Pause

by CJ Adler

  Speaking of which, something catches Grey's eye as he picks up another coloring page. “Woah! Maybe I was wrong about you. Why didn't you show me this first?” he asks, pointing to the page of wildlife colored in.

  “Oh, that's just Oog's scraps. He did that in like two minutes. He just scribbles,” I tell him, Grey's mouth falling agape in shock.

  “The hobo did this?” he asks again, stunned to the core. “This is what you call art. Look at the shading. He's got some serious talent.”

  I shake my head, discouraging his lies before he gets Oog's hopes up. “No. He's terrible. It's just scribbles,” I argue, not wanting Oog to surpass me.

  “Anyway,” Grey drawls, turning to Jay, “the real reason I stopped by is to tell you that we're both in. Unfortunately, so is Xavier.”

  Jay freezes in disbelief. “That's great! Except the Xavier part,” he exclaims, a carefree smile spreading across his lips.

  “In for what?” I ask, clueless.

  “The championships in street racing,” Jay answers me absent-mindedly, his thoughts elsewhere, his mind now preoccupied.

  I know how hard they've both been working for this. A smile lights my face as I embrace the two on impulse, taking both by surprise with my own excitement.

  Grey's quick to shove me off of him. “If I've told you once, I've told you a billion times not to hug me!”

  “Yeah, you should stay away from him. You're still sick,” Jay reminds me just as I happen to cough.

  That's all it takes to set Grey off. “You're sick?! I've been hanging around you all day and you failed to mention that you're sick?! You're sick and you just hugged me?! I'm going to get infected! You should be in quarantine or something.

  You're an idiot, Lawson. I can't afford to get sick before championships. You've probably already spread all your disgusting 'Aqueela germs' on me! Gross! Gross! Gross!” He pats himself down as if to clean himself of me.

  I look to Jay for an explanation as to what is currently happening.

  “Grey's a germ freak. Big time.”

  And Jay's the clean freak, yet they still deny the obvious bromance here.

  “Relax. You won't get sick. I'm assuming you have a strong immune system,” I say, more for my sake than his. I don't want to die just yet.

  “You better hope so!” Grey calls over his shoulder before he slams the door shut after him once he's successfully stormed out of my house.

  As it turns out, I was mistaken about Grey having a strong immune system because at three a.m., the next morning, I get an unexpected phone call:

  “Lawson, you're dead.”

  Chapter 47

  One-on-One

  I call Grey back early the next morning (by that, I mean three o'clock in the morning). It's revenge. Yesterday, he called me up at three a.m. and I ended up hanging up on him. He was not very impressed, judging by all the colorful words he sent to me in a text message after I refused to answer any more of his calls. No one interrupts my sleep, not even Grey Ferrot.

  Thankfully, today I have off and I plan on spending the morning with him.

  “What in the hell—” I hear him cough, “do you want?!” he answers the call rudely.

  “Just calling to let you know that I'm coming over,” I tell him of my plans.

  He falls silent as if processing what I just said to him. There's another second of pure silence before he explodes on me. “Don't you dare come over, Lawson!” He roars as if the idea repulses him to no ends. “You'll make my suffering worse!”

  I laugh from my side of the line, refusing to take him seriously. “I'll be there in five.”

  “No! Don't you dare, Lawson! Do not come over!” he shouts at me, infuriated.

  I attempt to stifle my giggles but end up failing. Instead, I laugh aloud at his enthusiasm to see me.

  “Are you even listening?! This is no laughing matter. I'm dead serious. Don't you dare step foot near my house! I'll plant landmines to keep you out and hopefully blow you back to hell, where you came from—”

  “See you soon, Grey!” I cut him off in an excited chirp before hanging up on him.

  Sometime later…

  I check my watch to see that it's ten a.m. I lean over the stove to stir in the thick green mixture all the more. I have to get going soon. Grey's expecting me, well, I'd like to think he is.

  Out of nowhere, two strong arms come from behind and wrap around my waist tightly. I instantly relax and smile at his familiar touch.

