So I kiss him. It’s slow, tender. Not quite an acquiescence but maybe something close. “Take me home, Benjamin.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers.
When we get back to my apartment, the lights are perfectly dim. Ben ushers me to my couch, surrounding me with piles of blankets and pillows. He lets Ernest out and then walks over to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. “Music or TV?” he asks when he delivers the steaming mug to my little nest.
“TV, please.”
Ernest jumps onto the couch with me when he’s been let back in. I expect Ben to leave, but he surprises me by sitting on the ground in front of me, his focus on the new puzzle I laid out yesterday.
He doesn’t say anything else, but he’s here with me. And that’s more than I could ever bring myself to ask of him. I snuggle in, getting comfortable. So much so, I drift off into one of the best naps of my life.
I wake up an undetermined amount of time later, confused about why I’m moving. I’m hot again, plastered against something… no, someone. Cracking an eye open, I see that I’m moving through my hallway toward the bedroom. Well, being carried through my hallway by Ben’s strong, capable arms.
“Go back to sleep, Red,” he whispers against my temple. When I ignore his instructions and look up at him, I see he’s put on his reading glasses and his hair is more rumpled than usual.
“I like the glasses,” I murmur sleepily. I feel his chest rumble in response.
“I think you made yourself sick, Colette.”
I start to shake my head but fuck, that hurts. Maybe he’s right. I scowl. He’s been right too much lately, I need to figure out a way to remedy that.
“Head hurts. Pain meds in the bathroom cabinet.” He nods, placing me delicately on my bed before fetching some medicine.
The bed dips as he sits next to me. I curl toward him, now fully aware that I’m very feverish. Cold then hot, head pounding. A general desire to keel over.
“Open up.” Ben taps lightly under my chin. I push up to a seated position and take the proffered pills and glass of water. “All because you had to hide your hickey,” he admonishes.
“That’s not how sickness works.”
My eyes are closed, but I can feel his shrug. “That’s what I’m blaming this on. Next time, just wear the ring and show off the hickey.”
“Aye-aye.”
“Oh my God,” he whispers. “Are you agreeing with me? You must be sicker than I thought you were.”
“I am really fucking sick in the head, obviously. That’s why I haven’t kicked you out yet.”
He hums, standing up. I miss his proximity instantly.
“Wait,” I mutter.
His chuckle sounds distant. “I’m not leaving, Red. Be right back.”
There’s a distinct possibility that I drift off before he returns, but I’m awoken by a cool washcloth being placed across my forehead. It feels really, really nice. Both the washcloth and being taken care of.
He comes around to the other side of the bed, and I can hear him shucking clothes off before he slides under the covers next to me.
“You’re staying?”
“Of course I’m staying, Colette.”
He’s quiet for a long time, rubbing reassuring circles on my back. It feels good… it feels right.
Right before I fall back into blissful oblivion, I hear his deep voice say, “I’m staying as long as you’ll let me.”
I might have been imagining it.
I’m probably imagining it.
