“So, does it ever get any worse than this?”
I nodded. “Sometimes, but if I take my medication I’m okay. The fainting, that doesn’t always happen. I got too far to the brink and Tink wasn’t here to pull me back. That’s the only reason this all looks so bad. It’s not normally so dramatic of an occasion,” I assured.
Tudor rubbed his hands over his face and shaved head, and looked at me in deep regard. “I don’t like it, Sunshine.”
He crawled over me and laid down, staring straight up at the ceiling.
I shrugged. “It is what it is. As Ron Burgundy would say ‘It's part of my life!’"
He nodded, steadfastly solemn. Bloody hell, even Anchorman quotes were failing to raise a smile.
I shuffled closer, laying my head on his stomach. He tensed, arms levitating in the air, not sure where to put them or even if he should touch me. I didn’t care, he needed a bloody big hug. He wasn't dealing with this well, he was too intense, too fenced in.
He eventually held me in his arms. “As if I need one more reason to think about you. You're pretty much in every waking thought as it is. Now I can add worrying about this to the pile."
He sighed loudly. Bloody hell, the boy loved to brood, no wonder chicks went crazy for him! All sullen and dark – pass me a wet wipe!
“Hey, Tude?”
“Yeah?” he answered in a glum-sounding voice.
“…don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better,” I sang. “Nah na na nan a na naaa, Nah na na nan a na naaa, hey Tude!"
He giggled, actually girly-giggled. I loved the sound. I was bouncing lightly with the movement of his ridiculously ripped stomach.
“You’re such a dork!” He squeezed me tighter.
“Why thank you, Mr. Too-Cool-for-School.”
He was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke again. “It’s weird, you don’t know how true those lyrics are to me.”
I nodded my head in silence. I had nothing to say to that and he understood I would give no response. That kind of talk led us to bad places. We were strictly friends, as we had now agreed, who, granted, on occasion got a bit touchy-feely, a tad too flirty, a bit turbulent, but it was fine. We knew where we stood.
He tapped my arm. "Come on, let's call Tink before he flies back and castrates me. You need to sleep and get better. We’ll talk more when you’re stronger."
"Castrate you?" I mumbled, already dozing off, too comfortable on his lovely warm torso.
"Erm... yeah, he threatened me... again. I’ve never been challenged so much by such a small guy. He said if I didn't come here pronto he would cut my balls off, a threat he apparently learned from you?"
I nodded in confirmation. "Yup! You don't get brought up on a farm and not learn a thing or two about how to geld a stallion."
He shuddered. "Shit, remind me never to piss you off near a pair of shears!"
"Oh, I can do it with less than shears. A small pair of tweezers would do the trick. Now close that gaping mouth and grab my phone, and let’s call the big g*y queen before he gets his too-tight G-string in a twist!"
Chapter 17
I just called, to say…
Over the next two days, Tudor turned into a beefed-up version of Florence Nightingale. He gave me my tablets and kept me fed and watered. He even changed my sheets after I managed to sweat out nearly a gallon of water during the spike of my fever.
When I was feeling slightly better and I could once again manoeuvre, albeit slowly, he even helped me take a bath. He was a true gentleman and never once took advantage, much to my disappointment. I maintained my modesty by being tightly wrapped in a towel when he dropped me in the tub and once again when he helped me back out.
Tink was on the phone constantly. After speaking to him in depth the first night, he called every two hours for updates. It took a lot of persuasion on my part to stop him from flying back and cutting his vacation short. He cried and blamed himself for not being there, but Tudor and I assured him that I was doing better every hour and that he should take advantage of Vancouver while he could.
In true Tink fashion, he had emailed a PDF instruction list of how to care for me during one of my ‘Shit! Wilbur’s Hormones Have Gone Nuts!’ episodes, as he had so aptly named them, and insisted that Tudor send my temperature and heart rate readings to him frequently using the spreadsheet he had devised for emergency occasions.
Tudor had been a sweetheart through it all and, as promised, treated me like a close friend. He slept next to me in bed, but assured me it was only so he could keep an eye on me at all times. He would, on occasion, sneak over to my side of the bed and spoon, but, to save us from any awkwardness, I played possum. After all, we had agreed to be just friends. Plus, I liked him being wrapped around me – I was like the meat in his fajita!