"You know what you need to give me?" Joe asked.
"What?"
He lifted his chin, indicating that he wanted me to kiss him again, which I did with no hesitation at all.
Chapter 18
The next two months came and went in an amazing, emotional whirlwind. Sarah had long since gotten the remainder of her things out of the apartment, and I was now the only resident there. She was a potter, which meant her art took up a lot of space—I hadn't even realized just how much space until she had it out of there. The place was beautiful, and it seemed huge once I was living there by myself.
Joe and I had been steadily seeing each other since the Ireland trip. We made a conscious effort to take it slow at first, but as the weeks passed, we'd been seeing more and more of each other.
I would be moving into S&S in less than a month, and I knew that would come as a rude awakening on multiple levels. My living accommodations would be nice, but I would, without a doubt, miss the apartment. A one-room flat with a mini-fridge and communal toilets and showers, no matter how nice it was, unfortunately could not hold a candle to Sarah's one-bedroom masterpiece with beautiful windows and a view.
I would also miss Joe. I knew I'd still be able to see him once I moved in, but it wouldn't be nearly as much as I did currently, and that was the part I dreaded most. He and I didn't talk about it—we did a little at first, but we hadn't lately. He knew I was trying to remain in a positive headspace, so we just sort of fell into the habit of not discussing it at all.
It was a random Tuesday in July, and I found myself having a bout with dread and fear that was unlike any of the others I'd previously had.
This one made me sick to my stomach.
At least, I thought that was what had done it.
When I first woke up, I assumed, that I was actually worrying myself sick, but as the day passed, I realized I was just plain ill.
In fact, I wasn't sure if I had ever been so ill in my life.
When I first started throwing up, I still thought it was from worry, so I didn't mention it to Joe when he texted me. By the time I actually talked to him on the phone later that afternoon, I was sick as a dog. A filthy dog. So, so sick. All day, I had gone from my bed to the toilet. The day was one big miserable blur.
I remember catching sight of my phone and realizing that it was ringing. I picked it up and held it to my ear, feeling confused. "Hello?"
"You had me worried," Joe said. "I texted you a few times earlier and never heard back. Then I called."
"Uh-huh," I mumbled, knowing it was my turn to speak, but not being able to think of anything to say.
"Are you okay?"
"Are you coming over?" I asked. I could hear that my speech was slurred, but there was nothing I could do to make it come out correctly.
"I have that thing tonight with Ethan, remember? Do you need me to come over?"
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, na, na, na, na..."
"Lu, what's the matter?"
(silence)
"Lu?"
"What, no, I just have a belly ache and stuff."
"Are you sick?"
"No, no, no, no, no."
I knew as the mumbling was leaving my mouth that I was messing up—saying the wrong things, but I couldn’t help it. It was like my body was just making noise without my permission.
"I'm coming over there," he said. "I'll be there in a half hour. Are you okay till then?"
"No, go to your thing with Ethan. I'm good and fine. I just have a belly ache."
A cramp came over me, and I convulsed in a painful, tingling wave of bodily sensations that had me clinching my eyes closed tight. I would have thrown up if I had anything at all left in my body. I barely even remembered that I had my phone up to my ear until I heard Joe calling my name.
"Lu. Lu, are you there?"
"I am," I said. "I just get a wave."
"What's a wave?"
"You know, where it hits you like that?" I was trying to say my words right, but I knew I was failing. "Listen, I just think I have a stomach ache," I said. "I'm gonna have to call you back."
"I'm on my way over there," I heard him say.
Another wave hit me. This one was laced with exhaustion, and I felt myself drifting to sleep. I knew I needed rest, so I smiled internally as I gave into it.
"I'm just gonna take a nap," I said. "You go do Ethan."
I must have been really failing at getting my words out correctly because he asked if I needed an ambulance. That jolted me into a little more consciousness and I told him I definitely didn't need that.
I think he made me stay on the phone with him until he got there. He talked in my ear for what seemed like two minutes and at the same time like two days, and the next thing I knew, Joe was walking across my bedroom with an intense expression on his face.
I remember looking at him and distinctly thinking he was an angel—there to rescue me. The angel went to his knees at the side of my bed, regarding me like I was some precious possession that he was afraid of losing.
His hand came to my head, and I felt him adjust some hair that had been in my face. I tried to smile to show him how thankful I was to have him there.
He asked me several questions, and in spite of me doing my best to answer them, I ended up in the back of a car that was headed to a hospital.
"Is it an ambulance?" I asked.
I remembered Joe saying I needed to go to the hospital, but it didn't seem like we were in an ambulance. I remembered him helping me down the elevator and outside, but I thought we got into a black car.
"We're in my dad's car," he said. "His driver was in the neighborhood. He's taking us to the hospital so we can get you some fluids."
"That's gonna make me feel better," I said.
I felt his warm hand rub my head. "Yep." There was a pause, and then he said, "What made you sick? Do you know?"
If I had been thinking straight, I would have said it was something I ate, or it was a virus, but I was out of my head at the moment, so I said the truth, which was, "I thought it was worrying, but I think it's way, way worse than that."