  “What smells so disgusting?” Jay asks, sniffing the air. “Are you trying to make a potion again?”

  “Don't insult my cooking or I might just rethink this whole relationship thing,” I threaten teasingly.

  I feel him chuckle against me before he rests his chin on my shoulder to inspect the lumpy soup. “Looks revolting,” he mumbles, giving me a sheepish grin. “Although I'm sure Grey will love it,” he adds, selling his friend out.

  I frown. He's amazing at so many things and I can't do anything right.

  “What is it?” he asks wearily, placing a kiss on my cheek, clearly feeling guilty.

  “Soup,” I answer him in literal terms, avoiding the real question.

  He releases my waist before spinning me around to face him. He uses his free hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Are you okay?” I nod. “I should probably just stick to photography.”

  “Give yourself some credit, there's probably more that you're good at,” he says in an act to comfort me.

  “But not soup making?” I press, wanting his opinion.

  He shakes his head. “Aqueela, no offense, but is soup even supposed to smell this gross? Or look this green?” he asks with much caution as if to avoid getting clouted over the head.

  “I don't know. I just started mixing ingredients and concocted this thing,”

  I answer him truthfully, dipping a spoon back into the thick sludge. “Want to try some?” I offer, holding the spoon filled with green splodge out to him. “Maybe it tastes better than it looks.”

  He immediately shakes his head, a hesitant look to his blue eyes. “Yeah, I'm good thanks. I just ate.”

  I arch an eyebrow at him, perplexed. “But you just woke up,” I state, aware of the fact that he only now just showered and changed. He hasn't had time to have breakfast. “Please,” I beg, hopeful. “Just one spoon.”

  He glances down at my face before averting his eyes with a sigh. “Fine,” he agrees before his gaze settles on me again. “The things you make me do for you.”

  A bright, peppy grin lights up my face.

  He parts his lips. I don't waste time, I force the spoonful into his mouth before he can change his mind. I watch him carefully and take in all his obvious, horrified reactions. Still, he forces himself to swallow instead of spitting it out like I know he desperately wants to.

  I keep my eyes trained on his face, studying him, wondering if he'll tell me the truth or lie. It takes a moment for him to get the sludge down his throat before he forces a smile onto his lips, shooting me a thumbs-up as he tries to catch his breath again. “Delicious,” he croaks out.

  I shake my head at him, a small smile gracing my lips. “You're a terrible liar,” I state, still smiling.

  Exasperated, he confesses, “It's the worst thing I've ever tasted in my life,” he finally admits after some coaxing.

  “Ouch.” I feign hurt as I reach behind me and put the spoon back down on the counter, placing my hand over my chest. “Couldn't sugarcoat it, could you?” I kid. “You just broke my heart.”

  He narrows his gaze. “You said you wanted the truth,” he reminds me as he releases me completely, slightly upset about me saying that he broke my heart. He tries to hide it, well aware that I'm only teasing, but I'm still able to see the effect my words have on him. It's almost as if he believes he might someday.

  I open my mouth to ask him what's up but he's quick to speak first, dodging the question. “So, what is this soup for anyway?” He presses, changing the su
bject. “Is it really for Grey? Are you planning on killing him?”

  “It's for Grey,” I confirm. “He's been sick, as you know. I'm going around to visit him while you're at work,” I explain, feeling sorry for him; he even works on holidays. “Grey and I need some 'one-on-one' time to bond. He's your best friend and I'm your girlfriend. I should make an effort in getting him to tolerate me, forget like me.”

  Jay clears his throat impassively. “That's not a good idea. At all.”

  I glower up at him for that comment.

  “Look, it's Grey. He's not—”

  I cross my arms over my chest, unhappy with his suggestion to leave Grey be. For all I know, he's on his deathbed.

  “Fine.” He sighs. “Visit him, but just keep within his boundaries and don't cross them.”

  I nod, agreeing. “You got it, J-Bear.” I wink playfully.

