—fortysix—
the sickeningly hopeful
PAIGE GLANCED OUTSIDE.
There were a couple of men taking pictures of her and Owen, even as they were eating their lunch at Bob's. They hadn't premeditated this when they chose the couch tucked away at the corner of the diner right by the windowpane. Curious stares were surrounding them, of course, as the thunder-like flashes hit them one after the other beyond the glass.
Although she'd expected this way long ago, she didn't really anticipate how much of a change it would cause her. She was all but hunkering down at their table in embarrassment. Paige was overwhelmed where Owen was nonchalant, suffice to say.
"I still don't understand the nature of their job, to be honest," she said to Owen, forking her pasta rather absentmindedly, one hand covering half of her face. "Much less their interest of us stuffing ourselves."
After swallowing, Owen shrugged as he wiped his napkin around the rim of his mouth. "You have to get used to it, though. But remember one thing–be careful about what you show to the world. What appears to be good to you might be the worst thing for other people."
"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "they thought I was seeing a commoner when I was just visiting my friends. And what is it to them if I'm meeting up with someone who holds no title? What is wrong in being friends with them, anyway?"
Owen pulled his eyebrows together. "And who are these friends, if you don't mind me asking, amore mio? Sorry, I haven't been aware of the news lately."
Her lips tugged up fleetingly. It had been more or less two weeks since they got into an official relationship. But there was always something so new whenever he addressed her that way–amore mio, Italian for 'my love'. Perhaps because they'd been friends for so long that she almost couldn't get used to the fact that they were now together. However, Owen would call her 'potato' if he was more inclined to be playful and less romantic for the day. She liked both.
"You remember Cain?"
"Yeah. He was at the ball, I believe."
"Yes. I'm friends with his family, too, so," she jolted a shoulder, trying not to glare at a paparazzo who'd just basically hurt her eyes with the flare of his camera. She cleared her throat, and she didn't want to dampen the mood; but her voice gave away as she remembered the promise all too vividly, "His father's...ill."
Owen reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "I'm sorry to hear that. You can visit him anytime you want. Just try to be discreet about it, I'd suggest. We don't want them barging into your friend's house."
An ache had crawled its way into her chest, but she managed a tight smile at him eventually. This was the good thing about having Owen–he was more of a partner than a boyfriend. He always met her halfway when the situation called for it. He'd proven himself to be responsible enough to take care of her as if it were his duty.
She then nodded and cast a cursory glance at his Blancpain Le Brassus–a watch where one could see the inner workings of the timepiece, and a brown alligator leather for its strap. It was her Christmas present for him since she was fully acquainted of him not going out of his bachelor pad without a piece around his wrist; as if he'd feel naked roaming about without one. She made no fuss about it, of course. It always blended well together with his hair and suit and tie, adding a sleek and sophisticated flair to his masculinity.
"Don't you have a meeting? You have five minutes before 1, sir," she said in faint amusement, lifting up a smug smile when his eyes widened as he studied his watch. "Go on. Malcolm's just around the corner, you don't have to drive me back to campus."
He almost looked constipated. "Are you sure? I can move it to 2 or something, though. Tell them there's an emergency."
"Thanks for comparing me to an unexpected crisis." She crossed her arms and arched her eyebrows. "Of course not. You'd look unprofessional. See, we have cameras around. They'd eventually know what you're doing about so making up excuses would be useless."
Paige frowned when he simply cracked a wicked smile. "Doing about, huh?"
When she realized the implications of his words that were rooted from hers in the first place, she blinked minutely and shot out her hand with a defensive flourish; certain that her stark horror was coming through her cheeks in a flaming cerise tinge.
"That's not what I meant!" She whacked his arm when he snorted, only to turn it into a low chuckle. She was annoyed at him, but she was more frustrated at the fact that his laugh sounded more seductive as time went by. "You're a dirty cad."
His smirk widened. "Sometimes, I don't know how to make my way around with you when you're being enormously innocent. It's cute, potato. Sexy, even."
She squinted at him rather umbrageously. But it was impossible to appear indignant when her face was swollen in flames. "How can a potato even be sexy?"
"Have you heard about a 'hot potato'?"
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and raised her hand to a waiter. "Whatever. You have to go now."
When they were outside, with the attempt of ignoring the media a couple of distance away since Malcolm and Mstsislav were blocking them from practically hogging her and Owen, he kissed her on the cheek as usual.
"I'll make it up to you next time, I promise," he told her.
With a slight nod, Paige reached up to his collar and fixed it rather haphazardly before sliding her hand aside on his shoulder. "Take care."
