Constructing Us (New Adult Romance)

by Lake, C. J.

  She began to feel hot--overheated, really, and flushed. She peeled off her hoodie, then her long-sleeved tee shirt until she was in just a tank top and pajama pants. Suddenly the only thing she wanted to do was splash cold water on her face and collapse into bed. As she came to her feet, she heard keys in the door.

  Her heart leapt at the sound. Tragan’s home! Her instant excitement would probably surprise him, but she’d really been missing him. Even if his friends were with him now, she was still relieved to have him home.

  He walked into the apartment and saw her standing in the living room. Right away, his face broke into a smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey, you. How was your night?”

  “Awesome.”

  “Really?” As Andy walked closer, she leaned over to look toward the door. “Your friends didn’t come in with you…?”

  “Only my friends named Benjamin,” he said smugly and flicked up a folded wad of cash.

  With a soft laugh, she nodded, impressed. “I see. Wait--you went to the casino tonight? But…” With a quick turn, she checked the time on the cable box. “You’re back so early.”

  “Well, actually I had the afternoon off today. So we left around two o’clock. I stopped home to change before I went, but you weren’t here.” Tragan walked closer to her; Andy felt her breath hitch as he approached. “Are you up now?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m too wired to go to sleep. Were you going to bed now?”

  “Oh, um, no,” she fibbed. “Not yet.”

  “Cool, okay. I need to take a quick shower. How about we meet in the living room in ten minutes?”

  “For what?”

  “What do you mean ‘for what’? To hang out. Watch TV, play Mario, I don’t know--talk,” he finished with exaggerated emphasis, as though she might be new to civilization.

  “Okay,” she said, smiling. “I’m just going to brush my teeth and wash my face.”

  “All right. Meet you back here.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Tragan was sitting on the sofa, still waiting for Andy.

  He was psyched that she was up when he got home, because they kept missing each other over the past couple days and it was starting to drive him crazy. And damn--what was with the tank top tonight? She was usually so covered up, he almost stared when he saw her in that. He was pretty sure he’d played it off and kept his poker face, which wasn’t easy, because the thin little top had a rainbow design spread across her chest, making it impossible not to notice her breasts.

  Now he tapped his hand on the end table beside the sofa. What was taking so long? She said she just had to wash her face and brush her teeth. Come to think of it…he didn’t hear any water running, or shuffling around in there of any kind.

  Wait. Could something be wrong? Of course he didn’t want to embarrass her, but suddenly he couldn’t shake this concerned feeling, and he didn’t feel right just sitting here, not knowing if everything was okay.

  He rapped lightly on her bathroom door. When she didn’t answer, he knocked harder. “Yo, Andaline. Everything cool?”

  Still no response.

  Now his pulse began to pound. If using Andy’s full name didn’t get a reaction, Tragan knew something must be wrong. “All right, I’m coming in--so cover up whatever you’re gonna cover.” Then he counted: “One, two, three.” When he opened the door, his heart jumped to his throat. “Holy shit--Andy!”

  She was lying on the floor with her eyes closed.

  “Oh, God, Andy,” Tragan murmured, kneeling down, reaching for her. Even though he could see her chest rising and falling, he still pressed his fingers to her throat, maybe wanting extra reassurance. “Andy, can you hear me?” he said, trying to speak gently, but not wanting to be too quiet. Maybe he could wake her; maybe she wasn’t totally out of it.

  Her eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, before she blinked and looked up at him. “Tragan? What…?”

  Carefully, he gathered her up into a sitting position, balancing her with his arm. “Are you okay? You were passed out or something.”

  “Oh, gosh…” she began, then brought a hand to her forehead. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “Andy--”

  “No really, I swear I am. See, I forgot to eat before.”

  “But the note you left on the fridge today said you went to lunch with your sister.”

  “I did, but we only had salads and I wasn’t all that hungry.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I guess I forgot.”

