shoulders visibly drop, and his whole body relaxes. He’s dressed in a grey t-shirt stretched across his shoulders and—good lord—bunched around his biceps. He wears dark jeans, brown boots, and holds his cellphone and a tote bag.
He looks good, really good, and I...don't.
I make sure my hood is still covering my hair and try to smile, "Hi."
"Hi. I know I'm early, but I've been texting and calling. Is everything okay?"
"Uh, y-yeah," I stutter, eyes dropping to the ground with what I hope is a casual shrug. "Sorry. My phone died, and I forgot to charge it. Just went right to sleep when I got home last night."
When I glance back up, Callum frowns, his warm brown eyes narrowed in concern.
He shakes his head and gently murmurs, "You don't seem okay, Sophie."
I don't like how exposed I feel under his gaze right now. I've always been good at hiding my feelings when needed, putting on a brave face. I suppose it's because no one, besides Tess, really cared how I felt when I was a kid. My parents barely acknowledged my presence, let alone my feelings.
The way Callum can just clearly see that I'm having a tough time is unnerving, but also...
Well, it's just so nice to be seen.
That someone actually sees that I'm struggling, despite how hard I'm trying to hide it, and chooses to look twice because they care.
Half of me wants tolet goand tell him every terrifying thought and feeling swirling inside me right now. I want to tell him about the nightmares, the fear, and the anxiety. I want toreally cry—not alone—but cry so he can hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay, even if it’s a lie. I want to tell Callum that I’m terrified of dying when my life has only just begun this last month.
But, I'm still scared. Callum has been the first steady thing I've been able to hold onto through my world getting turned upside down. What if he doesn't stay? What if he decides it's just not worth it—that I'm not worth it.
I wasn't worth it for someone I devoted six years of my life to, so how could I be to someone I've known for less than six weeks?
Shaking my head and painting on a cheery face, I tell him. "I'm fine! Really. I got really nauseous on the walk over last night... that's why I couldn't come. I think I'm still feeling a little shaky. I'm better now!"
Callum's brows remain furrowed, but he still nods, accepting my white lie.
It is true, I did get nauseous, just... not completely from the chemo.
This is why Callum is here: it's my second chemo appointment this morning at nine.
"I just need to shower and change, and we can go. Come in," I step back, and Callum steps inside my apartment, his broad shoulders almost brushing the doorframe.
I can't help but notice how that sends a flutter in my belly—my gentle giant.I guide him further into my apartment and quickly look around, making sure everything looks tidy. He's started walking me up to my door when he's dropped me off after hanging out, but he’s never been inside before.
There are a couple of dishes in the sink from yesterday before I left for book club, and my orange throw blanket is tossed over the couch instead of folded, but other than that, it looks good.
Not that I really think Callum would judge me for a mess, but I like keeping my space clean and organized.
"Are you hungry?" I ask him, heading into the kitchen to grab a glass of water so I can take my medication.
"No, I already ate. Thank you." Callum shakes his head, but his eyes scan the apartment with a smile on his face. "I like your place, Sophie."
"Oh, thank you," I say with a smile, preening a little at his compliment.
Grabbing my pink pill box of anti-nausea medication from the counter, I pop one into my mouth and swallow it with water. The two boxes in the corner of the living room catch my eye, reminding me that I still need to take them to the donation center. I found more of Paul's things while deep cleaning—mostly clothes and shoes, and some sports memorabilia.
If he hasn't picked them up by now, he probably doesn't want them, and I definitely don't either. I'm already annoyed that I'm the one who has to deal with it. Communication with him will remain firmly closed forever if I get my wish.
