Romeo:Please.
There's a long pause, and then:Fine. Give me an hour.
I spend that hour in a coffee shop three blocks from campus, staring at my phone like I can will it to ring through sheer forceof desperation. The barista keeps glancing at me with concern, probably because I look like exactly what I am—a man who's coming apart at the seams. One who hasn't slept in days and is holding onto his sanity by the thinnest of threads.
When Luca finally calls, I answer before the first ring finishes. "Well?"
"She's there. Got a glimpse of her through the window. She looks like she's sleeping. She looks like she’s just sick.”
I almost drop the phone. "What do you mean, sick? What's wrong with her?"
Luca sounds mildly exasperated. "I don't know, I'm not a doctor. But she's pale, and she looks like she's been throwing up. There's a trash can next to the bed." He pauses. "Look, I think she just has the flu or something. But she's alone, and she looks pretty miserable."
"I'm going over there."
"Romeo, she told you to leave her alone?—"
"I don't care what she told me." I'm already heading for the door. "She's sick, and she's alone. I'm not going to just sit here and do nothing."
"This is a bad idea."
"Everything I do is a bad idea according to you." I'm walking fast now, weaving through the midday crowds with my phone pressed to my ear. "But I'm going anyway. You can either help me or get out of my way."
He sighs, and I can hear the resignation in it. "What do you need?"
"Soup. Medicine. Whatever you think someone with the flu needs. Bring it to her apartment in twenty minutes."
"You're going to show up at her door with soup and medicine like some kind of?—"
"Like someone who cares about her. Yes. That's exactly what I'm going to do."
I hang up before he can argue further. I'm half-running now, my heart pounding. She's sick. She's alone. She needs someone to take care of her, and I don't care if she told me to leave, I don't care if this is crossing another line in a series of lines I've already obliterated. I'm going to her. I'm going to make sure she's okay, and maybe—maybe this is the chance I need to show her that I'm not just the obsessive asshole who stole her birth control and came inside her without permission.
Maybe I can be the person who takes care of her when she needs it, who shows up when everyone else has abandoned her.
Maybe I can be the man she deserves, even if I have no idea how to be that person.
—
Luca meetsme with the soup and medicine, handing them off before I go up to her door. I knock, but there’s no answer.
I knock again, harder this time. "Savannah? It's me. I know you're in there."
Still nothing.
Then I hear movement inside—slow, shuffling footsteps that sound nothing like her usual graceful stride. The door opens a crack, and she's there.
Luca was right—she looks terrible. Her skin is pale and clammy, her hair is tangled, and she's wearing an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, and when she sees me, her expression cycles through confusion, anger, and then exhausted resignation.
"What are you doing here?" Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.
"You missed class. I was worried." I'm trying to keep my voice calm. "Can I come in?"
"Romeo, I told you?—"
"I know what you told me. But you're sick, and you're alone, and I'm not going to just leave you like this." I hold up the bag in my hand. "I have soup and medicine. Please. Just let me help."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I can see her trying to decide whether to slam the door in my face or let me in. Finally, she steps back, and I take it as the invitation it is, slipping inside before she can change her mind.