He ended it with a sloppy wave of his hand, saying a quick thanks to the valet attendant before sliding into the driver's seat. "I love you," he mouthed to her, and she fluttered up a smile, unable to say it back, yet. And Owen was fine with it.
In the depths of her core, she realized she'd fallen for him when they were younger. And even now, Owen had still taken a special place in her heart where it had been in a deep slumber long before. But things were difficult now–not when Arthur would cage himself in her thoughts every now and then. One day, though, she was certain that she would learn to completely love Owen back.
Because he was the man she could give her whole heart to.
"So when are you going to tie the knot, Ms Paige?" one man from the paparazzi suddenly asked and she shook her head, giving him an odd look.
Brushing the question off, she jerked her chin at Malcolm and he quickly got the hint. And very soon, they were already peeling away from the driveway.
﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
Not even five minutes later when the car pulled into Hackett. It was the first day after Christmas break and she kind of missed being in the campus, if only because she could see Cain and Jouwee more often. They were going through the winding path towards Business and the quadrangles were still covered in snow this time round.
In the backseat, Paige shuffled through her bag and pulled out her book when a paper slid off with it. Reaching down the floor, she realized it was the paper one of the guards at the mansion had given to her; saying that Arthur had told him to give it to her. She never really opened it, forgot about it, even. It wasn't just worth the candle at the time, she thought.
Paige let out a sigh when she'd picked it up. She gazed ahead as she hesitated. Ruminated. It took her three torturous seconds before she finally decided to open it.
She stilled.
Arthur had ripped the page of black poetry he'd made from the book The Girl From Boston. He'd denied his interest of it before. Why did he give it to her now?
With all my heart.
Paige quickly crumpled it and hurtled it into her bag, feeling a bit off at this. Arthur was showing his interest again just because he realized he wasn't irreplaceable at all. Because Owen was there to readily take his place.
How dare he?
Looking outside, they were already nearing the drop-off point at the Henson King Academic Building when she saw the man with that familiar figure sauntering by the covered walkway. Her heart made a quick backflip and she realized that even in moments of anger, Arthur could still affect her in places no one else could see.
It might also be because she hadn't seen him for weeks and–she shook her head hastily to stop where her thoughts were going. But it was hard not to look back when they were already meters away from him, and suddenly, she felt a sickening longing inside her.
She tore her eyes off him.
It was only much later that she realized that they were at the unloading spot, and she evened her breathing as Malcolm opened her door. She let out an abrupt breath, taking his hand as she slipped out of the backseat.
"Later," she uttered, when Malcolm politely told her they'd be leaving. She then twisted her scarf around the collar of her coat, watching them driving away that immediately allowed her a panoptic view of the quadrangle.
There were barely people around, perhaps since it was the first day of the new year and students were shaken up to see their friends again in class. And it was for this reason why he was very much visible in her line of vision as he was approaching their building, scraping his boots against the snow by the quad.
That or because it was just him. Probably even with hundreds of people around him, he would be the only person she could see. His hair was too striking, his features were spellbinding, add the fact that every inch of her being knew him like the back of her hand.
But as she carried on watching him from afar, it wasn't what really caught her attention. It was his gait. His footsteps were painstakingly slow, and his head was hanging low, nodding off as if he was trying not to sleep.
Paige pulled her eyebrows together as he began to sway, akin to that of a drunk man. Her spine straightened up, her neck craning at him. He wouldn't see her unconcealed concern anyway since he was all but focused at his feet.
And then he suddenly fell face-down.
Her heart stopped from sheer panic before looking around if someone had noticed it. No one did. Most of the people were running to their classes or too busy to even care.
It was pure instinct.
Her legs hurried to him and she dropped to her knees, holding Arthur by his arm to flip him to his back. His eyes were closed, and when she'd touched his face in an attempt to wake him up, she was more than horror-stricken to learn that he was burning. She lifted the back of her hand on his neck, confirmed that he was having a fever.
She dragged a deep, shuddering breath and slightly clapped his cheek. "Arthur, wake up." Her breath was practically fogging before her as she carried on. "Arthur, can you hear me?"
It was no use.
"Help!" A guy had heard her who was originally climbing the stairs to the main building. She waved her arm off. "I need help! Someone just fainted!"
﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏
Paige thanked the two guys who'd helped her bring Arthur here in the clinic, and they soon excused themselves out to proceed to their classes.
She bit her lip as the nurse on duty tended to Arthur by removing his scarf, his overcoat until he was down to his sweater, placing a cold compress to his forehead before inserting a thermometer into his mouth and read his temperature seconds later.