  “Andy…” he began protesting. The last thing he wanted to do now was to give her a hard time, but it couldn’t be that simple, could it? How could Andy forget to eat if her body was missing food badly enough to pass out? “Maybe we should go to the doctor’s. Or I can take you to the hospital.”

  Jesus, he didn’t want to overreact, but at the same time, he’d never been in this situation and he didn’t know what the correct action was. Was the hospital overkill? He had no fucking idea and it suddenly made him furious with himself.

  “No, no, I don’t need to go to the hospital, believe me,” she assured him, sounding more alert now, but still weak. She leaned all her weight into him, letting him hold her up against his arm. “I swear this has happened before. I should have had dinner, but I wasn’t hungry and nothing appealed to me, so eventually I just forgot.” She brought a hand up to rub her forehead. “It’s this new drug I’ve been taking--you know, for the trial? It kills my appetite sometimes. It’s one of the side effects.”

  “C’mon, are you sure, because--”

  “Tragan, I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down.”

  “No, it sounds like you need to eat.”

  “I will, but I’m just so tired…” she said, her voice almost pleading. She started to come to her feet; Tragan still held onto her, helping her, because she was wobbly, until finally, he just scooped her up in his arms.

  “Oh--! You don’t have to carry me,” she insisted as he held her body close to his and brought her from the bathroom to her bedroom. “Really, you don’t need to--”

  “You don’t even weigh anything,” he said, cutting her off. “My power tools weigh more than you,” he added, making her laugh. A small, delicate-sounding laugh. Andy snuggled into him a little as he set her gently on her bed. “Here, let me get the covers on you…okay, c’mere,” he said softly, tucking her in. “You’re sure about going to the doctor? I’ll drive you there now. Wherever you need to go, I’ll take you.”

  “I just need to rest for a little bit,” she assured him.

  She did look better now, just tired. When she smiled sweetly at him, it restored some kind of hope in him--and hope not limited to this moment only. “All right, I’ll be around,” he said.

  As Tragan turned to go, Andy reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, capturing him. Though he was caught off-guard, his palm instantly went to her back, holding her. “Thanks for being there.”

  “Sure,” he replied huskily, his throat suddenly tight. As her arms slid off his shoulders, grazing his chest, he swallowed and watched as she curled up to go to sleep. Without thinking, he brushed her hair away from her face, touching her cheek for a second.

  On his way out, he heard Andy’s voice. “Tragan?”

  With his hand on the door jamb, he looked over his shoulder.

  “You’re the best guy,” she whispered dreamily into her pillow.

  Chapter Twenty

  Surprisingly, Andy slept for only an hour. Tragan used most of that time on his ipad, trying to learn more about “Bronsteg Disorder.” What he found was mostly repetitive information. What he didn’t find were real answers or advice. He’d also gone around the block to pick up some food for Andy, which worked out well, because she woke up starving.

  “Here, sit,” he told her when she walked into the kitchen, bundled up in her usual pink hoodie and fluffy socks. Good--this was normal. Automatically, Tragan pushed his ipad aside and pulled out a chair for her at the tab
le. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want leftovers, so I grabbed you a turkey sandwich from TJ’s.”

  “Great!” she said, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen chair. “I’ll eat it now.”

  He brought over two bags. “Turkey sandwich,” he said, dropping one bag in front of her. “And to cover my bets, I stopped in that café next to TJ’s--El Diablo--and got you what my mom has always claimed is the cure for everything.”

  Curious, Andy unwrinkled the second bag, which was more aromatic than the first. “Rice and beans?”

  Putting a hand up, Tragan continued, “Though, I should tell you upfront that I have never found that to be true. But what the hell? Maybe it’s a girl thing.”

  “I doubt it,” Andy said, grinning. “But I’ll eat it.”

  “Good.”

  “This is really thoughtful, Tragan. Thanks.”

  When he pulled out the chair opposite hers, it scraped against the floor, and he planted himself in it, looking at her straight-on. “Now we need to talk.”

  She eyed him a bit warily as she took the plastic fork out of bag #2. “About?”

