Chapter 44
Josh
Alittle later, I run her a bath. She’s wiped from the emotional exhaustion of rehashing all those old memories. Those old wounds. And from trying to make sense of the head-fuck I’ve delivered to her.
I fill her huge marble tub almost to the top, pouring in a lot of the geranium bubble bath she’s asked me to use.
It smells amazing, and I wish things were different and I could climb in there with her.
Soap her up and enjoy her body. But right now, she’s sick and exhausted, and all that matters is her recovery.
I test the water to make sure it’s not too hot.
I can imagine she’s pretty sore. You know.
Down there. And I don’t want it to sting.
I stick my head around the door to her bedroom. ‘It’s ready, baby.’
She walks slowly through and stops when she’s sees the candles I’ve lit. No big deal. I want it to be relaxing for her.
‘Ugh, heaven.’ She tugs her sweater off over her head. ‘Give me a minute, will you? I need the loo.’
I back out the door. ‘Sure.’ I know she’s wearing a pad, and I don’t want her to be uncomfortable about any of that. I close it behind me.
A minute later, she calls my name. ‘Josh? Come in and keep me company, will you?’
She’s in the tub, her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head, her neck resting on a rolled-up towel. Just her head and shoulders are visible above the bubbles.
‘You can join me if you like?’ Her expression is hesitant.
‘Nah.’ I sit on the closed lid of the toilet. ‘Don’t know what colour you’re gonna turn that water, do I? Red? Brown?’
Her mouth opens wide and she gasps. I’m not sure if she’s ready to joke about it yet, but I figure we may as well laugh about this shit (like, literally).
‘That is so unfair! You’re such an arsehole.’
‘Baby, if you haven’t worked that out already, there’s no hope for you.’
She pouts. It’s fucking adorable. ‘Making fun of me when I’ve just got out of hospital is low, even for you. I think that merits a few bath chores.’
I narrow my eyes at her. ‘What are bath chores when they’re at home?’
‘You know. Washing me. Maybe a little neck rub.’
‘The last thing you need right now is a dude with a hard-on up against your butt.’
‘You won’t be going anywhere near my bum. It’s so sore.’
‘Pity.’ I lean over and swipe some bubbles, decorating her shoulder with them. ‘So I guess that means anal’s off the table for a few days?’
Her face is fucking priceless. ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’
‘Believe it, baby.’
‘Come on.’ She jerks her head. ‘Get in. The least you can do is strip for me. You owe me that much.’
‘Oh, really.’
I stand up.
I tug my sweater and shirt off over my head.
She stares at my pecs. My abs.
I unbutton my jeans.
Her gaze drops lower. She bites her bottom lip as if she’s trying to stop herself from smiling.
I drop my pants and my boxer briefs. I’m semi hard, just from seeing her in the bath. Just from the knowledge that she’s naked, under those bubbles. And the way she’s eye-fucking my body isn’t helping.
I jerk my thumb. ‘Quit looking at my dick and scoot forward so I can get in behind you.’
She giggles and obliges, and I get one leg in the tub, then another, and ease in behind her.
Pulling her back against me.
Settling her head on my shoulder.
Smoothing her hair off of her forehead.
Fuck, that feels good.
She wriggles against me. ‘You’re getting harder.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘I suppose it’s mine. Shit, I really wish I was open for business right now.’
‘Shh,’ I croon into her ear. ‘You let that body of yours rest, all right? I am so fucking happy to be here right now. I don’t need anything from you. You got that?’
She nods and murmurs in the affirmative, and as we lie there together, I enjoy both the heat seeping through my skin and the sense of wonder that we’ve got to this point, after everything that’s happened these past few days.
Right at this moment, my girl is recovering.
She’s doing okay, and she’s here in my arms. And I feel like we know each other a million times better than we did when we were actually dating.
Because we’ve let each other in.
I stroke some bubbles down her throat, over her collarbone.
‘Are you ready to tell me some more about your illness? I mean, I did some googling, but I want to understand it.’
