Speaking of the LD, they paid for a part-time nurse who stayed with me while Jordan was at work. Jordan insisted on a woman, and it would have made me laugh if it didn’t make me mad. That little weasel thought he had the right to be jealous. He had no right.None.
Those first days at his place were the worst. The dinners were filled with awkward silences. The mumbled good mornings and good nights were hilarious. I avoided Jordan as much as I could and spent most of the time in my bedroom, but I had to eat, too. We lived on takeaway food because he didn’t know how to cook, and I wasn’t strong enough to do it. I tried to be as independent as possible, using the crutches whenever I could. Going to the toilet was doable. Showering, not so much.
Jordan helped me with that particular activity. It started with him standing outside the shower, but after I fell, it ended with him showering with me. Boxers on, dignity off. No amount of shampoo in the eyes stung as much as his presence. No amount of hot water made my face burn like the sight of his half-naked body next to mine. I was careful not to look at him, and I didn’t let him touch me without gloves. Also, he was washing only parts of me, like legs and feet… just the areas that required bending, which could make me lose my balance. Still, he was there, and I was there, in that minuscule space filled with heat and steam. Things were bound to happen. When I got my first erection, my humiliation was complete. The fact that he had one too didn’t matter. I was mortified. Still, like in prison, we had our routine. He would check on me every morning before going to work. He would bring us food after coming home in the afternoon. A mumbled “hi” would precede the awkward dinner, which preceded the embarrassing shower time. I pretended not to seehis erection, and he pretended not to see mine, but we knew.We knew.
I thought it couldn’t get any worse until the first time I caught him ogling me. It made me mad, but I pretended not to notice it because I didn’t want to talk to him, not even to argue with him. In the beginning, he was trying to hide the ogling part, but after a while, it turned into blatant staring. By then, he was doing it on purpose. He was tired of my ignoring him. He was tired of awkward, silent dinners. He wanted me to lose my composure. When his hand started to linger too long in certain places, I started washing my legs myself. I couldn’t watch him on his knees in front of me anymore. I couldn’t bear him “accidentally” brushing his erection against me. It was as if he was daring me to either punch him or fuck him, and I was dying to do both. On the plus side, I was able to sleep. Even with him in the room next to mine, I could sleep, because it was enough that I knew he was there.
It took us a few weeks to say something more to each other than “please” and “thank you”. It began with Jordan sharing news from work and how the hunt for Crusher was going. The awkward silences turned into stilted, short conversations, which gradually became longer ones. Impersonal things like food, weather, and work were the conversation starters. Speaking of food, I was sick and tired of takeaway garbage. The mere mention of pizza made me vomit. The mere sight of a burger made me gag. It was when I decided to try cooking. I was used to the crutches by then, which meant I was more mobile. My strength returned, if not increased, because the muscles in my arms worked overtime. Jordan was not happy.
“Have you lost your mind?” he exclaimed one day when he came home and found me making an omelet. “Get into bed right now!”
“I’m making us eggs,” I said dryly. “Not beef Wellington.”
“I don’t care,” Jordan growled, depositing the food container on the table. The smell told me it was fries and hot dogs.
“Keep those fries away from me,” I said, pointing a wooden spoon at him. “Throw them in a trash can, or out of the window. Give them to the homeless. I don’t care what you do with them, but we’re eating eggs today, and that’s that.”
“At least let me watch you do it,” Jordan whined, accepting defeat. “I want to learn how to cook so I can do it instead of you.”
“You know how to make an omelet, Jordan.”
“Barely.”
“Besides, you have to work, which means I’m the cook in this partnership.”
When he said nothing, I looked at him, only to see a wide smile on his face, and it was the first one in weeks. I felt like smiling too, but I chose not to because he didn’t deserve it. I was still mad at him. The pain in my chest was still present, if only simmering lately. Still, I taught him how to make an omelet—a proper one. After the omelet, it was pasta and risotto. The following week, we even made beef Wellington.
One evening, we ended up watching a movie together after dinner. It was the first time I chose not to go to my room because I was tired of the old routine. I was tired of awkward, silent dinners. I was tired of pushing him away. I was tired of being unhappy. After all, in a few weeks, they would be taking off my cast, and this little arrangement would be over. Why not add a little civility to the mix?
So, when Jordan fell asleep with his head on my shoulder, I let him stay there. It reminded me of the first time I fell asleep next to him while we were driving to Grangetown. So many things happened after that… some that I wished to forget, and some that were too precious to forget. It was only when the movie ended, and I turned off the TV that Jordan woke up. Heraised his head and gave me a sleepy look when his eyes widened in alarm.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, pulling away abruptly when he realized he was using me as a pillow. “I didn’t mean to... You should have woken me up.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine, Jordan. You have been washing my ass for the past few weeks. This doesn’t matter.”
My words made him smile. “I have, haven’t I? It slipped my mind.”
“Considering the way you were ogling it, doubtful.”
His smile widened, bursting across his face like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“Does that mean I’m an acceptable roomie?” he joked.
“You’re alright,” I grumbled. “Maybe we’ll even make a cook out of you. The naughty nurse part needs more work, though.”
Jordan chuckled. “I’m doing my best with what I have been given.”
The conversation sounded light, but his eyes betrayed him. The need I could see in them was raw and unfiltered. Was this flirting? If it was, then it was another first, because I’d never flirted with anyone before. I didn’t mean to flirt with him either, but I was tired, and my control slipped for a moment in time. When I saw the remorse replacing the heat in his eyes, my smile fell.
“Adam, I’m so sorry about everything,” Jordan said as I reached for the crutches and stood up.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I murmured, limping away.
“We can’t keep doing this forever. We need to talk.”
I could hear him standing up, but I wouldn’t turn around.
“Adam, please. We—”