The lady kept going about how she'd watched the royal ball, but only when she'd told her that his fever was quite high–at 104 in Fahrenheit–that she'd drawn her attention back to her before she practically rushed to Arthur's side.
"He's got a pretty high fever. He needs lots of rest." The nurse paused, looking down at her with a frown. "I'm sorry, Ms Cadwyn, but is he your boyfriend?"
No. Not anymore.
She shook her head, barely managing a smile. "He's just a guy who goes to a couple of my classes. Why?"
Even saying that he was just a classmate was rather–strange, one way or another. Someone whom you'd known, someone whose arms you'd embraced, whose lips you'd kissed, whom had stolen your heart away, was nothing but a 'stranger' to you now.
The nurse tilted her head up slow, only to quickly tip it back down. "Oh, I see. Well, because I was thinking of handing you some medicines and ask you to let him drink more water."
"Oh, um. I'll just tell his friend about it. I already called him earlier about what happened. But he won't be here until four since he's already in class."
"He's an interesting friend, then." She arched an eyebrow and her eyes rolled upside as if suddenly pondering. "Considering that you just have a few classes with Mr Huxley and he's the friend, don't you think it'd be more appropriate if he'd be the one who's watching over him?"
Paige turned mum. The young nurse had a point. And she was basically not good at lying in the first place. Because apparently, Arthur wasn't just someone who went to some classes with her. And, to be honest, this lady was getting more intrusive as time went on.
"I'm now leaving, actually."
The nurse's red lips shifted downwards, her eyes dramatically widening. She had those pin-up girl vibe as those of nurses from the Pearl Harbor movie. "Wait, so you're leaving him alone? That's sad. I'm sure he could use a good company to somehow ease his suffering. But if you're not feeling up to it, he'd understand, I guess. So that just means I'd be tending to him all afternoon–"
She sighed. Obviously, the nurse was pulling the guilt card. "Okay. I'm staying."
"Yay," the lady breathed, pumping both of her fists up as she beamed too brightly for Paige's liking. "I should remove his sweater to make him more comfortable. He's sweating as hell."
"I–"
Her words were cut off when the nurse swiftly lifted his sweater and revealed his slender figure. Arthur had never been the muscular kind; in fact, he'd gotten more thinner from when they'd grown apart. Owen was right that she'd put Arthur up on a pedestal, the very reason that would break her heart and eventually did rip her apart because she'd seen him as someone so perfect.
But seeing him half-naked now, she didn't admire him any less or didn't see him any more imperfect. She'd realized how real he was now in front of her, so vulnerable and bare and perfectly imperfect–with his broad shoulders but lithesome frame, scattered moles on his chest down to his taut muscles across his abdomen. He was strong not in that athletic kind of way. Arthur was lean in a model-esque fashion.
Although today, Paige was certain that his body didn't look this slender before.
The nurse pulled the blanket to his chest, just enough warm to block the cold off and just enough cover to let off his steam. After folding his sweater neatly to the bedside table, she disappeared into the little corner of the partition, only to come back with some medicines on hand.
"I'll leave you to it for awhile, alright? There's something that needs to be done urgently. But just call me if you need anything."
Paige hesitated. But, at last, she said, "Sure. No problem."
The nurse's mouth flitted a smile and she was soon left alone with none other than her ex-boyfriend. She let out a sigh in her hands, then perched her chin atop her knuckles as she studied him. His chest was rising and falling so slowly, smoothly that it almost looked beautiful.
When was the last time I'd ever laid my eyes on him this close?
It seemed like several lifetimes ago. And her heart ached ever-so-suddenly as she searched half of his face. Dark-blond fringes had fallen into his eyes, and for some unspeakable reason, she had to fight her hands from reaching up to them to brush them off of his eyes.
But she longed for him so, so much. It felt wrong but her heart asked for something more than what it could handle. So she'd withdrawn all inhibitions and gingerly opened her fist as she draw up to him.
Her face crumpled when all of him was laid in front of her. Because, my god, he was notoriously breathtaking and then he let her fall down headfirst, and he played with her heart and everything still seemed so fresh to her.
But that was not it.
It was the fact that after all the pain, her anger, and the time they'd spent apart, she was still deeply, honestly, madly in love with him.
It was as if he was the only best thing she ever had.
She choked back a sob and silently prayed that he'd be okay, that she'd hoped he was watching over his health, and that she wanted nothing but the best for him even if he'd done the worst to her.
Paige buried her face in her arms as she rested them against the bed to pray for one more thing. Not for him, but for herself this time. Again and again she whispered to herself her only hope.
"Please make me stop loving him."