"What do you mean, you thought it was worrying?"
"I mean I thought I was worrying myself sick," I said, without taking my head off of his chest.
"About what?"
"What do you think? S&S. Moving in. Leaving the apartment. The documentary. Choking under pressure. Regretting something. Making mistakes. Making a fool of myself. You. Missing you. Mostly missing you. I can't stand it. I don't want to leave what I have right now. I wish I could pause this little moment of my life and just have the rest of it be the same as it is right now. The exact same as it is right now. I mean, not the throwing up part because I hate throwing…" Another cramp hit me, and I screwed up my face and hunched over, trying to ease it by repositioning.
"Do you need the pan?" he asked.
I shook my head since I knew I had nothing left to come up.
Joe held me tightly and waited for it to be over.
"I'm sorry, that was a bad one. What was I saying?"
"You were trying to tell me what made you sick," Joe said.
The thought of why I was sick made me remember that when I first started feeling it, I thought I was worried sick. Then, I remembered that I already knew that and had just spilled my guts to Joe about it. I pulled back to focus on him, wondering how much I had just said.
"What did I just tell you?" I asked. "Did I say a bunch of stuff out loud or just think about it?"
Joe smiled at me. "You just thought about it," he said.
I rested my head on his chest again, drifting off during a brief window when my stomach wasn't tensed and cramped.
I remember most of the ER experience, but only in flashes. Joe talked to the nurses, helping me get checked in. It seemed to all go smoothly, and at one point it crossed my mind to wonder if he told them his dad was famous. I'm pretty sure I brought it up when the thought hit me because I remember the nurses reacting an
d getting all excited about how Bad Medicine was their all-time favorite show.
That whole time period was slightly choppy as far as consciousness was concerned. I knew they put an IV in me because I glanced at it as they were taping it onto my arm. I thought maybe they took some blood also, but I couldn't be sure. I heard Joe talking to them, and them acting like everything was under control, and then I felt a cool, gushing sensation in my arm, right where the IV was going in. It felt like a cool stream of water, and then I realized that that's exactly what it was. I smiled at Joe and nodded, drifting to sleep.
I woke up feeling somewhat like a human again.
I knew exactly where I was.
I remembered drifting to sleep when the IV got started.
I blinked at the open door of a hospital room before shifting my head on the pillow to stare in the opposite direction. Joe was sitting on the couch by the window with Ethan Prescott sitting next to him. They were having a conversation, and my first thought was that I was seeing things.
My movement caught Joe's eye, and he turned to look at me, smiling when he saw that I was awake.
"There she is," he said coming over to my bedside.
Ethan stood, stretched, and walked over as well. "I'm gonna take off," he said. He glanced down at me with a kind smile, which was completely surreal since his character on bad medicine was a doctor, and I had seen him on TV doing the same thing near a hospital bed. "Joe and I were supposed to meet," he explained. "I hope you don't mind that we just did it here."
"It's fine," I said, straightening up as I continued to take everything in. I managed a smile. "I'm sorry you had to change your plans."
"The nurses weren't sorry," Joe said.
Ethan smirked as he reached out to fist-bump Joe. "I wasn't sorry about meeting that one nurse, either," Ethan said with a wink. He glanced at me and waved on his way around the foot of my bed. "Hope you feel better, Lu. Thanks for letting me crash your hospital visit."
I almost said I was honored he had or something goofy like that, but thankfully, I had the presence of mind to keep quiet. I smiled and waved at him as he left the room.
"Thanks, bro, I'll call you later," he said to Joe as he walked out.
"Sounds good," Joe said just before the door closed.
He focused on me and smiled. I knew he could tell I was feeling human again without either of us saying anything.
"That was terrible," I said with a little relieved smile. "Thank you so much for getting me over here." I glanced at the IV, which was on my left arm, near my wrist. "I think this helped."
He let out a sigh, staring at me.
"How long did I sleep?" I asked.
"Couple of hours."
I sat up, feeling bad for taking up his time and making a mess of his meeting with Ethan.
"When can I go home?"
He smiled. "I'm sure once they see you're feeling better."
Just then we heard some taps on the door as it opened. A nurse walked in, beaming from ear to ear. "Mr. Prescott said somebody was awake," she cooed in a cheery tone.
"Yep," I said. "Am I good to go home?"
She laughed as she came to my bedside to look at my vitals. "Before too long, I'm sure," she said.
She stayed in my room for ten or fifteen minutes, asking me questions about what had made me sick, and how I was now feeling on a scale of 1 through 10.
Hospitals weren't necessarily my favorite place, so I answered everything as perfectly as I could to expedite a speedy checkout.
The nurse assured me that no matter what had caused my stomach issues the hardest part was over. She said I should come back if symptoms worsened, but that the likelihood of that happening was, well, it was highly unlikely.
Joe called his dad's driver so that I didn't have to ride home in the back of a cab. I was still pretty out-of-it on the trip home, but at least I was headed to my own bed. I clung to the nurse's promise that the worst was over.
Joe stayed with me that night.
