Chapter 20
20
MALCOLM
I t’s been a few hours of Ophelia and I hanging out at her place watching trashy TV and her nursing the plate of crackers I made for her after her nap. With some arguing—and a well placed bribe—I managed to get her to drink some more Pedialyte. I’m worried about her becoming dehydrated, so getting in enough liquids to replace what she’d lost is important to me. But now I have to pony up my end of the bargain.
“How long have you been growing out your hair?” she asks as she sits on the edge of the couch with me sitting between her legs.
“Pretty much since I got sober. I’d always had it short growing up but in my season of regaining control, I also took control of what I looked like. I’d always wanted to grow my hair out but my parents wouldn’t have it. They’re pretty strict like that but I’d already gotten several tattoos at that point and became their biggest disappointment, so what’s one more thing?”
“Do you still talk to them?” My eyes close as she runs her fingers through my scalp, picking up another piece and pulling it diagonally across my head.
“I talk to my umma, yeah. We talk on the phone sometimes but mostly just message back and forth with each other. I’m actually going to spend Christmas Day with my parents next month. Ow! Careful, there’s a person under that head.” I wince as her fingers get caught in my hair.
“Oh stop being a big baby, I’m not hurting you.” She bumps my shoulder with her knee and I loop an arm around it, running my fingers up and down on her ankle. “Umma, that’s ‘mother,’ right?”
“Yep, that’s right. She’s always been Umma to me, not mom, not mommy. Just Umma.”
“And what about your dad?” I hear the twisting of the elastic band behind me and feel her hands start on the other side.
“Oh, he’s just Dad. In Korean you’d say ‘appa’ but he always preferred ‘dad.’ I’m third generation Korean-American so we spoke both English and Korean growing up. Still do.” My eyes find a spot on the floor as I think about my parents and everything we’ve been through. Things are better between us now than they were a few years ago but they still aren’t great.
“Do they live in the city? Or in the Charleston area?”
“Just outside the city, yeah. They live in the same house I grew up in. I try to go and see them every few weeks just to check in.”
“That’s nice.” Her voice grows soft and I feel her hands pause for half a second before continuing the task at hand.
“What about you?” I turn my head the slightest bit to look at her which she doesn’t appreciate and promptly pushes it straight again.
“What about me?”
“Where do your parents live?”
“All done,” she says shortly, and the air suddenly feels heavy. She’s mentioned before how things with her parents are strained. I guess this isn’t a topic we’re allowed to discuss.
She stands from the couch and steps around the coffee table to look at me. “Oh my god, you look so cute,” she nearly squeals. “I did a good job.”
“Don’t call me cute. I could take someone out with one punch if I needed to. I’m not cute. I’m hot, sexy, a walking wet dream,” I sneer jokingly as I push myself up from where I was sitting on the floor. She watches me walk over to the mirror hanging on the wall and take in her work. Two perfectly woven braids tie my normally shaggy hair out of my face. “Hmm, I am kinda cute.”
“Let me tie ribbons on the ends.” I look at where she’s standing next to the coffee table and almost pull my phone out to take a picture of her. Her normally tamed and polished hair is in a messy bun on top of her head and her standard power suits and heels have been replaced with miss-matched pajamas and slippers. The thing I notice most though is her smile. It’s big and wide and is the most genuine one I’ve seen from her and I want to capture it forever in a photo so I never forget what it looks like.
“Not a chance in hell, little fox.” I walk back towards her and close the gap between us.
“Come on, please . I’m sick and dying, and this will make me feel better,” she tries. My hands find her waist without trying and I pull her body into mine.
“I think you’re starting to milk this whole being sick thing,” I hum into her neck as I press my lips to it. Her arms reach up and loop around my neck, pulling me in even closer.
“I think this is my house and my sick day so you should give me what I want. You never know, this could be my dying wish, how would you feel if you denied that?”
“I’ll happily give you anything else, but there’s not a shot in hell that I’m letting you put ribbons in my hair. The braids are plenty already.” I nip at her neck and she leans into me even more. As my hands explore her back under her sleep shirt, she giggles softly as my fingers graze over a soft spot near her hips. “Does that tickle?”
“Kind of, yeah.” I can hear the smile on her lips. I’m about to repeat the motion with my fingers when a familiar voice comes from the other side of her front door.
“Ophie? Are you home?” Both of our heads turn on a swivel to look towards her front door. “It’s me, sweetie, me and Hank. We’re coming in so I hope you’re decent.”
