28. Global Warming? No, It’s the Chemtrails
28
Global Warming? No, It’s the Chemtrails
From Barry Wright’s manifesto:
Those “condensation trails” left by aircraft are actually streams of chemicals the government is using to control the weather.
TESSA
W hen I woke up, I knew exactly what kind of day it would be: a pain day.
Stabs radiated through my abdomen as I lay on my side. The weight of Oliver’s hand seemed to focus the throb of it. Gently, I lifted his palm and set it behind me. I tucked up my knees, curling around the ache.
Behind me, he shifted his body closer and touched my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Hurts.”
He sat up. “I’ll get your medicine.”
I breathed slowly in and out as deeply as the pain allowed, trying to imagine a tiny amount of the pain leaving my body on each exhale. It was total bullshit. The only thing that would dull the cramp was naproxen.
He was back in a minute with a glass of water and the prescription bottle. Although he’d pulled on his sexy sweatpants, I couldn’t focus on anything but the knives cutting me open.
“Can you sit up?” he asked.
I moaned and instantly hated myself. He shouldn’t see me like this. Since he’d spilled my secret at Savannah’s birthday party almost two weeks ago, I’d blocked him from everything but my bed. Now I wished I’d kicked him out last night. I’d known my period was coming, and the cramps that came with it, but I’d been too wrung out from orgasms to move, much less tell him to go away.
I grasped his hand and let him pull me up to sitting and leaned against the headboard. I breathed through another wave of pain, then brushed the tangled hair out of my eyes. He shook a tablet from the bottle into my palm, then handed me the glass of water. I gulped it down and closed my eyes, willing it to dissolve quickly into my bloodstream.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked.
I groaned, anticipating the pain that would shoot through me with every step. “Yes.”
“I’ll carry you.” He bent, already scooping his arms under my knees and back.
“Absolutely not.” My voice was stronger now. “Give me your hand.”
I let him pull me up to standing and leaned on him until we made it to the bathroom door. “I’ve got it from here.”
“You sure? I don’t want you to fall.” The adorable little line creased between his eyebrows.
“I’m a forty-three-year-old woman who’s been successfully walking since I was one. I’m not going to fall.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t release my elbow.
I extricated my naked body from his grasp and shut the door. By the time I’d used the toilet and brushed my teeth, I realized that standing upright pulled muscles that only wanted to curl in like a pill bug. I accepted that I wouldn’t be going to work today or—I glanced in the mirror at my snarled hair and pale face—going on camera in meetings.
I tugged on a pair of loose joggers and a Berkeley hoodie from my closet, along with a pair of thick socks, then I padded down the hall. Oliver sat at my kitchen table reading something on his phone, a cup of coffee in his other hand. He wore the green Dartmouth T-shirt that lived at my house now.
“I thought you’d be on your way to work,” I said, pulling a mug off the rack.
He jumped up. “Let me do that. Lie down on the couch.”
“I can pour my own coffee.” My voice came out testy.
“Of course you can.” He set a soothing palm on my back. “But I want to do it. Go rest.”
“I’m not an invalid.” I grabbed my laptop bag from the hook by the door. “I’ve been dealing with this since you were in diapers.”
He only hummed and popped two slices of bread into the toaster.
I shuffled to the couch and powered on my laptop.
He set a steaming mug of coffee on the table. “You don’t have to work today. You can take it easy.”
“Of course I have to work today. How else is the budget going to get done?”
“It can wait. Or I can do it. I’ve got my laptop. I’ll work in your study so I don’t bother you.”
“So you can hover over me? No, thanks. Go to work.”
He perched on the other side of the couch. “Are you sure? What if you need something?”
“Then I’ll get it for myself like the grown-up I am.” When his smile faded, I said, “If I truly need help, Savannah’s here. Go to work. They need you.”
He worked his jaw. “Fine. I’ll text you to check in.”
“Okay. But I might take a nap, so don’t worry if I don’t text back right away.”
He swallowed like he’d tasted something bitter. Worrying was his superpower. “Okay.”
He lingered for a few more minutes, bringing me toast and a banana, then a pillow and a blanket from my bed. Finally, he leaned over and kissed my forehead.
“I’m having an endometriosis flare-up, not dying,” I grumbled.
Grinning, he rested his knee on the edge of the couch, tipped up my chin, and kissed my lips. He was gentle at first, but I grabbed the collar of his sweatshirt and pulled him closer. I might be ten years older than he was, wearing a faded college hoodie fraying at the cuffs, and high on some pretty serious pain meds, but I was still sexy.
He went with it, bruising my lips, then licking inside with the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue. With a nip at my lower lip, he pulled away. “Better?”
