Chapter Forty
Fin
So it’s official. I have flu, or ratherI hadflu, and truly? I can see how it used to wipe whole populations out. In fact, for a day or so, I’d have happily held hands with the angel of death as a way out. And for a couple days following that, I’d have happily given him Rory, because,man, he’s such a pain!
Man flu-shman flu. I know what it feels like; I had the same!
I donotlike being his patient but like being his nurse even less. Yep, fully recovered now, Rory became ill next.
‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask, knocking lightly on the bathroom door.
‘The fucking will to live,’ comes Rory’s mournful response. ‘And some soup. Chicken.’ Despite his complaints, he must be feeling a little better, because he hasn’t eaten in a couple days. ‘And a hot toddy. Not with rum, with whisky.’
‘Is that wise with the medication you’re taking?’
‘What whisky will not cure—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ I reply, the sound of the shower drowning out the rest; I’ve heard this before.What whisky will not cure, there is no cure for. ‘Bloody Scots.’
I’ve stayed with Rory since that night; the night I fell into his arms and threw up over his shoes. He’d said he’d take me home—once Savannah was done eye-fucking him and once Beth’s store of eye daggers was used—only, when he saidhome, he apparently meant his. By the time we’d arrived at his apartment—sorry,penthouse—I was in no state to complain.Shivering, feverish, weak with stomach cramps, and a headache that made it hard to see straight.
To his credit, he’s taken very good care of me, even refusing to leave me long enough to go pick up some clothes from my flat. Which means I’m currently wearing a t-shirt I could camp out in and a pair of basketball shorts that look more like culottes.
He’d called a doctor and regulated meds, held my hair while I vomited, even though it made him green himself. He kept me hydrated and held me when I needed to standand he just... held me. For comfort.And I’ll never complain about that.
To begin with, I was too ill to argue. And afterwards, despite my best intentions, I wanted himinthe bed, rather than perched on the edge.I can’t help it. It’s like a compulsion.As I began to recover, Rory insisted on telling me about Beth. I hadn’t wanted to hear. No. That’s not true; I needed to know, in a sick sense ofwhat if. I human reaction, I think. And quite frankly, I’d needed some convincing, despite the raw anguish of his expression.
He said he knew she was lying that evening. That, given the circumstances he was brought into this world himself, he was always careful. That being rejected by your father is enough to make a man paranoid. That his first condom slip-up in many years of usage was with me.
Some of the other things he said were so outlandish, I didn’t believe him; not at first. Not until he’d showed me just a few from the couple thousand texts she’d sent.
Emails. The gay dating profile. The tracking app on his phone.
She sounds seriously unstable. But now she’s marrying someone else, and that’s a huge relief, to Rory. In his words,she’s someone else’s problem now.
The bathroom door opens, and out he strides.Washboard abs and a torso I’d like to wrap myself around.He looks lots better; a little thinner, still tired and slightly pale, but more like himself.
‘You’re my angel,’ he says, taking the hot drink from my hand. He smells divine; of expensive shower stuff, shaving cream and just Rory. And while he looks sexy in jeans, sophisticated in a suit... in pyjamas he looks divine. Navy cotton pants hang from lean hips as he rocks a torso that’s naked but for swirls of ink.
‘You shaved.’ My heart pitter-patters from his proximity, dipping with disappointment as he turns away. He pushes himself up against the padded headboard in a bedroom that would rival that of a five-star hotel, running his hand through his hair, which is shorter these days.
Bringing the drink to his nose, he looks almost blissful as he inhales.
Blissful for about five second, at least.
‘There’s no whisky in this.’
‘I know, but there’s lemon, ginger and—’
‘I didn’t ask for a bloody cocktail!’
‘I know what you asked for, and I know what you got.’ He’s a much better nurse than patient, but thankfully, his illness has been pretty short lived.Just as well.
‘What the f—why?’ He looks like a little boy who’d had his lollipop confiscated.
‘One, you’re pumped full of meds, and two, you didn’t offer me one when I was ill.’
‘I’d’ve risked the puking to give you one, believe me.’
