Torture to Her Soul(29)

I lean against the doorframe, unable to sustain all my weight on my tired legs, as I watch her. I need some energy back, and I need it back quick. Just staggering here took it all out of me. A few grocery bags surround her on the floor that she digs through, pulling things out to put away. Her earbuds are in her ears, the faint sound of music reaching me.#p#分页标题#e#
I wonder what she's listening to, but I don't ever ask.
She takes a fresh box of Cocoa Puffs and reaches up on her tiptoes to shove it onto the top of a cabinet. Her shirt rides up as she does, my eyes drawn to the sliver of exposed skin. She can be self-conscious about her body sometimes, especially when she catches me watching her, tugging fabric to cover up places she doesn't want me to look. It's senseless, though, because I know every inch of her.
I memorized every curve and crevice, every scar and scratch marking her skin. It's unforgettable, the dimples on the small of her back, the ridges of her ribcage when she's stretched out straight, the strain of her fingers when they clutch onto me, the curl of her toes when pleasure overwhelms her. She's perfectly imperfect, down to the scattering of freckles along her back and dotting her flushed cheeks.
Everything about her is beautiful to me.
Even when she's scowling, when she's angry and full of hate. She's beautiful when she cries, when she's in the throes of grief. She's beautiful when she smiles, when she laughs at me. But she's the most beautiful when she's doing nothing. When she thinks nobody's looking, when she thinks she's alone. Her walls are down, her defenses off, and the real Karissa shines through. She's pensive and passive, a calm breeze in the middle of a storm that somehow pacifies me. She gets lost somewhere up in that head of hers, and as much as I hate when she overthinks things, she's goddamn beautiful when she does it.
If I were hard pressed to explain why I fell in love with her, that would be my answer. Because she's beautiful. And I don't mean it in a superficial way. You're not going to find her on the cover of a magazine. She's more the kind you find at a museum, on a painting or in a piece of literature. Her beauty is in her soul.
She has enough of that for both of us.
Karissa drops down flat on her feet and turns back to the bags, jumping when she catches me standing here. She yanks the earbuds out, the music growing a little louder, as she lets out a gasp. "Jesus, you're practically an invalid and you still sneak up on me!"
"An invalid?" I raise an eyebrow at her. "Are you calling me worthless?"
"Well…" She gives me a playful smile as she steps toward me. "If the shoe fits."
"I'm wounded."
"You are," she points out, motioning toward my side. Her expression shifts the closer she gets to me, worry lining her face. The tranquility fades as once more turmoil takes over. Pausing in front of me, she reaches up and cups my cheek. "You're sweating like crazy, Naz. What are you doing standing here?"
"Thinking about how beautiful you are."
It's the truth.
That's exactly what I was doing.
I don't think I've told her that enough.
She rolls her eyes, the flush on her cheeks deepening, as she reaches up to feel my forehead. "You've got to have a fever."
Grasping her wrist, I pull her hand away from me and shake my head. "I'm fine."
"So you keep saying." She steps back and hesitates before walking over to where her purse sits on the counter. She searches through it for a moment, pulling out two orange pill bottles, and turns back to me. "I went and got your prescriptions filled, grabbed some other stuff while I was waiting for them. I didn't know what kind of health insurance you had…"
"I don't have any."
She looks genuinely surprised. "None?"
"No."
"You should really have some."
"Do you have health insurance?"
She doesn't. I know she doesn't. Her shake of the head doesn't surprise me a bit. Insurance means records, which means a trail of paperwork that can lead someone straight to you.
"Well, I don't need any," I say. "My doctor takes cash payments instead."
"Anyway," she says, disregarding my statement as she holds up the pill bottles. "I went ahead and just paid full price for them, you know, since I didn't know if you had any coverage, and I didn't want to wake you up to ask."
"I appreciate it, but you shouldn't have bothered," I say. "I have no plans to take them."
Her expression falls quickly as she looks between the pill and me. "If you're worried… I mean, if you think I messed with them, I swear I didn't. You can count the pills… check them. You'll see."
"It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't like being medicated."
"But you need them," she says, shaking the pill bottles at me. "Ones an antibiotic. You don't want to get any sicker. And the other's just for the pain. I know you have to be in pain."