So tell me the name of an idiot who decides to go out in the freezing cold of January London without even a Jacket?
Caleb Fucking Winters, that's who.
What's worse, is that in the line for the doll, I was in front of a man who was sneezing and coughing nonstop. When I came home I was feeling a bit stuffy, and I blamed it entirely on the cold. Obviously, I was wrong.
Evetta woke me up at two a.m. to inform me that I was roasting, and that she wanted me to take Panadol Cold and Flu; she then all but shoved the two tablets down my throat, and pushed a glass of water into my hands. That's when I realised that Sir Germs A Lot fucked me over.
She's been taking my temperature every half an hour ever since.
"104.5. That's still high," she sighs.
I feel like shit. My insides feel hot, and everything outside feels cold. My nose is clogged, so when I talk, I sound like Barney.
Then, something occurs to me.
"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
She looks at me as if I'm retarded.
"You're sick."
"You have a job."
"I also have a boyfriend who can't even breathe through his nose."
"I can take care of myself," I insist, feeling like so many different kinds of shit. "Go to work," I order her.
"No," she replies.
"Evetta, I don't need anyone to take care of me; please go to work." I can't have her miss work to take care of me.
"I'd rather not."
I sigh in frustration.
Of course, as per usual, I internalise that frustration. I'm supposed to take care of her, yet here I am, helpless as ever. Again.
"Stop."
"Huh?" I say, at a complete loss as to what she is talking about.
"Stop blaming yourself. I don't mind missing work to take care of you; I really don't. Please stop being so dramatic."
I nod at her, saying nothing. She sighs.
"Go to sleep, Caleb. You look tired."
I pretend that I didn't hear her.
"I want to hear you play the violin."
She looks at me surprised.
"I haven't played in a while—"
"Then make something up," I say teasingly. She shoots me a glare and I backtrack.
"Okay," I say, chuckling. "What about 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star'"?
She smiles at me.
"I would, but I don't have any rosin."
"Yes, you do. Look in the bottom of the bag."
She raises her eyebrow. "Did you plan to have me play for you?"
"Babe, I just wanted to give you the full package," I reply, pun unapologetically intended.
Her smile broadens. "Glad to know."
She takes the rosin out of the bag and removes it from its casing; as she applies it, I can't deny that she has a certain elegance about her. When she looks up and catches me staring at her, she raises an eyebrow, and I raise mine back.
"Okay. So, 'Twinkle Twinkle', right?" she asks, and I nod my head enthusiastically.
Then, she begins.
To be honest, she's kind of a show off. She uses chords, somehow manages to run a scale through it after playing the note for 'sky', and when she's done, she simply puts everything away, as if the past two minutes never just happened.
When she turns back to me, she ignores my awed expression, and simply says:
"It's time to take your temperature again."
***
"100.1. Better, but still a fever," Evetta says exasperated, sitting on the bed beside me.
It's midday, and she has not left the house. She has not even bathed, but for some reason, she smells like baking soda, and beeswax, and... coconut oil?
I sniff a little more, trying to figure it out. Apparently I'm not as inconspicuous as I thought, because she notices.
"It's my deodorant. It's natural deodorant, and I wiped my armpits with wet wipes and I put it on this morning."
What the fuck? That's so strange.
"Why?"
"Because my armpits naturally smell like a gorilla's ass crack, and I didn't think you'd appreciate that smell. I'm making pumpkin soup. And before you ask me how I know where everything is, I know this house inside out. I used to stay here with you all the time, and after the accident, I never stopped coming here; I would keep your mother's company." With that, she leaves the room.
Wow. She always knows what's going to fly out of my mouth; but why would she want to stay around my mother? It's not as if they have anything in common. My mother is humourless, timid, and very introverted. I just can't see my mother being close enough friends with Evetta that it would allow her to come over regularly.
And that speech about her armpits. A gorilla's ass crack. That sounds awful. What does that even mean? I try to imagine the smell, create it in my mind, and it isn't pleasant.
"Here," I hear her say from the doorway. Yet again, I failed to take notice of the passage of time, and I can hardly smell anything, but as she brings the steaming bowl to me, my stomach growls in anticipation, as if calling the food.
She laughs; it's that warm, bubbly sound again.
"Try not to eat the bowl."
She sets the trey down on the bed in front of me and goes into the bathroom to bathe.
I look down at the thick, orange liquid, and raise a spoonful to my lips and blow on it before drinking it.
The taste is amazing; it's as if heaven has been brought down in the form of soup and presented to me.
However, as I am pulling the spoon out of my mouth, something hits me; something big.
A memory.
A memory of Evetta feeding me this same dish, literally feeding me with the spoon, a flirtatious smile on her face.
The my reaction.
"Holy shit! That's amazing!"
"You really think so?"
"Yes, of course, darling."
After which, we kissed.
Before I know what I'm doing, I walk straight into the bathroom.
"Ah!" she shouts in surprise, completely naked, under the shower.
"I had a memory of you, and you're fucking hot," I say struggling to keep my eyes on her face after eye-fucking her body for about two seconds.
"You what? What did you remember?"
"The first time you made me soup," I say. It may not seem like a major memory to an outsider, but for me, it's a big deal; it's the first step.
"That's amazing, Caleb, I'm so happy! I'd hug you, but I'm wet, and you're sick."
"You're wet?"
"Shut up," she says grinning.
"Don't worry, you'll say that for me soon enough," I say exiting the bathroom, and even though I'm fucked up, happier than I've been in a long time, because a) I got back my first memory of Evetta, 2) she knows that, and I know that it makes her happy, and 3) I didn't miss the way that her thighs came together when I spoke of making her wet, so I figure that I already have.
A.N.
Happy Valentines Day! ♥️😘💋