by J. Benson
He laughed. "Sorry. Just that you were taking to me earlier and you turned out to be asleep..."
"I don't talk in my sleep." I said surely.
"Yes, you do." He smirked. "We held a full conversation before I realized you were still sleeping."
"Then what did I say?" I was almost afraid to ask that.
"Something about Hemingway was out to get you or something? It was completely absurd."
I groaned weakly. "How long have you been here?"
"All afternoon." He replied. "I didn't think it was wise for you to wake up alone. You took a bunch of anti-nausea pills and were pretty out of it. I practically had to carry you up the stairs... you wanted to sleep on the kitchen floor." He smiled again. "I called your grandmother, and she's going to try and make it home. They were supposed to see some ballet tonight, her seniors group, and she's worried about the weather.... I promised to take care of you until she got here." He winked.
I closed my eyes to hide my already rolling eyes. "That's nice of you... but you don't have to... I can take care of myself."
"That's alright. I don't mind." He offered. "Just call me Nurse Taylor."
I laughed dryly. "It suits you. You just need a paper hat and a nurse's smock..."
He smiled. "See? I think that's pushing it... but that's just my opinion. But who knows, maybe I can make a nurses' uniform look sexy..."
I opened my eyes again and studied his face carefully. "What about your dentist appointment?"
"I called to cancel." He replied.
"You shouldn't have done that..." I murmured, though there was a part of me that was a little happy about it.
"It's okay. It's not like it was an emergency or anything. My teeth are fine and I got another appointment for later in the week."
"You don't have to do this..." I began.
"You keep saying that," He smiled warmly. "But I really don't mind. What are friends for?"
"What if one of your guy friends was throwing up everywhere, would you be doing this?"
Taylor paused and considered this. "Well, okay. I do this for all of my cute friends." He clarified.
I pushed myself up on my elbows. "I am not-" I began, but suddenly stopped myself. I glanced down at my pajamas, which I didn't remember putting on. "Did you..." I began, motioning to my tank top. My pale arms seemed thinner than usual and more naked than I was comfortable with.
"No, no." he laughed. "You did. Tore your clothes off in the living room in full view of me, I might add. You're not ashamed are you?"
I groaned and dropped my body back onto the pillows. I was sure my face was red because I was mortified.
"I didn't look." He added with a shrug as if women ripped their clothes off in front of him all of the time. "I figured you wouldn't want me to look.... You were pretty high."
I sighed. "Thank you... that's decent of you. Anyone else would have... looked." I felt my face start to turn a brighter shade of red.
"No problem. But no guarantees for next time." He teased.
I felt like adding that there wouldn't be a next time, but didn't want to start a fight when he was being so sweet. It actually seemed like we were getting along for once.
"Want me to make you some tea?" He offered. "It might help your stomach."
I nodded. "I'll come down with you, though... I want to get out of bed while I can."
"Is that a good idea?" He asked, his brow knitting together. "Maybe you should rest. You don't want to push yourself."
I was already pushing back the blankets and sitting up.
"Okay, if it's what you want." He offered, standing.
I followed him to my feet and leaned against the desk chair for support. "What were you doing? Watching me sleep?"
He laughed. "No... Although that was a little entertaining... I finished 'The Sun Also Rises' and played a few hands of solitaire on your computer." He shrugged.
"Oh," I replied, lowering my feet to the floor.
"Were you expecting me to admit to a panty raid or something?" He laughed.
"Admit to it, no. But I will be doing a count a little later..." I spoke slyly.
He laughed harder as I regained my balance and led the way toward the kitchen.
I stumbled a couple of times walking down the stairs; my limbs still partially asleep from the medications I had taken. Taylor reached out and with one hand hoisted me up by the elbow as if I weighed nothing at all.
"Jeeze," he teased. "Have you been secretly drinking or what?"
"I don't drink." I mumbled, pulling my arm free. I had to lean on the banister to steady myself.
