Chapter 15 #3
“Come on. Let me help you sit up so you can take a drink of water,” I coax.
“What are you doing here?” she mumbles, narrowing her eyes at me from her nest in the blankets.
“I brought you soup. Don’t you remember?”
“No,” she says slowly. “I don’t remember eating soup.”
“You didn’t. You fell back asleep. Do you want it now?”
“Not really,” she says with a yawn.
Removing the blankets she’s buried under, I scoop her up under her legs and place her on my lap.
“Oh,” she says in surprise before resting her head on my shoulder.
Cradling her in my arms, I carefully reach for the thermometer and hold it in front of her forehead until it beeps.
102oF. Definitely a fever. I’m glad I continued applying cool compresses while I waited for Finn. It could have been higher.
“Here, Baby. I need you to drink water.” I hold the bottle to her lips while she swallows two mouthfuls. “One more,” I encourage. “Now I’m going to give you some more pills to help bring your fever down.”
She’s quiet as I fiddle with the safety cap on the bottle. I finally get it off and pour two into her outstretched palm.
She looks from her palm to my eyes and back again, like she doesn’t quite know what I want her to do. “I need you to put the pills in your mouth. I’ll give you water so you can swallow it. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she says as she slips them in her mouth. She grimaces as she takes two more sips of water to help swallow them.
“Good girl. Hopefully, those will make you feel better.”
“I feel gross. I’m cold but sweaty.”
“Do you want to take a shower? Are you steady enough on your feet to do it alone, because there’s no way I’ll be able to fit in there with you?”
“I can barely fit in there by myself.” She gives me a tired smile.
“It’s pretty tiny, but I can stand in the bathroom if you need me to.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Good. While you get cleaned up, I can change your sheets so they’ll be fresh.”
Rising to a standing position, I carefully place her on her feet and make sure she’s steady before I release her.
“Where are your clean sheets and a change of clothes?” She doesn’t have tons of storage space.
She points towards the drawers under her bed. When I pull one out, I find it filled to the top with different notebooks.
“Not that one.” She yawns, shaking her head.
“What’s all this?” There must be at least fifty of them tucked away in there.
“My life’s work and a bunch of trauma.” She snort-laughs, then breaks into a coughing fit.
When she catches her breath, she clarifies, “Sketchbooks of tattoos I’ve designed that are waiting for the right person and journals. The sheets are in the other drawer.”
I don’t know how to respond to that right now, but we can circle back to it when she’s feeling better.
Quickly, I find a grey flannel sheet set. She’s had medication, a little to drink, and she wants to have a shower. All good things.
“Do you want to wear pyjamas or sweats?” When she doesn’t answer, I glance up from where I am bent.
She’s standing there with tears streaming down her face. Rising, I go to her and pull her into my embrace. “What’s wrong, Baby?”
She rests her head on my chest before whispering, “Why are you taking care of me?”
“What do you mean?” I pull her closer.
“I don’t remember anyone ever looking after me when I have been sick before. I usually deal with it alone. But you stayed to make sure I was okay.”
“I’ll stay until you feel better, I promise.”
She remains silent for a moment longer before she says, “I’m going to wear pyjamas, but I can get them. Thank you for helping me.”
“You’re welcome.” I place a kiss on top of her head before releasing her. “You go take a shower and I’ll heat up the soup Maggie sent over.”
“It’s really late to be eating soup, don’t you think?” she asks, yawning again. “I just want to go back to bed.”
“I know you’re tired, but you should try to eat a little.”
“Okay,” she concedes as she reaches into a basket and retrieves what she needs. “I won’t be long.”
I exhale a large breath as I watch her slip into her bathroom and close the door. My poor girl. How has nobody taken care of her before?
Quickly, I toss the blankets and pillows onto the couch before stripping off the sheets and pillowcases. I find a hamper to put them in. I wonder where she does her laundry. The clean fitted sheet is a bitch to put back on in such cramped quarters, but with a little struggle, I get the bed remade.
The water is still running in the shower. I’m sure she’s alright, but I still call out to her, “Are you okay in there?”
“I’m fine. Almost done.”
Returning to the kitchen, I get the soup out of the fridge and pour half of it into a small, clean pot that was sitting on the stove.
Turning the burner on low, I heat it up.
At least I know how to do that. Finding a bowl and spoon and a box of crackers, I look around to see if there is anything else I need to help her feel better.
I feel much more confident than I did an hour ago. Now that she’s up and talking to me. Hopefully, the worst of it is over.