15. Nikita
Nikita
As soon as I feel Savanna start to move, I wrap my arms around her, wanting to keep her as close to me as possible.
I’m still half-asleep, exhausted after our night, and when I hear her moan, it takes me a couple of seconds to realize it’s not the one I’m used to.
It’s not her sexy I’m about to come whimper.
This is a sound that immediately makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and instantly makes the hard-on I was getting disappear with a quickness I hadn’t thought possible.
“Van, what’s wrong?” I lift up so I can see her, but she’s already burrowed under the pillow.
Her hand rests on top of it, keeping it in place and making sure no light can get in.
When she gives another pained moan, I throw the covers off, terrified that she’s bleeding or injured somewhere that I can’t see.
My first thought is that I hurt her. I was too fucking aggressive last night, and I’m so pissed at myself I can barely think.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, running my hands over her body to try and find where the pain is coming from. “Did I do this? Was I too rough?”
She lifts the pillow just enough to say, “No, it’s not that.” Then after a second, she adds, “Migraine. I’m so sorry.”
A relieved breath spills from my lungs before I run a shaky hand through my messy hair. “What can I do?”
“Nothing.” Her voice is muffled from the pillow, but I can hear her easily enough.
“Nothing ever helps. I just have to lay here and try to sleep it off.” I watch as she curls into the fetal position with her head still buried in darkness.
Her voice is thick with emotion when she says, “I’m so sorry. ”
My heart breaks with those three words, and when I lay down next to her and wrap my arm around her, she grabs my hand and hugs it against her chest. I feel her body softly shake, and I know she’s crying, and I feel completely and utterly useless.
I can’t take the pain from her. I can’t make it go away.
I want to protect her, but there’s nothing I can do.
I hold her while she cries, keeping my face pressed against her shoulder so I don’t disturb the little nest she’s made for her head.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” I kiss her shoulder while she clutches my hand and wraps her fingers around mine. “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain.”
“I ruined our day,” she says, and I shake my head, knowing she’ll feel the movement against her skin.
“You didn’t. I just want to spend time with you. That’s all I want and all I need. I’m sorry you’re in pain, but you’re not ruining anything, Van.”
Her body seems to calm at my words, and when I’m pretty sure she’s no longer crying, I kiss her shoulder again, and say, “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay.”
She sounds so pitiful, and I have to force myself to get up and leave her alone on the bed.
Before I go, I pull the sheet up, covering her naked body so she won’t get cold, and then I shut all the curtains and keep the lights off while I grab my phone and head for the bathroom.
I quickly Google what to do for a migraine and grab a washcloth so I can wet it with cold water.
When I’ve read enough to get me started, I throw on a pair of sweats and walk back out, keeping the door cracked so there’s enough light for me to see.
I’m careful to not make any noise in case she’s fallen asleep.
She curls into an even tighter ball, and when she moves the pillow so she can cup her head, I sit down next to her.
“Here, try this.” I very gently put the cold cloth on her forehead, and the first thing she does is pull it lower so it’s also covering her eyes. “Do you have any nausea?” I ask.
“So much,” she mutters, and I can tell she’s regretting all that pizza we ate last night, and the seconds we ate at around three in the morning.
“Let me know if you’re going to be sick. I’ll help you to the bathroom.” She groans in embarrassment, but helping her isn’t gross to me. She could literally do anything in front of me and it wouldn’t change a thing about how I feel about her.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her again, and then I run out to the kitchen to get some bottles of water and a sleeve of crackers just in case she decides she can stomach something.
I also grab the extra strength Tylenol in case it’ll help.
When I come back, she refuses the crackers with a grimace, but I do convince her to drink a little bit of the water and take the Tylenol.
“You don’t have to waste your day like this,” she tries to tell me, but I quickly put a stop to that nonsense.
“I love you, and I want to take care of you. This isn’t a waste of my day. I’m just glad you’re here so I can help. Yet another reason for you to move in. I hate to think about you alone like this.”
“I’ve just learned to sleep through them. I get them on and off, usually every few months.”