"That's funny. Me either." He smirked. "I don't see the point in getting loaded. It’s fun for a while, then you wake up with a massive headache and a list of things you regret doing."
"Right, Mr. High School doesn't drink? What will the other popular kids think?" I taunted.
"Popular kid? That's how you see me?" He asked, following me into the kitchen.
"Well that's what you are, isn't it?" I challenged.
"No... I mean, I guess I have a lot of friends and... What?" He asked, noticing the doubtful expression I was giving him.
"I think that's the definition of popularity, isn't it?" I asked reaching down two mugs from the cupboard. I had to lean on the counter to support most of my weight.
"Well, then why don't you join us? You can sit with us at lunch. I'm sure no one will mind. And once people get to know you, they'll start to like you. I swear, they're not all that bad."
I rolled my eyes. "No way."
"Come on, they might actually like you if you gave them a chance. Here, let me do that." He took the kettle from my hands and crossed the kitchen to the sink to fill it with water.
"I can't." I muttered. "I don't really feel like having this conversation right now..." The more I was standing, the more I started to feel sick to my stomach. The dizziness was slowly returning and I crossed the room to the small table in the corner. I sat down heavily on the chair.
"You don't feel like having this conversation or you don't want to?" He asked, turning on the stove.
"Both." I said coldly.
He sighed irritably. "I keep trying to reach out to you here, and you keep pushing me away! What the hell do you want me to do here? Just when I feel like I'm getting closer to you, you push me further away." He snapped. "Tell me what you want me to do?"
"You can stop trying." I said evenly.
"See? This is exactly what I mean!" He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Five minutes ago we were having a normal conversation, and now you're... you're... pushing me away!"
My stomach was already flipping; tossing and turning like a violent hurricane. I sighed and dropped my head into my hands. "I think maybe you should leave."
"No." He said firmly.
I glanced up at him, and he shook his head for good measure. "I'm not going anywhere this time. You're not going to push me away." He insisted.
"Fine, then I'll go." I pushed myself up from the table and started out of the kitchen. My knees were weak and I stumbled immediately. He caught me in the middle of the kitchen. He grasped my arm tightly and whirled me around to face him. "Emma, talk to me." He insisted.
This sudden movement didn't help my stomach.
He bent and his lips drew nearer to mine, but I instantly covered his mouth with my hand. "No!"
"What?" He asked, muffled behind my hand.
"I'm sick. I don't know if I'm contagious or not!" It wasn't the entire reason I didn't want him kissing me.
He practically shoved my hand away. "I don't care." He muttered, and his fingers lightly brushed my cheek.
I could feel the bile rise in my throat, and as his lips neared mine, I lurched forward and vomited violently; narrowly missing his feet.
Chapter 21:
The Kissing Disease
"So I hear you threw up all over Taylor." Was the first thing my grandmother said to me when I came to on the sofa. I was very happy to see her f
ace. Even in the worst of times she exuded serenity. And I hoped against all odds that Taylor had left and Grandma and I were alone. Just for the sake of what little dignity I had remaining.
I didn't remember falling asleep or moving onto the sofa. I did however remember throwing up and my tough conversation with Taylor. I groaned, and tried to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight coming through the windows. Of course it was sunny now, when I wasn't trying to walk home.
"Is he still here?" I grumbled.
"No, I sent him home for dinner some time ago. How are you feeling?" Grandma was at my side with a mug of tea. The smell of it sent my stomach rolling again.
"Sick." I replied, motioning the tea away and covering my mouth.
Grandma took the hint. "What kind of sick? Just an upset stomach, or a headache and nausea too?"
"A little of all three." I replied evenly.
"Oh. So then it's not the mono then? You know... the kissing disease..."
"Oh gross!" I cried. I was usually comfortable sharing anything with my grandmother, but I entirely didn't feel comfortable discussing this.
"What?" My grandmother asked innocently. "I've just noticed that Taylor has been hanging around quite a bit..."
