Don't Judge Me (Being Edited)

22_ Bedridden

Callum didn’t let me out of his bed for a whole week and I hated every single minute of it.

I wasn’t ill. I’d told Callum many many many times.

So I’d thrown up a few times on the Monday. There were some people who threw up after every meal and were walking around fine. This statement led to Callum questioning whether I was bulimic and then getting stressed and tending to my every need like a wet blanket. But no, wet blankets weren't any use to anyone; my point didn’t make any sense. I told Callum that what he’d just said proved my point.

I finally got a smile out of him.

Callum was sleeping on the floor of his bedroom in my special sleepy bag no less. It would have made me laugh out loud every time I saw him in it if I didn’t feel like such a thief. I’d just moved in, taken his bed and made him sleep on the floor. I was really starting to hate myself.

It was the following Sunday when I decided enough was enough- for about the billionth time- and for once Callum actually agreed with me. I mean, we had finished a game on Monopoly. No one finishes a game of Monopoly, it is never done!

So I was allowed to go to school.

Thank god. If I spent one more day in that bed I was going to scream- more. I’d begun screaming once Wednesday had rolled around.

Once again I had to scramble out of Callum’s bed over to my bedroom window so I could get some clothes. Callum was adamant about me staying in his house and to tell you the truth I didn’t really have it in me to argue. Every time I looked at him, I mean really looked at him, to shot one of my world famous retorts in his face my eyes were drawn to the lip that Amber had been tugging at like it was her only life source. Then my stomach clenched, my body would seize up and whatever words had been going to come out died on my lips.

He let me eat toast, without any butter on it, in case it upset my stomach. It was dry. (Ha, that may actually be the worst sentence I’ve ever written). No orange juice for me, only water.

Throughout the week Callum made sure I only ate dry savoury snacks. This amused the Williams to no end as the watched their son take care of the poorly girl next door. Each one of my desperate pleas for a piece of cake, a chocolate bar, hell even a stick of bubble gum was returned with a sly smile and a taunting, “Do you think Callum would want you to do that?”

I frowned as I climbed up the side of my house reaching up to my window that was permanently open. I had always been surprised that no one ever broke into there. Then again, what would they take?

When I got into my bedroom I took a deep breath. I took in the smell, the taste, the feel of my room. I noted how it differed from Callum’s room. I tried to list the things that would make my room, at least, a little more like Callum’s house. I came up short, as always.

That Sunday evening when Callum had let me out of sight for a moment was slightly different than every other time I forced myself over to my house.

I didn’t want to leave straight away.

It wasn’t that the place didn’t disgust me. It was just that I wasn’t sure if I could take Callum’s mollycoddling anymore. It was driving me insane. I knew that Callum was that type of person who just cared. About everything and anything no matter how small it was. Many a night I would be awake with Callum and he would be worrying about how some person was reacting to some random thing that had nothing to do with him. And I would laugh at it calling him a big softy and saying how whoever the person was they were being stupid. Every problem in the world can be resolved, people just need to pull up their big kid pants and sort it out.