My stomach heaves again, and I’m not sure if it’s because I have the flu, or if I can’t stop thinking about the horrible things I said to Leo the other night. The horrible things we said to each other.
It’s clearly best that we don’t see each other again. Any relationship between us would be toxic.
I’m an idiot.
No it wouldn’t because he’s not really an asshole and I’m not really a bitch, we’re just two people who have baggage and don’t trust anyone.
More heaving.
Jesus, what is coming up? I haven’t eaten anything since dinner at Luke’s house on Saturday. There’s nothing left in me except my internal organs.
Although, I’m pretty sure I just threw up a kidney.
I wash my face and rinse out my mouth for the fortieth time today and look for a clean sleep shirt. I sleep in concert t-shirts. They’re soft and big and comfort me. And today I need a Nash shirt.
I may never see him again, but I want him wrapped around me.
I pull a large, grey t-shirt out of my drawer and slip it over my head. The band’s photo is on the front, Leo in the center. It’s been washed a millions times since I bought it during their first major tour, and it’s my favorite.
I slip into another pair of clean panties and move toward the bed when someone starts pounding on the door.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I pad through the apartment to the front door and open the door without looking through the peephole and almost pass out at the sight of Leo.
Leo.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as my stomach rolls again.
“You’re sick,” he murmurs and smiles hesitantly, like he doesn’t know how I’ll react, and then his eyes lower to my t-shirt and his smile widens.
It’s so fucking good to see him, but before I can say a word, my stomach heaves again. I throw my hand over my mouth and run for the bathroom.
There goes the other kidney.
I hear shuffling around in the kitchen and then in my hallway and briefly wonder what in the world he’s doing, but I throw up some more.
Finally, it stops, and I feel Leo move behind me and scoop my hair back and secure it into an elastic. He lays a cold cloth on my neck and rubs his big hand up and down my back.
“Are you okay?” He asks softly.
“It’s stopping,” I whisper. “I need the bed.”
“Come on, I’ll help.” He takes my hand to help me to my feet, stands guard while I rinse my mouth again, and then scoops me into his arms and heads for my bed.
“You shouldn’t be here, Leo. I’m a mess and I can’t talk to you when I’m like this.”
I rest my head on the soft cotton t-shirt on his shoulder and enjoy his warm, strong arms around me. He kisses my forehead and frowns down at me.
“Your temp is still high. Did you take some Tylenol?”
“I don’t have any,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed. I’m just so weak, I can’t keep my eyes open.
“I brought some.” He tucks me into the bed and leaves the room, returning quickly with a glass of water and pills. “Take these, and then I want to take your temp.”
I comply, too weak to argue. I should kick his ass out of here, but I’m too weak for that too.
He takes the water from me and sticks the thermometer into my mouth, sitting at my hip on the side of the bed. His fingers are trailing down my cheek and then my neck, softly, soothingly. He’ll put me to sleep.
God, I just want to sleep.
“One-oh-two,” he mutters and exhales deeply. “Too high, sunshine. The Tylenol should work. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours for more and to take your temp again.”
“Don’t need you to stay,” I whisper. “Don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I’m not leaving, and you’re too weak to kick my dumb ass out of here, so deal with it, sugar.” I feel his lips on my forehead again and then nothing as sleep finally claims me.
***
“Wake up, baby. Sam, wake up.” A cool cloth is being rubbed on my forehead and Leo’s smooth voice is calling to me. “Sam, I need you to take more medicine. Wake up.”
I open my eyes and there he is. He wasn’t a dream. His eyes look worried, and his hair is messier than usual.
He looks tired.
“What time is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“About two in the morning. Here, take these.” He hands me two small white pills and water and then takes my temp again. “One hundred even. It’s coming down.”
“I’m a sweaty mess,” I mutter in disgust.
“Do you want a shower?” He asks.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go.” He pulls the covers back and helps me to my feet, but I’m wobbly with weakness.