"We're not... I mean, we aren't..." I sighed. "It's complicated. Taylor and I aren't together. Half the time I can hardly stand to be in the same room as him... and besides, he's kind of sort of dating the school bitch..."
"Okay... but he's a very nice boy. And handsome too, I don't see why..."
I groaned.
"I know, I know... it’s complicated." My grandmother finished, as if she could read my mind. "I'm just saying that he's a very nice boy. And he's been very good to you. He stuck by your side until I got home; wanting to be sure you were okay. I may just be an old lady, but I think he likes you. And from the looks of it, I think he likes you more than you like him." She mused.
I swallowed hard, which was a mistake. The taste in my mouth was completely unpleasant.
"You look very green, Emma." My grandmother placed a hand flat on my forehead. "And you're on fire... I'm worried. Let me take you to the emergency room. I really think you should see a doctor." She bargained.
"No, I think I'm okay now..." I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but the slight movement made me nauseous. I dropped back against the arm of the sofa and covered my head and eyes with my hands. I groaned. "Alright, you'd better take me in then."
"Okay." Grandma sprang into action. "I'll get your coat and shoes, there's no time for you to change into your regular clothes..."
I sighed. "Hopefully I don't get sick in your car..." I mused, making a second attempt to sit upright.
Grandma froze and considered this for a moment. "Perhaps we'll take your car then." She mused.
The doctors in the emergency room had given me heavy medications to settle my stomach and I was beginning to feel slightly better. They insisted on bed rest and I could barely even get up to use the washroom without my grandmother knocking gently on the door to see if I was alright.
I loved her dearly, and I was glad she was so concerned, but I hated to be in the way. She canceled her weekly activities which ranged from line dancing, to bridge games and even a trip to the casino to see an Elvis impersonator, all because of me.
I was starting to feel even more in the way than I already was. I was starting to feel like a complete burden, like I had burst into her life unexpectedly and now she was rearranging her entire schedule to accommodate me. I felt like the worst grandchild in the world. But that feeling could be easily dispelled by the incredible boredom I was feeling.
I watched television for a bit and grandma and I played a few rounds of cribbage--I lost almost every hand--but even that held no interest for me. I soon found myself lying in bed again, simply staring out the window.
I was starting to miss school, which at first had been a major perk of being sick.
I sighed and wished I had a book to read, but I had already finished every book in my tiny little library. I desperately needed to go to a bookstore, but I didn't have the strength to venture out of the house.
I heard a soft knock at the door, and I bid the guest entry, praying it wasn't my grandmother with more homemade chicken soup. I loved her dearly, but the soup was too strong and salty for my taste. I ate the soup anyway to be polite, insisting that it was the most amazing soup I'd ever eaten. But I didn't want my grandmother to keep fussing over me.
Instead of my grandmother, a shaggy blond head bobbed into the open doorway.
I rolled my eyes. This was even worse than salty soup. It was Taylor.
"Hey," He said softly. "You're awake."
"I think so." I replied. If I wasn't awake, this was a horrible nightmare.
"I brought you your homework." He smiled and crossed the room. He placed my books on the desk next to my computer and pulled the desk chair closer to the bed. He plopped down on the chair and leaned toward me.
"Great. Thanks." I spoke in a tone oozing with sarcasm.
To my surprise, he grinned. "I figured that you would be ecstatic to have your homework. So I only brought your English homework, because you said you liked English. And I figured it might be nice to have something to read...."
"Thank you." I replied, surprised he remembered.
"We're studying Tennyson."
"God, I hate Tennyson." I groaned.
He smirked. "Me too. “The Lady of Shallot"? I mean, what the hell is that about? I mean, who writes a poem about potatoes anyway?" He scoffed.
"Onions." I corrected. "Shallots are a variety of onion." I laughed softly. "Actually, I think that's the one poem I can actually stand of his..." I mused.
"Oh... I'll have to take another look at it." He smiled. "Are you feeling any better?"
