It All Started with a Lie

Chapter 16

It is almost nice to see him like this, payback for ignoring me. He argues less too, it's peaceful.

But I'll be damned if I missed my last night with Richard because he can't just down a bottle of flu medicine and sleep till he feels better. "Come on." I grab his arm and attempt to drag him out of bed.

He lets out a long breath, too weak to resist. "I don't need your help," he insists but he lets me pull him up to his feet and push him out of his bedroom door.

"Yes, you do. Now quit complaining."

I guide him to the bathroom and once he is there, he slumps against the wall, hardly able to stay on his feet. I run the bath water and pour in a good amount of menthol bubble bath that sits beside the tub. I got it for Richard's birthday but she never got to use it because her brothers drained the bottle before she had the chance, so I've been getting her a new bottle every month.

He waits while I do this, head leaned back, eyes closed, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. "Here, a bath should help."

I lift the bottom of his tee and as I slip it off of him, my hand brushes against the stickiness of his chest. I grimace, pulling my hand back as soon as his shirt is off. My hand now smells like eucalyptus. "What is that?"

He leans heavily against me, his head resting against my shoulder. "Vics ointment."

"Really? That was your solution."

He shrugs and rests his hands on my waist. I narrowed my eyes at him. Don't think I have forgotten you ignored me. His lips brush against dress as he talks. "It fixes everything."

If it fixed everything, we would not be here. I untie his sweats and pull them down. This is certainly not the way I pictured undressing him.

His breath is warm and hot against me and his entire body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the fever. I am amazed that he is still standing, especially after nearly losing his balance trying to step out of his boxers, and I can't help but chuckle at his gentle appearance. It almost makes me forget about how he's treated me lately, almost. I am excellent at holding a grudge.

He gets in the tub and leans against the side of it limply. I pour the water along his back and head, letting the smell of the menthol waft over him and hopefully clear up his sinuses and sooth his pain. He sighs, sinking closer to me as I massage shampoo into his scalp. If I'd known this was all I had to do to get him to shut up, I would have gotten sick a long time ago.

He does not fight me in anything that I do, not even when I splash soapy water on his face by accident while trying to rinse off his hair. "I'm gonna go get you some fresh clothes," I say as I dry my hands.

He only nods in response. If he weren't so sickly, I might have been able to notice how good he looks. I head to his room and grab him a loose t-shirt from his closet but where he keeps his pants is a mystery. I start by checking the drawers. The first is filled with jeans and the second is filled with hoodies. Finally I find the one filled with sweats, shorts, and hand wrap. I grab him a pair of gray sweats and move onto the last drawer. I push aside the socks to grab him a pair of boxers and in my hunt my nails grazes a small box. I still and glance at the door to make sure he is still in the bath before pulling out the box. It is a small cedar box, with faint carvings along it. I open it to find a stack of polaroid pictures.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking even if I wanted to, which I don't. I flip through them, the first a picture of him and Richard, much younger, much smaller. She carries him like a baby and they both look happier than I've ever seen them. The second is of Sonny posing in a green floor length gown as Klaus sits beside him clapping. Another, Klaus and Richard sit on the floor as he brushes blush on her cheeks. They are all photos of the three of them from younger years at a house I do not recognize. My favorite is the only one that is not a polaroid but instead a 4x6 that takes up the length of the whole box, like it had been specially chosen with this photo in mind, and it is the only one that contains all three of them. Richard is maybe seven and she stands between her brothers, the three of them dressed as crayons. They all make the same face, tongue out, one eye closed, fingers stretching out their lips and I can imagine their mother saying to make a silly face for them all to make the same face, as if it were coded into the blood they shared.

A thud from the hallway startles me and pulls me back to focus. I shuffle the pictures back into their original order, setting them back into the box and tucking them into their home. As I head to the bathroom, I can't help but wonder why he hides those photos.

The clothes are apparently useless because after wrapping himself in a tower he does not have enough energy to dress and instead collapses on his bed in only a towel and swaddles himself in blankets. I make him soup and force him to let me spoon feed him despite his protests, just because I know it embarrasses him. Then I give him a shot of flu medicine, which I have to measure with an actual shot glass because he does not have a measuring cup anywhere in the house.

I settle into the bed beside him while I wait for the medicine to take effect and pray he falls asleep and looks healthy when Richard gets home.

He curls up beside me and his damp, beautiful curls brush against my thigh. He lays there until he finally falls asleep, a nasaly sleep. Every breath rattles in desperation and I know that if Richard hears it she will know he is unwell and have to stay home so as a last resort, I grab the Vic's ointment from under his pillow and slather it on his chest. It works almost instantaneously and while relieved I can't help but be a bit annoyed; it is as if he planned it. I close the jar and set it on his nightstand, beside a stack of books that I knew belong to Richard.

She always told me that his room had been a safe haven for her and Sonny since they were kids. When she would have a nightmare she would go lay in his room and for a moment it would feel like nothing could harm her.

Klaus stirs beside me, pulling the blanket up. I push his wet curls out of his eyes and wonder:

where does he go when he has a bad night?

A/N
Hi lovies!

I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, I have one more for this week. I am a tad behind on writing so I can't wait to take the weekend to catch up.

Does anyone have any good movie recs?

QOTD: what is your favorite quote?

Lots of love,
Rachelle <3