The sound of a key being inserted into the lock causes Ophelia to move as if she had just been poked with a cattle prod. She flies across the living room and holds the front door closed with both hands.
“Sorry, B, now’s not a good time,” she shouts back through the door, turning the lock again from the inside.
“What? Ophie, please, we need a place to stay. A water line broke in our building so they had to turn the water off.”
“That really sucks, B, but it’s really not a good time.” She looks over her shoulder at me and her face is twisted up with nerves.
“Oph—Ophie, are you holding the door closed?” Bailey shrieks from the other side of the door and I hear it jiggle as she tries to pull it open again. “Look, I don’t care if you have a visitor, I used to live with you, remember? Please we just need a place to crash for the night.”
“Bailey, I love you, I’m so sorry that happened, but you’re going to have to figure something else out.”
There is a pause on the other side of the door before Bailey speaks again. “Okay…are you okay? You’re not in danger or anything, are you? Cause if you are Hank is here and?—”
“No, sweetie, I’m not in danger. I just can’t let you in right now is all.” When I laugh a little louder than intended at the thought of Hank storming in here to fight me , Ophelia turns around and shushes me.
“Alright, we’ll try Kolbi’s place then.” There is a pause on the other side and for a moment I think they’ve left before Bailey’s voice calls out again. “But we will be talking about this tomorrow, young lady.”
Ophelia presses her ear to the door and once she trusts that they’re gone, she lets out a sigh of relief and turns to face me.
“You could have let them in, you know?” I take a few steps to meet her again as she swipes some loose hair out of her face.
“No, I couldn’t because that would have led to questions I don’t want to have to answer right now. And you know Bailey, once she starts she doesn’t stop until she gets what she wants.” Once I’m close enough, she lays her head on my chest as I bring my arms to her sides.
“And what kinds of questions are you not wanting to answer?” I try, curious to know how she will respond.
“Questions about what we are or why you’re here taking care of me or whatever.” Her voice becomes quiet.
“Or whatever,” I repeat. “I see.”
“I don’t feel very good,” she groans and I drop my face to look at her. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her hand is now covering her mouth.
“Here, let’s go lie down, it’s late anyway.”
Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, she holds me close with an arm tucked under mine as we walk into her bedroom. She pulls the hair tie out of her hair, releasing her dark brown locks so they cascade down her back, and climbs into bed. I pull the covers up for her and squat down so my face is level with hers. When my hand swipes her forehead to push some hair out of her face, I can feel the beginnings of a fever creeping in. Knowing what is probably coming next for her, I move the freshly lined trash can back to its place next to her bed just in case.
“Thanks for coming over and taking care of me,” she murmurs as her eyes soften. My thumb is starting to follow a rhythm as it paces back and forth along her cheek and it seems to soothe her.
“I’d do anything for you,” I say, meaning it with my whole heart. She might not be ready to admit we’re more than what we are, but I am. I’m ready to burn my entire playboy identity to the ground for her.
“You’re just saying that because the sex is good,” she attempts to joke but sleep is taking her quickly and her eyes are growing heavier with every passing second.
“No, little fox, I’m saying that because I really care about you. I like you more than I’ve liked anyone else. Fuck, I like you more than I like myself. I liked you even before we started having sex,” I say honestly with a chuckle. She nuzzles her face against my hand and is half asleep already and I wonder if she hears my confession. I stand when I think she’s fallen asleep to head to the couch so she can have her bed, but before I get too far, her hand catches my wrist. I turn to find her sitting up, propped up on one elbow, and looking up at me.
“Will you sleep in here with me?” Her eyes are wide but sleepy and her voice is already raspy from exhaustion. I feel my lips pull back in the corners as I look down at her and marvel how someone can look this stunning even when they’ve been puking all day.
“For you, I’d do anything.”
* * *
An unknown number of hours later, I’m awoken to the sounds of her regurgitating what has to be the last remaining contents of her stomach. After I stripped out of my clothes and was in nothing but my boxers, I crawled in next to her and we’d fallen asleep shortly after. I’d been happily reveling in how it felt to have her draped over me like a security blanket since she’d rolled over and wrapped an arm across my chest. Our breath fell into sync with one another and I had been having the best night of sleep I’d had in years.
