Chapter 14 #3
“It was a toss-up between the Caesar salad, the fish of the day—bream in a cauliflower puree—and the Sunday roast,” I add hastily. “Although the vegetarian lasagne was also tempting. And the wild mushroom risotto is always nice here. We could share some fries. Or potato skins, if you prefer.”
Under the table, a warm hand finds mine and gives it a squeeze. “The vegetarian lasagne sounds great. With a few fries.”
During the meal, Neil’s solid leg against mine, and his overall attentiveness is lovely.
My friends are lovely, too, despite them ragging me.
I’m lucky to have them, especially as I don’t always bring much to the party, but they let me hang around anyway.
Despite all that, as the glasses clink and the teases flow, and I subtly move Neil’s glass away from hovering at the edge of his peripheral vision, I feel myself fading.
A late night and overpeopling, not to mention a mind-blowing, energy-sapping orgasm, is catching up with me.
Typically, the usual worries creep in. Is this simply exhaustion?
Have I overcooked things, or is something deeper slipping again?
I’ve been here before, thanks to misplaced confidence in my ability to differentiate between tired and unwell.
Taking on extra stuff and believing I can handle everything.
I’m ninety percent certain this is merely the former, since I’ve had a stimulating, wonderful twenty-four hours.
And anyway, Neil isn’t stuff. He’s way more.
The Neil I’m growing close to, the one even Alaric doesn’t know exists, is a revelation.
He’s funny and kind and, despite his own huge ongoing drama, is nothing but considerate.
Brave too, because he's holding all his anxieties about his future inside whilst trying to appear normal on the outside. I know from personal experience how much courage that takes. The Neil Alaric recognises, someone whose internal depth is only measured with a microscope, is a character I’m not sure Neil believes in himself.
And I’m glad. I want more of this one, and I want more of us, if it’s something he wants too. If that involves supporting him as he comes to terms with his worsening vision, then I’m right here.
Right now, however, my soul is slipping into my pyjamas. My cosy quiet flat, my squishy sofa, and mindless telly are calling.
Neil, bless him, spots me yawning. “You want to head out?” he whispers as Isaac and Alaric pore over the dessert options. “I’m done here, too. Let me go pay for us at the bar and I’ll join you outside.”
On the short walk home, we’re both quiet.
“I don’t like them teasing you,” he says as we reach the corner where we go different ways. “I accept that I’m fair game—I’ve dished it out enough over the years—but you’re not.”
“I don’t mind. It’s only Alaric. Teasing, flirting, and being provocative are his love languages.”
Neil frowns. “I don’t care. I almost told him to shut the fuck up.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I can look after myself.”
He throws me a sidelong glance, turning his head to get me in the centre of his visual field. “I think you probably can. You’re tougher than you look.”
At the moment, I don’t feel very tough. My legs are leaden.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” I cover a yawn with my hand. “Just tired.”
He pulls me to a stop, his dark eyes searching mine. This close, and head on, he can see me perfectly and he’s not entirely buying it. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if something was wrong? This helping each other business goes two ways, you know.”
“Of course,” I lie. If this is a mini crash, I manage them alone.
No one could help me. Only time, sleep, and medicines hold the key.
I pray this is only exhaustion; I’m not ready for Neil to see me having a full-blown downer.
“Honestly, I’m just tired. I know my limits, and this weekend I’ve stepped beyond them.
” I drag my gaze down the length of him, unable to help myself lingering over a certain part. “You’re quite a lot.”
Hopefully convinced, he laughs and pulls me into a hug. “Dear Lord, protect my outline from the wicked gaze of this lustful Jezebel. I’m busy at work for a couple of days, covering for one of the regulars on leave. Can I see you after that? Will you call me, or text?”
A thrill rolls through my weariness. “Are you asking me on another date?”
He kisses the top of my covered head, squeezing me tight. “Not exactly.”
“Oh, okay.” I haven’t got the spoons to deal now. I can’t even muster up a blush at my apparent misunderstanding. If it’s supportive company for another trip to the hospital he’s after, then I can–
“God help me,” Neil’s voice says in the vicinity of my hooded right ear, “but I’m not after a date. I think…I think what I’m asking is whether you’re interested in having a situationship with me, rash whisperer.”
“Yeah?” My weary heart manages a weary flip.
“Yeah.” Neil treats me to a final brush of his soft lips against mine. “Who knew that was one of the lesser-known symptoms of RP?”