  “I want to know what’s going on with you. And that Bronsteg Disorder you told me about.”

  “Ethan told you about it,” she mumbled, sounding slightly annoyed.

  “Whatever,” Tragan said impatiently. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  “Nothing. I told you, I feel fine now.”

  Dismissively, he shook his head. “Look, we live together. If you’re sick or whatever, you have to tell me so I can be prepared. So I can help.”

  “Tragan, that’s sweet of you, but…I really don’t want to get into the whole Bronsteg thing with you.”

  “Why?” he said, exasperated, searching her face. Christ, why the hell was she being so guarded about it?

  “Because I don’t want you to think of me that way,” she responded, dropping her eyes to the rice and beans, no longer meeting his gaze.

  “What way?”

  “You know, like there’s something wrong with me. It’s not exactly an appealing thing for a guy to think.”

  Frustrated, Tragan scrubbed his hand in his hair, not wanting to seem impatient with her. “First of all, I’m not ‘a guy’--I’m your roommate. And secondly, I don’t think that.” I think you’re perfect, a voice said in his mind. “Believe me, that’s the opposite of what I think.”

  So Andy told Tragan the whole story--about getting sick her junior year, about her father flying in from Zurich and paying for every specialist he could find until Andy was ultimately diagnosed with Bronsteg, a rare autoimmune disorder that the medical community has yet to understand. She told him about her sudden recovery after months of feeling like crap, and about feeling great for eight more months--until she relapsed her senior year, and ended up taking the second semester off. The worst part of the whole story was the part about meeting Brad.

  “So wait, you were Brad’s patient?” Tragan questioned. “And, what, he just made a move on you?” He knew he was coming off like a judgmental dick, but when it came to Andy’s boyfriend, he really didn’t care.

  “No, it wasn’t like that,” she replied quickly, defending the guy.

  “But he was your doctor, right?”

  “Well, not really. He randomly got me as a patient in the ER, but only for that first night. After that, I was referred to somebody else. But Brad just checked on me--that’s how we got to know each other. And we spent a lot of time together while I was home from school.”

  “How old is Brad anyway?” Tragan asked, irrationally hating the guy.

  “Twenty-eight now. He’ll be twenty-nine soon.” The deep breath she took next appeared thoughtful. “Brad was my first real boyfriend, actually.”

  “Wait, you met him when you were how old?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  Tragan narrowed his eyes, doubtfully. “C’mon, I can’t believe that. Your first boyfriend at twenty-one? You must have had guys all over you before that.”

  Andy’s blue eyes widened, making her appear flattered, surprised, or maybe both. “No. I didn’t.”

  “What about guys in high school?

  “Definitely not.”

  “College?”

  Considering that, she tilted her head. “Well, college was more of a hook-up scene. That’s really not me.”

  Tragan didn’t realize he’d begun tapping his thumb on the table, lost in thought, until Andy got up from her chair. “Where are you going?” he said, concerned. Damn, maybe he’d pushed too hard or made her upset, dredging up all this stuff about her disorder.

  “Just to the fridge,” she replied calmly. “I wanted a drink. Is that allowed?”

  Tragan’s mouth quirked up. “Yes, smartass, that’s allowed.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, flashing him a saccharine smile before pulling out a water bottle. “Want one?”

  He shook his head and waited for her to return to the table. “Listen Andy…what about what happened earlier? Are you--I mean--look, was it really just not eating?”

  “No, I think it’s more than that,” she replied--and Tragan’s gut tightened, though he tried not to show he was affected. This was what he was afraid of, that she was getting sick again. And about to go through one of her “long episodes,” as she’d called it when she was describing her experiences over the past couple years.

  “It’s this drug study,” she continued. “Like I told you, we were all warned about possible side effects of the drug we’re testing. Lightheadedness and loss of appetite are just a couple. Clearly I’m suffering both on this thing.” As she bit into her turkey sandwich, the tension in Tragan’s stomach started to dissolve.