I nodded slowly. "Listen, Taylor... about the other day... I feel horrible for it."
"Don't worry." He grinned. "You missed me... barely. And I hate to say it, but I've been puked on by cute girls before. My little sister used to throw up on me all the time."
I sighed, rolling my eyes. But I couldn't hide a smile. "It's not just that. I mean, it is. I am sorry that I almost threw up on you. But me being miserable and throwing up near you when you were kind enough to stay with me and make sure I got home okay and everything... It was all very sweet. And I don't think I deserve the kindness you've shown me. Especially after being a bitch to you almost the entire time we've known each other." I trailed off. "I owe you one. I owe you for staying with me and making sure I didn't die. And also for not telling anyone... hopefully?" I asked hopefully.
He smiled slightly.
"Seriously, I'm willing to trade a life time of servitude in exchange for your silence. Please don't tell anyone." I begged.
He smiled further; grinning at me with what I hoped wasn't an evil smile, although I couldn't exactly be sure.
"What?" I demanded in confusion, pushing myself into a sitting position.
"I don't want servitude." He smiled. "There is one thing you could give me, though. I haven't told anyone yet. But I could easily tell the whole school..." He trailed off, examining his nails with disinterest. I knew he was doing this for my benefit and to make me feel uneasy.
I was almost afraid to ask. "What's that?"
"A date. One night, just you and me... not pretending to be anyone else, just us. You be the real you, and I'll be the real me. No fake egos or hiding from each other. A real date." He suggested.
I sighed and glanced back to the window. "I can't." I pursed my lips tightly.
"Why not?" He asked.
"Because I can't.... I... I just can't. I'm sorry." I replied.
I couldn't tell him the real reason. I couldn't tell him it was because I was afraid. I was afraid that I was going to fall for him, and find myself head over heels in love. I was afraid that I would open up to him and he would eventually reject me. I couldn't handle being rejected. I couldn't handle letting someone in and getting used to the idea of being wi
th someone and having to lose them. I couldn't stand any more loss in my life.
"Then I can't guarantee I don't tell anyone that you threw up on me." He challenged.
I gaped at him in disbelief for a moment.
"But you just said that I missed!" I protested.
"Not when I tell the story to everyone at school," he grinned. "When I tell everyone I'll say that you threw up all over me. Projectile vomit. Like in the movie 'The Exorcist'. You'll never live it down, Emma."
"You wouldn't!" I cried in shock, my mouth falling open in disbelief.
He shrugged with a wicked grin. "I might. You never know."
"That's blackmail!" I groaned.
"I know. And I'm actually surprisingly good at it." He smirked proudly.
"You..." I accused. "You are... Ugh!" I groaned.
Taylor grinned at me. "The choice is yours. If I were you, a date with me is starting to sound pretty good right about now..."
I narrowed my eyes. "Fine, one date."
"Good." His smile was equally as cocky as he sat back in his chair. "So your grandmother tells me she thinks you have some kind of kissing disease?"
I groaned and dropped onto the pillows, burying my face so I could hide my blush. This conversation was getting more and more embarrassing as it went on.
He laughed softly.
"I think you should go!" I mumbled in the pillow, only half serious this time. As much as he could be obnoxious, he was still company.
"I can't." He shrugged simply.
I lifted my head from the pillows and raised my eyebrows in question. "Why not?"
"Your grandmother called and asked me to come over and babysit you. She had to run to the store for the ingredients to make you more chicken soup." He replied with a shrug.
I groaned feeling trapped. "You can be really obnoxious, do you know that?"
"And you can be really bitchy when you want to be." He countered.
I was ready to argue, but instead I shook my head. "As much as I hate to admit it, you're actually kind of right." I replied.
Taylor smiled.
"Are you going to tell me where and when we're going on this forced date?" I asked.
"Nope." He smirked. "It's going to be a surprise. But I can tell you it'll be fun." He replied.