“Reasonable,” I say, cutting him off.
“Please just let someone take care of you.” In his voice, I hear pleading, but I don’t care. I won’t budge on this.
“I don’t need to be taken care of.” It’s almost like I say the words more to convince myself than him.
So when he goes silent for a moment, I don’t know if he believes me.
“I don’t want to make your day worse. We don’t need to argue,” he finally says.
“Great,” I say, not at all feeling that way.
I thought this was what I wanted, but I was also ready for him to bully me into it.
“Call me when you get home, love.”
“Okay.”
My dad walks back in. After handing the drink over to Nurse Rasheda, he comes over to me just in time for me to be done.
Once home, I send Callahan a text before going into my bathroom. Water, Gatorade, a blanket, and a pillow are waiting for me. Having taken the anti-nausea medicine they prescribed to me, I wait to see if it makes a difference. Stripping down to just my underwear, I lay down in preparation for the worst.
An hour of doom scrolling later, there is a knock on the door.
“I’m fine, Dad.” My stomach is starting to gurgle, and I can feel my mouth getting wetter in preparation, but so far, so good.
“It’s Callahan.”
I sit up and look at the door like it holds an explanation of why he is here, but there are just towels and dark wood.
“What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens the door and comes in with a bag of stuff.
“Seriously, what are you doing here?”
He still doesn’t answer, sliding onto the floor. I need him to tell me, because I would like to get down to it before I’m upchucking in the toilet.
“I’m here to take care of you.”
“Are you serious? I told you not to, and you agreed.”
He scoots closer to me. So I scoot as far from him as I can until I’m pressed against the toilet.
“I didn’t agree. I said we shouldn’t argue, because I knew I was coming no matter what.”
I’m about to argue now, but I have to turn around to throw up what I ate yesterday. He tries to grab my hair, but I swat him away.
“Leave,” I say into the bowl, the word loud and stern.
“No, Monty.”
“Callahan, I’m not playi—” I’m cut short by another spewing of my guts. This time, I can’t stop him from pulling my braids into his hand. The other one rubs my back, and the warm feel of his skin on mine soothes me, despite my best efforts to stay pissed.
The asshole made it so that I can’t even argue, waiting until I’m in the throes of the sickness. I just have to accept his presence while I go between drinking water and vomiting.
Unlike last time, I don’t talk to him, even though we spend hours in the bathroom together. When I end up feeling better sooner than I did last time, I pull out of his arms.
“I can’t believe you did that. This isn’t cute anymore. You don’t get to ignore what I want and do whatever you like.” I hate that I’m half naked while having this conversation with a throw-up taste in my mouth.