  He shakes his head at me, a grin tugging at his lips. “Listen, I gotta run. Don't want to be late for work but enjoy. Try to come back to me alive.” He smiles, quickly lowering his head to mine as his soft, warm lips seal against my own.

  He pulls away from me all too quickly before he's off and out the front door without so much as a last glance.

  I stare longingly after him, an uncomfortable knot forming in my stomach. Something doesn't feel right.

  ***

  I stand on his doorstep, under the rain, and bang on the door repeatedly— the pot of soup under my free arm growing heavier with each passing second. “Hello! Hello! Hello?! Come on, Grey, I know you're in there!”

  I've been calling for ten minutes straight and still, there's no reply.

  I lift my fist to knock again when the door to his apartment suddenly opens. I blink up at him, meeting his gaze of gray. My extended arm falls limply to my side at the sight of him. Before me, stands a half-asleep Ferrot and this ferret is clearly sick. He looks terrible.

  It's eleven in the morning and I'm pretty sure he's just woken up. I get the vibe that he's the kind of guy who sleeps past midday before waking up, the nocturnal type, seeing as he races in the evenings. Then again, it might just be because he's sick.

  I scan his appearance again. His dark brown hair is a mess and not gelled up in his usual, spiky hairstyle. He's only wearing gray sweatpants. His nose is red and he has dark circles under his eyes—no doubt that he just woke up and dragged himself out of bed after having heard my incessant knocking.

  “Hey, stranger!” I chirp, greeting him.

  “Please let this just be a nightmare and not reality,” is the first words that come spilling out of his mouth at seeing me standing on his front doorstep drenched in rainwater.

  I throw my arms out, wide open, in pure excitement. “It's your lucky day,

  Ferrot, I'm really here!” I cheer, holding my arms out for a hug but knowing better. A hug is what got me here in the first place.

  Unfortunately, Grey doesn't seem to share my enthusiasm because, before

  I know it, his front door slams shut in my face.

  “Oh come on, Grey!” I shout from outside his house. “I'm cold, shivering, wet, frozen, etcetera! Need I go on?!”

  “Yes! Go on! Literally!” he shouts back from the other side of the door, making it known to me that he's listening to every word that I'm saying. “Be a stranger!”

  “Don't be like this! I made you soup.”

  There's a pause from the other side, almost as if he's contemplating something, before the door swings open again. He almost knocks me off of his step in the process. His eyes land on the heavy pot under my arm. “I've been wanting hot soup. This cold doesn't want to seem to pass,” he confesses, sheepish.

  I place my free hand on my hip. “So, are you going to invite me in then or what?” I ask in a diva-like tone.

  He rolls his eyes at me but opens the door wider and steps aside, allowing me entrance. “It's like inviting a vampire into my house,” he mutters under his breath.

  I ignore him and brush past him, easily locating his kitchen, my arms growing slack from holding the heavy pot.

  Grey sees my struggle. He's quick to remove the pot from my grip and place it on his kitchen countertop. He turns back to face me with his usual frown intact, the frown he reserves just for me. He pays me special attention, the bad kind. “You seriously have to stop paying me surprise visits. Call beforehand — still don't know how you got my number — so that I can bolt all my doors and windows first and then put in a restraining order against you.”

  “Oh, Grey—” I laugh at his blunt statement before making a suggestion, “—lighten up,” I advise. “Besides, I did call you beforehand this time,” I remind him.

  “Now shut up and be happy.”

  “How can I be happy when you're in my apartment?” he retorts back bitterly. He tears his gaze off of me and opens up the pot, the smelly waft of the green sludge filling his senses. He begins to cough in disgust as he glances down at the thick soup in distaste. “You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'm eating this. This soup doesn't even look remotely edible,” he points out bluntly.

  This guy has no filter on his mouth!

  I glare at him for his ungratefulness. I slaved over that stove for about ten minutes and this is the thanks I get. “Eat. It,” I command, emphasizing my words in a clipped tone.

  He narrows his dark eyes at me before refusing. “No. Way. In. Hell.”