‘I suppose so. What do you want to know?’
‘How long have you had it, exactly?’
She turns her head to the side, and I kiss her forehead.
‘I got a bout of glandular fever when I was fifteen. I missed six months of school, and my doctors think that might have been what brought on the Crohn’s.’
‘What’s glandular fever?’ Another disease I’ve never heard of.
‘We had this conversation with my parents, years ago, when my dad let slip about my health one night. You guys call it mono.’
‘Ah. Rings a bell. Yeah, that’s rough. And that triggered the Crohn’s?’
‘It’s the best guess the doctors can make.
The Epstein-Barr virus is nasty, basically.
And it can trigger auto-immune issues, which is what Crohn’s is.
And the timing fits. I lose weight really easily when I have a bad flare-up.
I was losing so much weight before I finally got a diagnosis that school thought I had an eating disorder.
So many doctors struggle to diagnose Crohn’s. ’
‘I guess I still don’t really get why you don’t talk about it. I imagine it would help a lot of women if you came forward, no?’
She groans. ‘I know it would, and I’ve agonised over it, because Crohn’s can definitely use more poster children.
I told you. It’s mortifying. It’s so revolting.
Not only does everything go right through me when it happens, because my bowel can’t cope, but I haemorrhage and I poo out blood clots.
I mean, it’s so disgusting. No one wants to talk about that.
And everyone gets so much of me already.
Forgive me for wanting to keep this to myself. ’
‘I totally get it.’ I ask the question I’ve been dreading. ‘Can it be fatal?’
My forearm is across her shoulders, holding her to me, and she brings her hand up to squeeze mine.
‘Only rarely. The most common reason people might die from it, I think, is if the inflammation in the gut gets so bad that sepsis sets in. That can kill you, obviously. Or I suppose if someone loses too much blood and can’t get a transfusion in time.
But most of the time it’s just a nasty, debilitating and embarrassing chronic illness. ’
‘So this is how it is for you? It won’t get any worse—you just have to manage your stress?’
‘Kind of. I’m very careful about what I eat—I try to stick to an anti-inflammatory diet.
So, yeah, my main triggers are stress and overdoing it.
But my biggest worry is that every time I have an attack, especially a bad one, I’m compromising my colon further.
Weakening the lining further. And that’s not good for absorption—because nutrients get absorbed through the lining of the intestines—but the worst case is that the scarring gets so bad they need to remove my bowel and give me a Stoma instead. That’s a colostomy bag.’
‘Holy fuck.’ I pass my free hand over my face. I can’t imagine living with this hanging over me. And it’s so unfair to think that all my health issues, mental or physical, are totally self-inflicted, whereas Elle has to live with this huge fucking burden through no fault of her own.
I bend my head and kiss down her forehead, her nose, to her lips.
‘I think you are so brave.’ Kiss. ‘And resilient.’ Kiss.
‘And strong.’ Kiss. ‘And positive.’ Kiss.
‘And you’re the sexiest, most achingly beautiful woman I’ve ever known.
And I will always think that, whatever physical version of yourself you end up being.
Bowel or no bowel. Okay? I’m not going anywhere, and I’m so grateful you feel you can be open with me.
And the more you open up, the more I fall in love with you. ’
She leans her head back so I can get to her mouth, and I kiss her . Gently, but deeply.
I’ve told her a few times today that I love her, and she hasn’t said it back.
And that’s okay.
It’s way more than okay.
Because being able to say it to her without upsetting her, and knowing that she’s hopefully absorbing the words I’m saying to her, is more of a gift than I thought I’d ever get.
The whole of today has been a gift. Not doing. Not living life at the frenetic pace I’ve been used to for so long—a pace so crazy I needed a pharmacy-load of pills to come down at night. Today was slow, in the best possible way. It was about just being. With Elle.
‘Hey.’ I pull away a little so I can see her face. ‘With all the shit that went down, I never asked you how it went with Gordon Kay.’
She gasps. Sits straight up. Turns around and looks at me in horror. ‘Fuck.’