The Trouble With You

seven

He didn't show up to work today.

Your hand was raised against his door but you didn't knock. Not yet. What were you even doing here? This was the very thing he told you to stop doing. You looked down at the bag you picked up from the pharmacy — some honey lemon tea, flu meds, and a can of soup. Should you just leave this hanging on the door?

Gosh, were you really this pathetic? Still. Nobody has heard from him today and that had you worried so, you knocked.

You waited. You knocked again. You pressed your ear against the door and heard someone moving around inside.

Screw it. You put in the password you memorized on your second day here and went inside, dropping the bag by the door. It was dark, the curtains were closed and the only source of light was from the automatic hallway lights that turned on when they sensed movement. You followed the long hall down to the end where his bedroom was. It was a mess — clothes strewn about but your eyes disregarded all of that and settled on the lump on the bed.

You moved closer and pulled the covers off from him and gasped. His face was damp with sweat and he was breathing heavily. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered. His voice was basically gone.

Your heart shook. "Why? Because I'm bothering you?"

He gently shook his head. "Don't want you sick." Just then, a cough so violent took over and he hid underneath the covers, his body jerking with the cough that seemed to go on forever.

You quickly got to work, heading into the bathroom to run a small towel under cold water. You placed it on his forehead and he sighed with relief. You padded into the kitchen, pausing when you saw the bag of soup you got for him untouched on the counter.

Not wanting to think unnecessary thoughts, you got to work heating up the soup and boiling the water for the tea. You opened up the fridge and grinned when you spotted the hot sauce. Your mother always used to add some to soup, she claimed that the heat from the spice helped loosen things up. If that was a scientific fact you didn't know but it did help you feel better.

You set the items on a tray and carefully carried it to his room, placed it on the nightstand, and gently shook his shoulder. "You should eat some of this soup."

He groaned but managed to pull himself up a bit. You held out the spoon but he made no move to grab it. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you started feeding him some of the soup. Men were such babies. A simple flu takes them out meanwhile women had to function and go about their day while suffering from cramps that felt like they were getting stabbed over and over again.

Despite being annoyed, you also felt tender. You wanted to nurse him back to health. Maybe you really were stupid. You fed him until the bowl was empty and managed to get him to take a few sips of the tea. He popped one of the pills and then passed out while you cleaned up all the tissues around the bed and did a load of his laundry.

Why? Just why were you doing this? All for what? A man that said horrible things about you? So what if he was drunk? Didn't people's truths come out then?

You quietly closed his door and plopped down on his couch. What was the point of your makeover and leaving your job as his assistant only to end up back here? Taking care of him? You bit your lip as you chastised yourself. You've always been this way — going a mile for people who wouldn't even take a step for you. Maybe life was repeating itself because you just can't seem to learn the lesson behind it.

Your lids feel heavy as you rest your head against the back of the couch.

What felt like a few minutes later but you knew was longer based on how dry your tongue was, the sound of bare feet shuffling on the floor roused you from your unintended nap. You woke up, ignoring the ache in your neck and there he stood at the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He took a sip and then set the glass down, turning towards you.

His body seemed tense like he had something to say but didn't know how to say it. Before you knew it, his knees gave our and he slid down to the floor, making no move to catch himself. You ran towards him, helping him sit up and lean back against the counter.

Tears streamed down his face and he dropped his head into his hands. "What's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

Your hands moved frantically, trying to see which part of his body was hurting him but he gently shoved you away, broken sobs breaking out of him. "I'm so fucking sorry," he cried. "I don't deserve this, I don't deserve you." He faced you, eyes and nose red, snot dripping out. "I hate myself. I hate myself so much for ever causing you that much pain but seeing you here, napping on my couch because you were taking care of me, really hurts." He clutched his chest, holding it tightly. "Here. It hurts in here."

You silently sat and watched him, bewildered. You've never seen him lose himself like this and he's been through a lot. Words escaped you so you did what you knew to do. You sat closer to him and laid your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes of quiet, you stood up and held out a hand. "How about we get you back into bed?"

He smiled and took your hand and you led him back to his room, tucking him in. You could see he was about to pass out again so you quickly left his side but just as you had reached the door, you heard him say something:

"I love you."

The words were a faint whisper but it was as if he had shouted them. You turned to look at him but he was fast asleep, a peaceful smile on his lips.

You left his room, pondering if you had heard him correctly. You went over words that rhymed with love but none of them fit the context.

One thing was clear though, those words made your heart race.