I'm scrambling for words, but I don't know what to say. Hi Jack! I had an interesting dream last night. I dreamt you kissed me and now I can't look you in the eye!
I say none of that, instead keeping my gaze focused on the wall behind Jack. It is navy blue, carpeted, and my newfound interest at the moment. "Is that so?" I murmur. "Maybe it's because of how hot it is today."
Jack checks his phone. "Isla, it's sixty degrees right now." He presses his hand against my forehead and I flinch. "You have a fever."
I jerk away. "I do not. Anyway, I should get going. Thanks for the drink." Then I practically run away.
He must be questioning my odd behavior, but I couldn't care less. As I dash down the corridor, my mind races. I must find a way to hate Jack again, so much that my hate overwhelms the reality that I dreamt of Jack.
It isn't until evening, after work has ended and the sun has melted into the horizon, that I finally come up with a solution. I see Jack's departing figure and hurry after him. "Jack!" I call out, despite people's heads turning towards me. "Jack, wait—"
Jack turns, a flicker of surprise on his face. He stands by the revolving doors and waits patiently, as I catch my breath. After a few seconds pass, I'm able to speak without sounding like a dying fish gasping for its last breath. "So, um," I start.
My heart pounds and I nervously intertwine my fingers together. Jack watches me closely and I cannot breathe. "So, like," I stutter, growing increasingly nervous. I force the words out. "I think your routinely date idea is a wonderful idea."
Jack stares at me like I've been possessed. "In fact," I continue brightly, "we should have dates every other day."
Jack is starting to look concerned and honestly, rightfully so. I myself am starting to doubt this date idea. "For example—"oh dear, I'm beginning to ramble—"we can have our dates Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday so that we can get to know each other. Get to know each other's flaws, weaknesses, the whole shebang."
"Isla," says Jack. "You have a fever."
"No, I don't," I say. "What makes you think I have a fever?"
"You're acting strange."
"I was merely agreeing with your wonderful date idea. What's so strange about that?"
Jack gives me a skeptical look. He looks like he's going through an internal battle before he finally steels himself. "I'm taking you home."
I jerk back. "Pardon? I'm fine, though. I don't need anyone to take me home, lest of all you."
"You're clearly not fine." Jack shakes his head. "You've been acting strange since this morning. Now, I'm taking you home."
"No," I say stubbornly. "I'm fine and I'm not sick—"
All of a sudden, I see a cockroach skittering across the floor. I scream and nearly trip, falling into Jack. He looks irritated, as he steadies me. "See?" he says expectantly. "You can't even stand straight."
"That was because of the cockroach!" I insist, pointing at the ground, where unsurprisingly, the cockroach has gone to scare some other poor person.
"Sure," Jack says, clearly not believing me. "Now let's go."
I stay where I am. "Before I grab your hand," adds Jack, and I reluctantly follow him. On the way to the garage, I continuously proclaim that I'm not sick, but Jack doesn't listen.
Before I know it, I'm inside Jack's black Audi and we're speeding through the city, to my apartment. I sneak a peek at Jack, who's focused on the road ahead. Jack runs his fingers through his soft black hair and I gape. Suddenly, Jack turns at me and my heart leaps. "What?" he snaps, scowling.
"Nothing," I say, embarrassed. I clear my throat and look out the window. Jack coming to my apartment is a horrible idea. He'll make fun of my messy room, find my two-year expired peanut butter, and discover my horrible addictions to K-dramas.
But wait, isn't that a good thing? I think. I'll hate him even more, once he embarrasses me.
Finally, we arrive at my apartment. My neighbor's eyes nearly pop out, when they see me guiding Jack through the door. I ignore them, pull Jack in, and shut the door.
By the time I fully turn around, Jack is already snooping through my apartment. He's by the kitchen and stares at the peanut butter. "This is expired peanut butter," he reprimands me. "You haven't been eating this, right?"
"Of course not," I lie.
