If she was being honest to herself, she was feeling worried. Worried about his silence. Worried what he might be feeling or doing...if he was hurting or...maybe very happy now. Whenever the latter comes to mind, she tries to prepare herself over and over for seeing him that way – happy. Probably with Jane. She reminded herself that it was her decision to let him be. To end things with him. To let him be happy. So she should be happy now. She just had to live through the decision she chose.
She missed him. He was some years younger than her so she supposed it was why she thought he was annoying with his antics at times. It was cute half of the time, half of it just exasperating. He was mischievous and affectionate, and he sometimes acted like an unpleasant child but she missed him. He was her annoying, unpleasant brat.
She missed his encouragements. No matter what, he listened to whatever she needed and wanted to say and would share his own thoughts about them seriously. It was when he seemed most like a man to her. He rarely showed it but he gave a lot of thought to anything and anyone he cared about.
One week since he called and ever since then, she hadn't heard from him. No message, no call, nothing.
She was worried. Then she realized she had no right to worry about him.
Most nights she lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come while missing him. Thinking of him, her memories of him. There were tears – a lot of them. It hurt but she thought it was necessary. She had to let him go completely.
Twice, she caught herself about to dial his number. It was more difficult than she thought, sending him away.
She wondered how he would react when they would see each other again. There was no other option, they would see each other. It was impossible not to see him again at the office, at the next concert, in their next photo shoot.
Would he be hurting like her? Or would he pretend not to know her?
Would he be with Jane?
She tried to go as normally as possible with her scheduled work, her life. No one would know, she vowed, that she was hurting. It wasn't necessary to hurt other people who cared for her as well.
Outside, she looked fine. Once she was inside her door, everything shattered. She hardly ate. She had no appetite. Once a day, she would. She had to. Keeping up with appearances.
It wasn't enough. The fatigue and that general unwell-ness that most described that something she felt took over. On the 6th day, there was a high fever and coughing and difficulty getting out of bed. She missed him then more than ever.
Of course there were a few people around her who knew. Diana, her flatmate, had scolded her of course, when she came home from work and found her in her room in the same state she left in. She brought some store bought porridge for her. Diana’s advice was so stop thinking of him and to eat and rest properly.
"I swear! I'll stay here in your room and watch you if I have to so I'll know if you're eating and sleeping!" If she was trying to cheer her up, it didn't work. Diana let her cry though, and exhausted, she finally fell in a deep sleep. The first in days. It might have been the cold medicine Diana had given her but it didn’t matter.
Sunday, exactly one week after his last call, found her feeling a little bit better. Diana left that morning with food that would last her at least two days. Feeling grateful, she sent her a message and a promise of a lunch date once she got completely better.
She turned on the TV for something to do when she woke a few hours after lunch but eventually, the meds took over and she fell asleep again on the couch. Waking up to the sound of tinkling plates and running water, she sat up and realized somewhat belatedly that she was in bed, in her room. It looked like Diana made good on her promise. Or was serious about her threat anyway.
Seeing the glass of water on her bedside table, she suddenly felt her thirst and drank the whole thing in one gulp. It tasted somewhat stale but it still felt good in her body nevertheless. She picked up the empty glass as she got up and walked slowly out of the room.
"Diana, how did you take me to my room? I know I’m sick and all but I still must weigh more than you can carry?"
The faucet suddenly turned off and the sound of running water stopped. She turned towards the sink, feeling a new burst of ache building on her temple.
He was standing near the sink, clearly looking surprised at her sudden appearance and guilty at her catching him there.
Equally surprised, she just stared, unable to say anything.
He looked the same, except he looked tired. Bloodshot eyes, bags under them and he looked pale and generally worn out. He was just frozen[timm1] there looking back at her and on the countertop beside him were newly washed mugs and dishes. A boiling pot was on the stove. As her eyes darted to it, he finally moved, switching the stove to simmer.
Now that the shock was slowly fading, she frowned. What was he doing here?
As if in response, he walked towards her slowly, gingerly, taking the empty glass out of her hand. He filled it up again with water and placed it back in front of her. He stepped back again, as if there was some solid, invisible force keeping her away from him.
She thought she must be going crazy because the instinct to shout and throw the glass of water at him suddenly flared up inside her. But why should she be angry? He clearly cleaned and cooked for her and most probably took her to bed and watched over her. Nevertheless, she was mad. What right did he have to do all those things?
