He sits up just enough for me to place the medicine in his mouth. I bring the bottle to his lips and he sucks some of it in before swallowing.
“Good,” I say. “Just a little bit more. Two more large gulps.”
He listens, then I set the drink on the nightstand. He lowers down on the pillow, his arms hanging by his side.
“Just try to get some sleep,” I say as I stand from the bed, but he grabs my hand.
“Don’t leave,” he says quietly, so quiet that my heart nearly breaks from the desperation in his voice.
“Keller—”
“Please,” he says.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my body screaming yes, my brain telling me not to fall for it, not to get caught up in this man all over again.
“Lilly,” he murmurs and fuck me, I can’t stand hearing his voice like this, like all of the wind has been sucked from his lungs and he won’t be able to go on without me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to block out the sound of his voice, but for the life of me, I can’t.
“Let me close the curtains first,” I reply, defeated. I move around the room, closing the curtains to cast the room into darkness. Then I move to my side of the bed and slip in. Immediately, he curls into me, his hand going directly under my shirt and straight to my stomach where he pulls me in close and just holds his warm palm to my skin.
I take a few deep breaths, calming my nerves, telling myself that this is just for comfort and nothing else. This doesn’t mean anything. He’s sick and needs this moment to get himself better.
You’re not letting him penetrate the wall you’ve put up around your heart.
You’re not going to let him hurt you again.
I bite my lower lip, steadying my trembling lip, as my eyes start to water. His head nuzzles into my hair, and he physically relaxes, as if my presence is all he needs to be better.
And I hate that.
I don’t want him to need me.
I don’t want to be the cure to his pain.
I don’t want to have this overwhelming sense to crawl right into his hold and never let him let me go.
Because he’s hurt me too many times.
But with every deep breath, every rise of his chest, my heart hammers harder and harder for him.
* * *
“How are you feeling?”I ask Keller as he shifts behind me.
I’m not sure how long we slept for, but now that he’s awake, I slowly slide away, his fingers dragging over my skin as I pull to the edge of the bed.
“Okay,” he mumbles in a gruff voice. But he doesn’t sound okay. He still sounds pained.
“You need to drink some more liquids,” I say as I hop off the bed. “Let me grab you some water. Can I get you anything to eat?”
“I can get it,” he says, starting to move.
“Keller, stop.” When he glances at me, his eyes so incredibly weathered, I can’t help but wonder, why? Why does he look so defeated? So worn out? “You’re not getting up. I’m grabbing some water.”
When in the kitchen, I grab a few bottles of water as well as some pretzels, in case he wants some food, and I bring them back to the bedroom where he sits up a little on the bed. I take a seat next to him, and I offer him the water, making sure to uncap it first. “Does your head still hurt?”
“Yeah,” he answers as he brings the water to his mouth and starts drinking.