He was in and out of the bedroom, checking on me and bringing me things to eat that he thought might be easy on my stomach.
We talked some, and other times, he left me in there to rest while he went out to the living room, but he never left the apartment. He was there with me all night.
Chapter 19
I woke up at 10am the following morning feeling like a new person. Okay, maybe not brand new, but I felt a heck of a lot better than I had the day before. I had been up at 6am and saw that Joe was sleeping on the couch, but I wasn't sure if he was still there when I woke up again at 10. I didn't have a text on my phone telling me he was leaving, so in the back of my mind, I assumed he would be out there.
He wasn't.
I went to the fridge and poured myself a glass of juice. I turned to lean on the kitchen counter, and before I even put it to my lips, I heard the door open.
"You're up!" he said.
I glanced in the direction of the door to find that Joe was carrying two grocery bags. "You didn't have anything to eat in here," he said. "There was nothing in the fridge besides the stuff I got last time I went to the store. I don't know what you would eat if I didn't go to the store."
"Boots and raccoons." I said.
He set the bags down on the counter next to me, and regarded me with a teasing grin. "Boots and raccoons?"
I smiled and nodded playfully.
"You mean that's what you'd eat if I didn't go shopping for you?"
"I mean that's what junk food's made of, and that's all I'd be eating if it weren't for you."
"Boots and raccoons, huh?"
I continued to smile and nod, and he leaned in to kiss my cheek like he just couldn’t resist. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better," he said, starting to put the groceries away.
I turned to help him. "Thank you for doing this," I said. "And thank you for everything yesterday. I know it's not your job to take care of me when—"
"Yes it is," Joe said cutting me off. "Obviously."
"Well thank you," I said.
He was just about to cross to the fridge with a handful of groceries, but he paused in motion to smile and kiss me. "We need to talk sometime when you're feeling better," he said.
Cue the ominous music… dun, dun, dun.
My stomach flipped at the dreaded words we need to talk, but I smiled and continued to put groceries away.
"About what?" I asked casually.
"I don't want to get into it if you're still feeling sick," he said.
He was so matter of fact about it that I felt scared he was breaking up with me. "What, Joe? I am feeling better. I'm fine. Just say it."
"Let's get the groceries put up, and we can go sit on the couch."
I had never put up groceries so quickly in my life. I literally took one of the bags (all pantry items) and set it on the pantry shelf without taking any of the items out of it.
"It's not bad," Joe said with a little smirk on his face when he saw me do that.
"Then tell me."
He reached around me, taking the bag out of the pantry so that he could put the items away properly.
"I want you to think about not going to S&S," he said as he stashed the boxes.
"What?" I asked. I wore a look of such shock that Joe's face broke into a grin.
"This is why I wanted to put up the groceries—so we could sit down and talk about it. We need to sit down and have a conversation, Lu."
"There's nothing to say about it," I said, feeling blood rise to my cheeks.
Joe gave me a patient smile, pulling me into his arms. "Oh, but there are things to say," he said.
He turned with me in his arms, him resting his backside against the cabinets, and me hugging him with my face on his chest—glued together, front-to-front in a tight hug.
"I know there's things we can say," I said. "But we've already said them all."
"No, we haven’t, Lu. We have options beyond you going to S&S. You don't have to take that spot just because they offered
it to you."
I let out a little hopeless laugh. "Yeah but I'd be crazy not to."
"People are crazy all the time. You have options. You can decide not to go to S&S and still go on with your life. You can still be a success as an artist without going."
I stared at him, wishing life were as easy as deciding not to face my fears and everything still working out okay. I sighed. "Joe, I have to go," I said. "As much as I really don't want to, it's something I have to do. I have to try to make it on my own. I have to prove to my parents that their faith in me wasn't wasted."
He stared down at me with a thoughtful expression. "I knew you were gonna say all this before I ever brought it up to you, and you know what, Lu? You're wrong."
I shot him a confused expression.
"You are. You can still make it as an artist and prove you're a success to your parents without going to S&S." He shrugged. "Plus, I could choose to be offended about all this if I wanted to."
"How?"
"Because you're willing to let some other guy pay your way. Some other guy who sees talent in you gets to pay your rent for two years." He paused and made a face at me. "Why don't I get to be that guy? Why don't I get to sponsor an artist for two years just because I believe in her? This apartment's in my dad's name. What's stopping me from telling him I want to rent it so I can invest in some young talent like that Duval guy?" He shrugged. "Hey, but if you don't want to live here, then I can just hold auditions for someone who does. I'm sure Sarah knows some girls, uh, people who'd be interested in the opening."
I giggled and fake-pounded his chest for teasing me. I could only imagine the line that would form for people to sign up for that deal. It would be wrapped around the building five times. I knew I wouldn't let myself take him up on the offer, ultimately, but I felt a sense of relief at the sheer fact that Joe mentioned it.
It was like I had a tiny glimmer of hope that I would escape doing that documentary, and I felt like I could instantly breathe easier.
I smiled at him. "You're the sweetest person I know for even offering this."
Not Your Average Joe (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective Book 2) Page 12