She waited, resisting the urge to hurl accusations at him. All she did was stare at him, waiting for her sudden anger to die down.
"I'll leave as soon as this finishes." He finally broke the silence, turning his back on her and resuming stirring the contents of the pot. If he saw the play of emotions on her face, he didn't give any indication that he did.
She abruptly wanted to cry and tell him to drop everything else and just do nothing but hold her. It was all too much, the rapid convoluted switching of her thoughts and feelings. If it was because she wasn't feeling well...well, she was sick alright. Sick in the head most probably.
She heard herself call his name.
He turned back to her, frustration etched on his face.
“Please.”
Anger was barely suppressed in his tone. She was taken aback by his expression. Why was he mad now? Wasn't she the one who needed to be mad and not him?
"Just let me do this for you. If not as –” He looked away from her. "Even as just a friend, let me do this. What are you – what have you been –" He shook his head. "How do you expect me to –" And he stopped again, looking more frustrated.
She watched his face, only half listening. The desire to cry and touch him intensified and she tried desperately not to. She missed him. Only now that he was right in front of her did she realize how much she truly missed him.
He looked up suddenly and found her staring at him with a peculiar expression on her face. All his anger and frustration disappeared at once, replaced by sudden weakness and exhaustion.
She looked away when his eyes caught her, training her gaze now on a spot right above his shoulder.
He exhaled, unable to control his own emotions now. He took a step forward cautiously, giving her time and a chance to back away if she wanted to. She didn't move and stepped even more closer to her, slowly and carefully.
She looked tired, although better than earlier when he found her sleeping on the couch. In his eyes, she looked thinner, smaller. Her eyes looked a little swollen, not unlike his own, and he couldn't help but feel some relief about it. It looked like he wasn't the only one having a hard time. Maybe, just maybe...there was still some hope left.
He wasn't sure if he should but after a week of desperately dialing her number and hanging up even before the first ring, he just had to check up on her. Anything about her.
He settled on calling Diana, after a long time of deliberation. Although she was one of her closest friends, he knew she disapproved of them being together from the start.
Diana didn't answer the first five times he called. An hour later, he tried again and an annoyed Diana greeted him. He asked, and no matter what he expected, it surely wasn't her in bed, sick from a high fever. His concern for her took over and he hurriedly told Diana he was going to their flat, not knowing what he was even saying.
Of course, Diana thought he was crazy and proceeded to shout at him. He only half listened, talking back at the same time as her, sick with worry now.
"Scold me next time Diana. Please, I know I have no right to ask you this but if you could help me, please. I just need to see her. It's my fault, it's my fault. I just want to know if she's okay. I swear I'll just...I won't even talk to her, I just want to see her Diana, please."
It seemed like he’d said these words a thousand times in a span of one week.
"...She's fine. She was sleeping when I left."
"Diana...please."
"Why do you even think I'll help you? After everything...I was right about you."
"This is not about me. She's sick. I just...Diana, she's sick and she's alone...and it’s my fault."
"I told you. She's fine."
"Diana...I just want to see her."
"....."
"Please."
"I'll wait outside the building."
Whatever made Diana help him, he didn't know and there was no time to find out. He didn't tell anyone where he was going either, knowing they would stop him.
Diana met her outside the door, letting him in with strict instructions. She was most probably in bed, because of the cold medicine she gave her. If she was awake, then, it was his problem. He asked if she wasn’t going inside with him and Diana shook her head, telling her he already knew his way around the house. He thanked her and Diana left, still glaring at him.
Thankfully, she was indeed asleep when he came in but not at her bed. He carried her back to her room and tucked her in. He didn't know what else to do; for quite some time he only watched her sleep, checking her temperature once. He was afraid to touch her – scared she might wake up or that he won't let go. Whatever Diana said, she didn't look okay to him and her fever only went up by the hour. He decided on making soup before leaving, one of the only few things he knew how to cook.
Of course, his luck had run out, as she woke up and found him before he finished.
She now avoided his eyes. He felt a little relieved to see her up and walking although that meant there were words needing to be said and then some not at all.