  “How do you know it’s that and not…? I mean, didn’t you say when the Bronsteg comes on, you get lightheaded, too?”

  With unmistakable confidence, Andy shook her head, explaining, “No, it’s totally the drug. Believe me, it feels completely different when I’m getting sick. I can tell the difference. This is what you have to understand: with Bronsteg Disorder, for whatever reason, when I’m not going through a period of ‘illness,’ I feel 100% healthy and fine. When it comes on, it’s not subtle. It doesn’t come and go. I’m not woozy one moment and great two hours later. It’s more like a protracted period of weirdness, with my blood pressure plummeting and migraines and doctors trying to level me, and the whole shit-storm. Pardon my language.”

  At that Tragan had to laugh. “I work in construction, remember? I’ve heard worse.”

  With a small giggle--that should’ve sounded out of place for the moment, but somehow didn’t--Andy said, “Fine. So believe me, okay?”

  “I do.”

  “To be honest,” she continued, as she ate her sandwich, “I want to quit this study. It’s useless to me.”

  “It sounds like it,” Tragan agreed. “Granted I don’t know anything about this stuff, but if you’re not sick now, then how are the doctors even supposed to know if it would work when you are sick? Right? Am I missing something?”

  “It’s true and I’ve asked Brad about that. But he feels like they can maybe learn something by monitoring my blood pressure, protein and glucose levels, and whatever else--and try to make some meaning from my chart at the end of all this. The thing is, it’s not a drug that’s been designed for Bronsteg; it was really designed to help people with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. So, it’s a shot in the dark that it could even help me.”

  “So this is Brad’s study?” Tragan clarified.

  “No, no. It’s run by a doctor he knows, Dr. Lassiter. Brad has nothing to do with it. Except that he told me about it and convinced me to do it.” Setting down her sandwich, Andy spilled out what sounded like a resigned sigh. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking of telling Brad it’s over.” Immediately, Tragan’s pulse quickened. Could she really mean…? “You know, with the drug study,” she clarified.

  “Uh, right, the drug study,” he said, nodding, mentally kicking himself for thinking it could be that easy.

>   “I just want to forget the whole thing and get on with my life. Actually, I’m thinking of going back to school to get a master’s degree.”

  “You mean here in Boston?” Tragan tried to make the question sound casual, tried to cover the dread he felt at the idea that Andy might be moving away. Before she could respond, the ear-splitting shrill of the fire alarm shattered the moment.

  “Aah!” Andy yelped, throwing her hands on her ears. “What the hell?”

  Tragan waved off her concern. “Oh, that’s just the fire alarm in the building,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Come on,” she said briskly, hopping up from her chair. “We’d better go.”

  “Nah, I never bother going down for that.”

  “What do you mean?” Andy said, sounding bothered.

  “Well, it goes off occasionally, but it’s always a false alarm. So I usually just ignore it.”

  “What! Tragan, that’s crazy. You can’t just ignore a fire alarm. It could be something! I’m sorry, but that’s really immature,” she told him, her expression solemn.

  “Damn,” he said, feeling mildly chastised as he stood up. “I’m immature now?”

  “No, I mean…I guess that’s harsh,” she admitted.

  “Are you pissed at me over this?” he said, walking closer to her.

  “Of course not. It’s just--”

  “What, you’re worried about me?” he asked with a trace of a grin and stepped even closer, leaving their bodies only inches apart.

  Andy appeared momentarily flustered, swallowing and sort of flitting her eyes from Tragan’s mouth to his chest to his shoulder, like she didn’t know where to look. “I’m just saying: what if I wasn’t here? And there was a fire and something happened to you? Obviously that’s what I’m getting at.”

  “Okay,” he relented. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

  “Even if I’m not here?” she pressed.

  “Yes. I’ll go,” he promised.

  Which earned him a small, grateful smile. “All right, come on then...” she said with a quick tug on his arm.

  “Hey…” he said, stilling her for a second then impulsively brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”