“Yeah, I think so.” My head was swimming too much to remember which chemicals were produced by kissing, but they must have had some palliative effect on pain too.
“Good. I’ll bring you a scrip for more of those tonight.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re not that kind of doctor.”
“No, I’m the sexy kind.” He gave me one last, lingering kiss and walked out.
I stared at his ass until he shut the door. Isn’t that the truth.
Being alone didn’t feel as good as I thought it would. The room seemed empty without him, and I almost, almost wished he were here to refill my coffee when it was empty. Instead, as the naproxen dulled my pain, I set my laptop on the floor, burrowed under the blanket, and slept.
I woke when my phone rattled against the coffee table.
Oliver
How are you feeling?
I assessed my body.
Tired. But better
Great. Need anything?
“Good, you’re up.” Savannah walked in with a glass of water and the pill bottle. “Want a sandwich?”
My stomach felt sour from the long nap. “No, I’m okay.”
“You need to eat something with your medicine. How about a cookie?”
“Mmm. Is there any coffee left?”
“I’ll make a fresh pot.” She returned to the kitchen, and I picked up my phone.
No, Savannah’s taking care of me
My phone buzzed with another text.
Carly
Savannah says you’re having a rough day. Anything I can do?
Of course she’d told on me. Irritation prickled in my fingers.
No, I’m okay. She’s hovering tho
Lucie
Want us to come over tonight, or would it be more helpful to leave you alone?
I’ll let you know later
I didn’t hate the idea of them coming over for some comfort snacks. But that meant I couldn’t spend the night with Oliver.
What?
I wanted to spend the night with Oliver instead of my best friends?
Goddammit.
I hadn’t protected myself from him at all. He’d weaseled his way inside my defenses with his amazing dick. And those lips. Not to mention his fingers.
I was in trouble.
To distract myself from those troubling emotions, I picked up my laptop, set it on my knees, and opened my email.
New messages cascaded into my inbox like usual. Questions from Dr. Perrell. A message from the CFO I’d have to come back to later. An update from West about the key positions we were recruiting for.
But there were also several messages from Sadie. And Aanya and Huong and Ekaterina.
Hey, how are you doing?
Sending good vibes your way!
Heard you had a flare-up. Feel better soon!
What.
The.
Hell.
How had they found out?
Only one person could have told them.
It was one thing for Savannah to tell our best friends I was in pain. It was another thing for Oliver to talk about my condition at work.
I closed my eyes, willing the rage to recede. But it flowed hot in my veins.
“Savannah,” I called. “I’m going to need some chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”
L ater that afternoon, Oliver came home.
Not home. My home, not his. Not at all. I smoothed my hair away from my face and straightened my shoulders.
Instead of hello, I said, “Why did you tell everyone I was sick?”
He frowned. “They asked where you were.”
“They asked you where I was? Do they know about us?”
“No.” He put up his hands defensively. “Of course not. They asked in general. I said you’d called in sick.”
“Why’d you have to say anything at all?” I wanted to stand up, pace around and look strong. But my stomach was full of knives, and it was all I could do to sit upright.
“Be-because they asked. Because they care. Because I care.”
“You shouldn’t have said anything. It’s my news to tell. Or not.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “They wanted to know. I thought it might make you feel better to know they care about you.”
“It didn’t.” Maybe it was true, or maybe it wasn’t. Regardless, I didn’t want Oliver to share my personal medical situation with anyone. That was much more important.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He perched on the coffee table and took my hand. “What can I do to make it up to you?” He ran a finger up my palm to my wrist.
I snatched my hand back and folded my arms across my chest. “Not that.”
“Really?” He rested a finger above my knee.
“Really.” But even to myself, I sounded uncertain.
His voice went deep. “Because if you’re feeling up to it, I could slip off those sweatpants and do what I did the other night when you screamed my name.”
“What was that?” I pretended not to know exactly what he was talking about.
He dipped his chin. “I think you know.”
I looked away. “Shit.”
He scooted closer until our knees touched. “I really am sorry I crossed the line.” He leaned forward and kissed me sweetly on the lips. Then he put his lips to my ear. “Let me take you to bed. I’ll make you come, then I’ll bring you dinner. Or we can do it in the reverse order.”
“Savannah made fresh cookies, and I’ve been eating them all afternoon. I can do without dinner.”
“Then I’ve got time to make you come twice. Let’s go.” He stood and held out his hand to me.
I took his hand and let him lead me to bed. But as I hit my climax, and as he curled his body around mine, I reminded myself it was only about sex. I couldn’t trust him with my heart.