Seeing her like this made his chest clench painfully as if he was sick and in pain instead of her. She looked weak. Fragile. About to break any second. He gently held her face with his hand. She was focusing on his shoulder and he crouched down and leveled his eyes with hers.
He sighed her name. It was nice to feel her again even if it was temporary. He held her face, willing her to look at him.
"I promise I'll leave...after you eat and drink your medicine."
She only looked at him, as if searching for something in his eyes. He stood up, placing an arm around her shoulders, another around her waist. He held her gingerly – not as tight as he would have wanted. She was warm – too warm – and he quickly let go, shrugging off his hoodie.
"No, don't..." He heard her say weakly, but he didn't listen.
He took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders, clasping it tightly in front of her. He took his chance to look at her again, and her face held an expression that was all too familiar to him. She looked like she had given up, completely surrendering to whatever he wanted. He didn't mean to, but his lips turned up in a slight smile.
"Go back to bed. I'll bring the food to you when it's done."
"I'm fine. No need to."
He sighed, letting go of her and walking back to the stove. A million things were floating in his head now, but he pushed them away. Nothing else mattered now but her regaining her strength.
He heard her call out for him. He turned and she was holding out his jacket for him.
"It's cold, put this back on."
"I'm fine." He said, getting the jacket and helping her onto it again. "It’s cold. It's you who needs this."
She sighed this time, placing her arms through the correct holes, not bothering to suggest getting her blanket from her room instead.
He made her sit down and within minutes, he placed a bowl of steaming chicken soup in front of her.
"I'm not..." She began, looking at the bowl.
He watched her, already knowing what she's going to say.
"I'm not hungry."
"I know you don't have the appetite but you need to eat this at least." He prodded gently, picking up her spoon.
"No, it's fine, I can do it."
He already had a spoonful waiting for her. She frowned.
"Just five spoonfuls."
She obliged, looking queasy. He knew how she was feeling and he bit his lip in worry and frustration again.
"Aren't you...going to eat?" She asked on the fourth spoonful of soup.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." He said exasperatedly. True to being her, worrying about others before herself.
"Right." He heard her murmur and the tone she used made him look at her. He realized how his words might have sounded to her, the implication, and he immediately wished he could take them back.
"I can't take any more." She said, pushing the bowl away.
"Just one more." He replied.
She shook her head, already walking back to her room. He exhaled loudly, covering the unfinished bowl on the table. He followed to her room with a glass of water. She was on her bed, bundled tightly in her blanket.
He placed the glass on her bedside table, rummaging through the medicine bag Diana must have left there. He handed the pills to her and watched her drink it.
He bit his lip, knowing he must leave then, as he promised.
"There's still soup left on the pot. When you get hung –"
"Why are you here?"
He looked at her; she was waiting for an answer. He sat down on her bed, as far as space would allow.
"I heard you were sick..." He answered lamely. "I was worried and...I just...I just needed to make sure you were alright."
"I'm fine."
He bit his lip again so as not to say what he really wanted to. She was not fine. Anybody could see that.
"I thought I was the one who should be taking care of you." She said.
"Why is that?"
"Because I'm older."
"I'mthe guy, you know."
He saw her nod sadly. He didn't want to stress her especially now and he was torn between what he wanted to do and what he shouldn't do.
"I miss you..." He blurted out, looking straight at her. "Like going crazy thinking of you and wanting to call and see you..."
"You shouldn't..." She began.
He shouldn't what? He shouldn't miss her? He shouldnotthink of her?Notwant to call or see her?
"You shouldn't have come. What if –"
He exhaled, not knowing he was holding his breath in the first place.
"Tell me honestly. Do you not want me here?"
She didn't answer. She only looked at him, searching him for what he really wanted to know. After what felt like eternity, she lay back in bed and his forehead creased in worry.
"Are you tired? How are you feeling?" He touched her forehead, not thinking of what he was doing.
She shook her head, eyes closed.
"No. I just..."
She only sighed but he understood.
She was feeling too warm again. He pulled his hand away from her forehead and held her hand instead.
He said her name.
"I'm sorry...but I'm not leaving."
He stroked her hand gently. He guessed it was a good thing she was too weak to protest both his words and actions.
"I’m not leaving. I don’t care what you say. I’m not leaving you.”
He looked back up at her face. He wasn't sure if she was even awake to hear him.
“I can't."