Page 34 of Man Flu

Chapter Nine

Wednesday? Is that you? Or did I sleep until Saturday, maybe? Possibly? Please, let it be Saturday

WHY DOES MY FACE hurt? Why does it feel like I’m lying on sandpaper? With effort, I press my eyelids open, blinking a few times until the space in front of me becomes clear—dark and clear. Oh my God, what time is it? I’ve been asleep—on the cheap carpet Rick had to have—on my bedroom floor, the one good thing about throwing up on it. The door is only open a crack and … Cora! “Cora?” I belt out, sounding like I swallowed a sharp piece of metal. “Cora?” I don’t hear a thing. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I press myself up onto my knees. I’m still naked. What the hell kind of flu is this? Whatever it is, it’s been eight hours, and I’m done with it. “You hear that, you shitty old body? I’m done. Mess with me all you want, go ahead … try me.” I’m delirious to boot. I get to my feet, holding the blanket tightly around me, and I spot a shadow of folded clothes on my bed. He folded my clothes. I almost forgot.

I feel around the pile, easily finding a silk pair of panties draped over the top. Come on, really? He couldn’t at least hide them within the other clothes to make it look like he didn’t see them?

I slip them on and then find a raggedy shirt and sweats. I’m dressed quickly, considering my body ate every one of my organs today. “Cora?” I call again.

What time is it? It’s pitch black out. It must be late. Maybe Rick took her back. Why wouldn’t anyone have woken me up? Why did I fall asleep? That’s irresponsible. I was irresponsible today. I don’t like it. I didn’t even call work to let them know I wasn’t coming back for the afternoon. I’m sure it doesn’t look mildly weird at all that I took off with the temp and never returned.

Cora’s door is partially closed, and I poke my head inside, searching for her curly ponytail that would be hanging off the side of her bed if she were sleeping in it, which she is.

Thank goodness.

I take a step inside, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find Logan after everything he has done for me today, but there he is, sitting on the floor, leaning up against Cora’s bed, asleep, with Cora’s favorite book in hand.

Wow.

I tiptoe over to the bed and tighten the covers the way Cora likes, listening to her soft breaths whisper through her pursed lips.

“Hey,” Logan utters under his breath. “You okay?”

I smile warmly and nod my head toward the door, afraid of waking Cora up. If she’s up, she doesn’t go back to bed. It’s been her thing since she was an infant.

Logan and I make it out into the hall, and I close Cora’s door the rest of the way. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you did today,” I tell him.

He doesn’t respond. He just smiles. I don’t know what that means.

I never did shower again after the last time I projectile puked all over the place, so that’s probably why. I likely have vomit chunks hanging from my hair.

“I should get going,” he says.

“I should shower,” I reply.

“You should.” He laughs, but I sense it’s not as funny as he’s trying to pretend it is.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your day.” I feel like I owe him that since he doesn’t look too thrilled right now.

“Don’t apologize, please. I’m glad I was here to help, really.”

“I’m glad too,” I offer.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Enough to keep things under control here.”

“Good.”

We’re in my hall, the lights are dim, and the tension is high. What the hell happened while I was taking a nap?

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask because if I’m judging the look on his face correctly, I think he might leave the state by tomorrow morning.

“Goodnight,” he says in response.

“Okay.” I feel dumb, embarrassed—no, mortified. What is going on? Or, what did Cora tell him is probably the better question.