She talks to me slowly and with a soft voice while her hand rests on her head, keeping the washcloth in place as she stays curled up on her side. I pull up another cover and brush her hair out of the way.
“Do you think you could comfortably rest your head on my thigh?” I ask her. “I want to try something.”
“Maybe, but I can’t move around a lot, and I’m gonna try really hard to not be sick on you.”
“I appreciate that.”
She can tell I’m joking because when I sit down next to her, she says, “Can’t laugh. Too sick.”
“Come here, baby.” I rest an arm on her shoulder, letting her know I’m ready when she is.
Her movements are slow, and every second highlights the amount of pain she’s in.
She might be talking to me and keeping up the illusion that she’s okay, but it’s obvious she’s not.
When she’s almost in position, she pauses, taking a few calming breaths while I very gently keep the washcloth against her forehead.
After a few seconds, she gets into the same position she was in, except her head is now on my thigh. I pull the covers that have fallen back up and carefully brush her hair away from her face and neck.
“Tell me if this doesn’t feel good, and I’ll try something else, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
With a featherlight touch, I gently move the washcloth out of the way and then start to massage her face and head.
Much like I’d done last night when I’d first slid into her, I pay attention to every noise she makes, every micro-expression, letting her guide me without her having to say a word.
When her brows furrow, I quickly change direction, and when I feel her body relax and the tension leave her face, I repeat the movement until she relaxes even more.
She lets out a sigh of relief when I hit the base of her neck.
It feels good to be able to do this for her, even if it isn’t as much as I wish I could do, and when I hear the change in her breathing and feel the way her body completely relaxes, I feel a surge of pride at having eased her pain enough so she could fall asleep.
I keep softly rubbing her neck for a few more minutes, and then stop so I don’t wake her.
I’m not about to risk moving, so I grab one of the iPads I always keep on my nightstand and check on a few things while Savanna sleeps.
After a couple of hours, my bladder is screaming at me, and when she rolls off me and onto the pillow, I take advantage of it and use the bathroom.
She’s still in a heavy sleep when I get out, and I take a few seconds to admire the sight of her in my bed.
The covers slid down enough to bare one of her shoulders, and just the sight of those few inches of skin is enough to make my dick twitch.
Yeah, I’ve got it bad, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
Keeping the door open so I’ll hear her if she needs me, I head to the kitchen and make myself a coffee and then heat up some leftover pizza.
I eat it standing at the counter and then do a quick sweep of my cupboards just in case there’s a can of soup I’ve somehow forgotten about.
My kitchen is embarrassingly bare, so I grab my phone and start placing a grocery order.
I get a bunch of staples that most people always keep on hand, and then I add in some easy things I can cook for supper.
To top it all off, I add in all the usual I feel like shit foods like chicken noodle soup, bananas, rice, ginger ale, and peppermint tea.
I throw in some cookie dough ice cream in case she’s feeling better later and wants a treat.
While I wait for it to be delivered, I send a text to Sasha.
ME:
Van has a migraine. Can you ask Cindy how long they usually last or if there’s anything I can do to help her?
Sasha:
Hang on. I’m giving the phone to Cyn. It’ll be easier that way.
Sasha:
Hey, Niki! This is Cindy. What’s going on?
ME:
Van has a migraine. She’s sleeping now, but she woke up feeling like shit. What can I do to make it go away?
She doesn’t send another text. Instead, she FaceTimes me. When I accept the call, the first thing I see is Cindy’s smiling face and Sasha’s unreadable one.
“Hey,” I tell them. “So what should I do?”
It’s Cindy who answers, but she ignores my question and instead asks, “So Sav’s over there? She woke up with you?”
The excitement in her voice is impossible to miss, so is the sparkle in her eyes and the way she’s not-discreetly-at-all elbowing Sasha.
“She is and she did,” I say. “And she woke up with a horrible migraine,” I remind her, trying to get back to the reason for the call.
Cindy nods, some of the excitement dying at knowing her best friend is in pain.
“She usually sleeps through them. Nothing really helps. She doesn’t want to take the really strong drugs for them because of all the awful side effects.
Usually she turns out the lights, puts a cold washcloth on her head and sleeps. ”