Jack detects the lie on my face and sighs. "It's fine if you're a few months past the expiration date, but two years..."
"Okay! Well!" I clap my hands together enthusiastically. "Now that you've got me home, you can leave now."
He does not move. "I'm taking care of you tonight," says Jack stubbornly. "Rest on the couch." He spots the pile of clothes on the couch. "Or the bed."
Jack moves towards the door. "I'm getting dinner for you. Don't you dare lock me out." Then he's gone.
The moment he leaves, I collapse on the couch. What the hell is happening? I stare dully at the ceiling, having an existential crisis. When I finally manage to process everything, I pull myself from the couch and begin cleaning.
By cleaning, I mean stuffing everything into random drawers until on the outside, it looks clean. I look around, satisfied. Right on time, Jack knocks and I open the door. He's holding a takeout bag and steps in, scanning my apartment.
"Looks different," he comments, before setting the bag on a mini table near the couch. "Here?"
"Yeah," I say, and we sit on the floor, me the closest to the couch while Jack is across from me. The scent of zhou, a porridge basically, fills the air. I watch and stare. It feels surreal as Jack fusses over the food, pours it into a big bowl, places a spoon into the zhou, and hands it to me.
I mumble a quick thanks, before digging in. The zhou is warm and comforting and I nearly tear up. It's been nearly a year since I've had zhou. Lately, I've either been skipping dinner, eating out, or eating expired peanut butter on toast. It's not the healthiest, but at the end of the day, I'm too tired to whip up something healthy.
It's about fifteen minutes in that I suddenly feel a wave of nausea. I set down my bowl and stare hard at the wall straight ahead, reminding myself to breathe. I feel like I'm about to throw up and in my head, I curse Jack.
Maybe all this talk about being sick has suddenly made me sick. "Jack," I say calmly. "Can you leave?"
Jack is bewildered, though he slowly stands up. "What's wrong?" he asks.
"You should go home," I say, battling the volley of nausea. "I'll be fine."
His eyebrows pinch together. "You don't look fine," Jack starts. "You look worse than before."
"No, I'm fine," I say, standing up. Even just standing makes me want to hurl. I push him towards the door and smile. "Okay, Jack. Thanks for the food. You don't have to worry about me. Have a good night."
He's finally out of my apartment and I'm about to slam the door shut when his shoe stops the door. "You're clearly not fine," he says. "I can help you."
I lean against the doorway. "I've taken care of myself in worse conditions," I say wryly. "I'm not a child. And why do you even care?"
"Because the wedding is soon," emphasizes Jack. "I'd rather not have my date choke on her vomit and die."
I scoff. "That won't happen, unfortunately. I'll come back to work tomorrow feeling all dandy, so please don't worry about me. It's giving me goosebumps."
I show him my arm and true to my words, my arm is covered entirely with goosebumps. "I'm taking care of you tonight," Jack says firmly, the moment he spots the goosebumps. "No argument."
"But—"
"Go," he says sternly and all I can do is slink back into the argument.
I'm too exhausted to argue and I reach the couch before my knees buckle. I fall face-first into the couch and it's all too much for me.
I vomit all over the floor and shut my eyes, as an unpleasant warmth crawls over my skin. "Can you stand?" Jack asks and I shake my head. I want to stay on the ground forever and die of embarrassment.
Jack cautiously pulls me up. "Go rinse your mouth," he instructs. "Shower, if you can. I think it'd be better if you sleep it off."
He helps me to the bathroom and as I'm hobbling to the sink, I realize how embarrassing this situation is. Jack will never let me live this down. I sneak a peek at him, but he's concentrated on the sink.
Maybe it's a good thing. He'll humiliate me so badly that I'll hate Jack again. I will forget all about my strange dream. I conceal my smirk. Operation Hate Jack Again is a go.
***
author's note:
hi yall and happy september 4th (labor day!). school has begun for me so I'm quite excited! I'm looking forward to this year and I'll be working hard both on school and on my novels <3