  My stern facial expression breaks under his piercing gaze as I resort to pitiful begging. “Please, Grey.”

  “You eat some first then,” he challenges, a daring look to his dark eyes. When I pull a repulsed face, he acknowledges it straight away. “See. Even you won't eat this concoction from hell. It smells like feet and looks like toe jam. Did you add any frogs and boils to it? Funny, I didn't see you fly in with your broom and black cat.”

  “Don't eat it then!” I huff stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest in anger. “But a 'thank you' would have sufficed just fine.”

  “I was never taught to thank people for an attempt in murder,” he retorts back in sass.

  My mouth falls agape. “I never made the soup with the initial intent to kill you!” I correct his wrong assumptions before adding in a low mumble, “Although, maybe I should have.”

  “Whatever,” he mutters contemptuously before heading back to his room.

  I follow after him, relentless in my pursuit, taking note of how well-kept his home is. Grey's nineteen, a working student, and as far as I know, he lives with a housemate and depends solely on his racing money to pay for his half of the rent.

  I shake the thought and sneak into his room before he decides to slam the door shut in my face like he'd done earlier. He gives me a shirt seeing as mine is wet. His thoughtfulness takes me aback.

  I change and then return to his room to see study books and handwritten notes lying across his desk. “What is it that you're actually studying then, Grey?”

  “Chemical engineering.”

  Shocked would be the understatement of the century. I cock my head to the side in pure bewilderment. “You mean…you're…smart?”

  He scowls at me, obviously offended by my insinuation. “You made me out for an idiot then?”

  “Yes,” I answer truthfully, point-blank.

  He glares at me, not bothering with a response and instead falls into a wheezing fit, coughing his lungs out. Worried, I reach out to him. He dodges me, jumping back into his bed before covering himself under his blankets. “Can you go now? Can you go and be a stranger? I liked it better that way,” he says in a raspy voice.

  I put my foot down and shake my head, adamant. “No way, not after hearing that cough. You need me.” Friends take care of friends, even if said friends hate you.

  “I don't need anyone but myself!” he snaps at me before coughing again.

  I ignore his temper tantrum. Instead, I lean over him and rest my hand on his forehead.

  “Don't touch me!” he snaps again, swatting my hand away with brute force.


  “You're burning up. You've come down with a fever,” I inform him, pulling away from him completely. “I'm staying. I'm going to nurse you back to health.”

  “Stop being dramatic. I'm not dying, you complete and utter idiot,” he mutters under his breath in a clenched voice before his eyes shut closed on their own accord. He may not be dying but his resistance just did.

  I open his windows and curtains for some fresh air. I will not allow him to sleep in a dark room lacking oxygen and light. He stirs from his drowsy state when light suddenly floods his room. He can't bear to sleep without darkness.

  Yeah…and I'm the vampire.

  I give him some medicine before he falls asleep again. I literally don't move from his side for the next three hours. I keep myself preoccupied by playing Temple Run on my phone and texting Jay a million smiley faces for no apparent reason at all, to which he responds with a single heart – it's enough to make me smile.

  “Lawson, why are you really here?” Grey asks as he sits up and rubs at his eyes, still exhausted.

  “I'm here because you're my friend and you need me,” I explain it to him as if he's a mere toddler, incapable of understanding the meaning of friendship.

  “We're not friends and just because I'm sick doesn't mean I'm an idiot,” he says, sending me a tired, half-hearted glare before yawning.

  “Or does it?” I wink playfully at him before getting serious. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” he answers. “A lot better actually.”

  I let out a breath of relief at hearing that.

  He leans back against his headboard before settling his gaze on me. “How long have I been out?”

  “Three hours, going on four,” I answer nonchalantly.

  “You stayed here for me, for three hours?” he asks, stunned.

  “Four,” I correct him before smiling, “and of course,” I answer, shrugging—it's really not a big deal.

  He averts his eyes as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Thanks,” he whispers, the word almost inaudible. He really does not do well in receiving help from others.