Present
When I open the door of the apartment, I can barely stand up, and my stomach is revolting against any movement.
“Cass, our reservation is for an hour from now. Why aren’t you dressed?” The tone of his voice is agitated as he brushes past me. He doesn’t even glance in my direction—if he had, he would have seen me stumble and put my hand against the wall for support.
“Seriously, Cassandra, we need to go or we will never make it on time.”
He finally swings around, looks up from his phone, and takes me in. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He grimaces but takes a hesitant step toward me, slightly reaching his hand in the direction of my forehead then pulling back just before he makes contact.
I wrap one arm around my middle. “I don’t feel very…” I can’t finish my sentence because I realize I need to make a mad dash for the bathroom. I need to get to the toilet because breakfast and lunch are about to make a reappearance. Richard jumps back as I run past him with both hands covering my mouth.
I barely reach the bathroom in time. Jesus, I want my mom right now. I’ve never been very good at being sick. I feel tears beneath my eyelids, on the brink of spilling over. The stress I feel in my stomach is painful. The tile floor feels cold and clammy, or maybe that’s me. Once I stop heaving, my head falls to my forearms, which I have folded over the toilet seat.
“Uh, Cassandra, are you okay?” Richard asks from the doorway. “Can…Can I get you anything?”
He hasn’t ever been very comforting in situations like this. Over the years in our relationship, I’ve learned a few things about Richard, one of them being that he doesn’t take care of sick people—not even the girl he says he has some sort of commitment to. This is huge—the fact that he’s standing this close to me, even though he’s still five feet away. I can’t open my eyes because the thought of moving them makes me nauseous, and I can only imagine what actually moving them would feel like. I really want him to come hold me, but I know that’s not an option. “A glass of water please.”
I’m not sure if he answered me or not. I don’t think I even register him leaving or coming back until I hear the clanking of the glass being placed down on the tile floor beside me. “Cassandra, I left a glass of water beside you…I’m going to go…I’m sorry, but I can’t get sick right now. There’s too much going on at work,” Richard mumbles from the doorway again.
I want to call him a fucking prick. I want to ask him if he’s fucking kidding, but instead, a low moan is all that leaves my mouth. “I’ll check on you later,” he tells me just before I hear his footsteps retreat from the bathroom and then the distant sound of the front door closing.
God only knows how much time passes before I open my eyes again. I’m only aware that I have emptied myself of what seems like two weeks’ worth of meals. I’m cold, and perspiration glistens across my skin. I’m lying on my side with my cheek to the floor, and everything hurts. My top is soaked through, and I need to get it off. Slowly, I begin to peel my shirt up my body, succeeding at getting one arm out before it falls limply to the floor. Another agonizing moan echoes through the bathroom. This is straight-up bullshit. I feel like I’m dying, and the guy who has supposedly cared for me for years left me on the bathroom floor, practically helpless. I reach for my waist of my skirt and slide it clumsily down my legs until it’s at my feet then gingerly kick my feet until I’m free. My shirt is still halfway on, but I can’t move quite yet. My limbs weigh a hundred pounds each, and the thought brings tears to my eyes. I couldn’t be any more pathetic.
Okay, maybe if I start calling for my mommy like I really want to then I may be more pathetic, but I won’t. I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman whose non-boyfriend left her alone on the floor of her best friend’s bathroom when she’s puking her brains out… Oh god, I’m so pitiful. Tears begin streaming down my face, creating a tiny puddle on the tile next to where my head lies. And now I’m crying. These tears are exactly why I hate being sick—it makes me vulnerable, and being vulnerable makes me emotional. I’m just going to close my eyes…then maybe all of this will go away.
“Cass! What in the hell?” a voice shouts, waking me from my haze. I try to open my eyes, but it seems impossible. A cold hand touches my forehead first, then my neck, arms, and face, gently but frantically. My eyes finally open enough for me to see Paxton kneeling over me, worry etched across his features. Before I can say anything, he’s lifting me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. “I’ve got you, Cass. I’m just going to lay you on the bed.” His voice sounds soft and soothing, and the worry I hear makes me want to start crying again, though for a different reason this time. “Jesus, Cassandra, you’re burning up.” His lips lightly touch the skin of my forehead then Paxton carefully sets me on the soft, plush mattress. “I’m going to get a wet cloth and some water.” He pauses, caressing my cheek softly, then continues, “And a trash can.”
Closing my eyes, I sigh in relief because this bed feels a hell of a lot better than the cold, hard tile floor of Laney’s bathroom. I don’t even care that its’s Paxton that’s here while I’m half naked, or that if I could actually open my eyes, they’d probably be all heart-shaped just thinking about the fact that he’s taking care of me. Oh, fuck! I can’t be sick. I don’t want him to see me this way—not Paxton. Anyone but Paxton.
“I’m going to sit you up.” His voice startles me awake. I hadn’t even realized I’d drifted back to sleep. “It’s just me,” he says softly. Carefully, he lifts me up so I can lean against the pillows. Paxton handles me in the most nurturing manner, and my eyes begin to sting again. I feel on the verge of death, and I can’t guard my heart. It’s just me—such a simple thing to say, but there is nothing “just” about Paxton Luke.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I do my best to take a sip. It’s cool to my tongue, and I’m filled with a small sense of relief. “Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper. I look at him for the first time since he picked me up off the floor, and he looks so…so…so Paxton. Effortlessly good-looking. Completely unaware. Utterly oblivious to the effect his presence has on the world around him. Without hesitating, I reach for his hand. I’m definitely not thinking clearly.
I catch him glancing down at my hand covering his before he moves to pick up the wet cloth he brought for me. My hand falls to the bed.
My eyes close of their own volition and everything fades into darkness.
When I come to again, I can feel the cool, damp cloth smooth over my skin. I release a quiet, appreciative sigh. “Welcome back.” I can hear the relief in his voice. “I’m going to let you get some sleep. Let’s leave the washcloth around your neck to cool you.” He starts to leave. My mouth is too dry to speak so instead, I reach out with every bit of energy I can muster and take hold of his wrist.
“Stay…” I croak. “Don’t leave me again.”
He stops and although I feel myself drifting back to sleep, I hear him say, “I won’t leave you.”
Pulling on his arm, I do my best to move over on the bed to make room for him. He follows my movements and lies down beside me then places the blanket at the end of the bed over me. He takes my hand in his and allows me to cradle our interlocked hands against my chest. I release a long sigh, and a hint of a smile touches my lips.
“I can’t lose you again.” My words are barely a whisper.
“Cass, what are you saying?” Paxton asks, sounding confused and concerned.
“Don’t leave. Sleep,” I say just before I drift off once again.