Hearing her heave again, I spring from the bed and move to sit next to her and hold the trash can closer to the edge of the bed so she doesn't have to lean over so far to reach it. Still half asleep, she must not realize that her hair is hanging down into the trash and I do my best to pull it out of the line of fire without her noticing what has happened.
“I’m so sorry,” she groans into the can, shaking her head in embarrassment.
“Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for,” I try to soothe. More bile wretches from her stomach and I’m thankful it’s dark and she can’t see the faces I’m making. She takes a few deep breaths and spits before lifting her eyes to me. My heart lurches seeing just how exhausted, sick, and physically worn out she looks.
“Got anymore in there?” I ask, trying to get her to laugh even if just the smallest bit.
“I don’t think so,” she moans, trying to lay her head back down.
“Woah, hang on there, you don’t want to do that. You kind of—uhm—your hair kind of fell into the trash...” I wait for the dots to connect in her head before continuing.
Her head moves so she can look at the ball of hair I’m holding in my hand that is coated in her own vomit. “Are you telling me I have puke in my hair?”
“I’m telling you that it might not be a bad idea if we go and wash it,” I share with an empathetic smile. She groans again and almost flops back down on her side but I stop her. “Here, come on, I’ll help.”
Continuing to hold her hair in my hand so it doesn’t touch her pajamas, I help her up and we walk into her bathroom together. I guide her to the toilet and silently instruct her to sit. Once she’s sitting, I grab a hair tie I notice on the counter and carefully gather her hair on the top of her head and tie it into a messy bun. I quickly wash my hands in the sink and turn the handle in the shower so it starts to warm up. Then, I turn to her again where she’s slumped over the toilet, fighting off sleep as if her life depended on it.
“Okay, let that warm up. I’m going to get you some water and more Pedialyte which you will drink both of without argument. Got it?” She doesn’t even try to argue, instead she just gives me a pathetic thumbs up with her head still slumped over.
I hurry to the kitchen to grab her more liquids and she drinks them without a fight. Once she finishes them, I help her out of her pajamas and into the shower. Stepping in behind her, I carefully release her hair from the bun I’d tied it into and guide her head under the showerhead, soaking it with warm water. Her eyes are closed as I gently wash her hair with the various soaps that are sitting on the small shower shelf, doing my best to get her hair as clean as possible.
“Malcolm.” Her voice comes out just loud enough for me to hear over the running water. I’d already finished washing her hair but she acted as if she needed a minute to herself, so that’s what I’m giving her. I simply stand behind her, watching her and making sure she is okay, as she takes deep breaths and lets the warm water consume her.
“Yeah?”
“Are you sleeping with anyone else?”
My chin pulls back an inch in surprise, not expecting her to ask the question.
“No, I’m not,” I answer apprehensively.
“Have you slept with someone since being with me?” She turns around so her hair is under the water but doesn’t open her eyes to look at me. Her head is tilted back and her arms hang heavy by her sides. I fight to keep my eyes on her face and not her bare skin that is being soaked by the shower.
“Once, but it wasn’t the same as being with you. It was after the wedding but before Halloween. Honestly, I did it out of jealousy. I saw you leave that night at the bar with that idiot and I think I did it as some weird way of getting back at you. I couldn’t finish until I thought of you, then I came quickly.” I laugh awkwardly and feel a pang of guilt for using Lily that way. I really was an asshole.
“Me too.”
Confusion settles on my face. “You too?”
Her eyes flutter open and she meets my gaze. “Me too, I couldn’t finish until I thought of you. Jason, the idiot I went home with as you so eloquently called him. I faked an orgasm to get him to leave and then used one of my toys to get myself off and I thought of you, of our night together, as I did. I haven’t slept with anyone else since.”
“I guess I’m the only dick you need then, huh?” I tease which gets me an eye roll and a sad attempt at a laugh.
“I would hit you but I’m too tired.” She sighs as her eyes fall closed again. After taking a breath, she reaches to turn off the shower and I take that as my cue to get out. I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist before snagging a second clean one and wrapping it around her shoulders. When I do, she leans forward and presses her forehead into my chest.
“Hey, Malcolm?”
“Hmm?”
“Can we just have sex with each other? No one else…just you and me?” If her eyes were open she would see the smile that spreads across my face as I realize what she just asked me. It might not be to be her boyfriend, but it’s an ask to be exclusive, which, for a girl like her, is a big step. I wrap my arms around her body and hold her tighter.
“I think we can make that happen, princess.”