Fifteen #2
When her coughing started up again, I held my breath and faced her.
Her eyes were closed as she wracked with spasms, the sound tearing from her throat and fraying my nerves. It went on for too long, then she collapsed against the cushions and groaned, curling into a ball on her side.
I rubbed my forehead and sighed, losing a battle I’d had no chance of winning the second I stepped through my door.
She needed me, and I couldn’t stay away from her, no matter what happened in the end.
I went over to where she lay and sat on the edge of the couch, unsticking strands of hair from the sweat on her temple.
She stirred and opened her eyes, slow blinking a few times. “Am I dead yet?”
“Because you think I’m an angel?”
She exhaled with a burst of laughter and coughed again, drawing a wheezing breath. “Please don’t be funny,” she said.
“I have no control over it.” I took the facecloth off her forehead and pressed the back of my hand there, keeping my expression neutral. The heat radiating from her could warm a small room. “I’ll be a minute,” I said, pushing off the couch.
I returned with a newly damp cloth, placing it over her brow. Sadie shivered and pulled the blanket higher. “You opened the windows. Aren’t you cold?”
“Not right now.” A sudden gust of wind blew into the room, ruffling my hair. “We need the air circulating.”
She nodded, her expression earnest. “How are you feeling?”
Mentally exhausted. Worried. Pissed off. Tired of the claustrophobic feeling from wearing my mask.
“Fine,” I said. “Not sick, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you have cabin fever yet?”
I shook my head. “Still early days.”
She smothered a cough. “You could go outside if no one’s in the hallway. The rain’s finally stopped.”
I took her hand and turned it over, searching for blood and finding only clean skin. “You don’t need to manage me,” I said. “I’m where I want to be. If that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
Sadie went quiet, her blue eyes glistening. She looked so fragile and lost, the sudden image of me calling the government hotline to have her body collected hit me, and a fist punched through my chest, squeezing my heart.
We were barely friends. We weren’t even that a week ago.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, her voice soft as she watched me. “Even if I don’t make it, Theo. You’ll be okay.”
“Don’t talk like that. I can’t take it.”
My throat ached. I swept my thumb over her hand and down to her index finger, tracing the shape of her short, round nail. Her body seemed so delicate next to mine, and I imagined the virus wreaking havoc, attacking her cells and weakening her immune system.
“You should go to your sister,” she said. “Your niece and dad. Sneak around the roadblocks.” Sadie paused to catch her breath, and the effort it took for her to drag in air killed me. “It might be your last chance to be with your family. I know you’re going to argue, but… go while you can.”
Her body tensed as another series of coughs erupted from her, and we both winced at the severity of the last one. I took my time repositioning the facecloth, then pulled my hand away.
I’d thought about leaving the city more times than I could count, but when she got sick, everything changed. “Did you miss the part where I said I don’t need a manager?”
“I’m not trying to tell you what to do.” She gave me a hint of a smile when I lifted my brows. “It’s just… I have to stay here, even if I’m not infected. I’m waiting for Ava. There’s nothing keeping you here.”
Clearly, she didn’t feel the same way I did about our developing connection.
Back when my mum was diagnosed with cancer, the doctor had warned her Dad might up and leave because he couldn’t handle seeing her suffering.
It hadn’t occurred to him to run then, and I wasn’t going anywhere now.
“If you think I’m the type of man who’d take off when I’m needed,” I said, “you don’t know me at all. ”
“You need to be realistic.” Sadie clasped my wrist and drew my hand slowly toward her. She flattened my palm between her breasts, and I went still, every nerve zinging to life. I hadn’t been near a woman like this since the pandemic started, and a flood of awareness travelled through me.
“What are we doing?” I asked carefully.
“Just… feel my breathing,” she said, keeping hold of me.
The softness of her breasts gave way beneath my palm, the rise and fall of her chest too shallow, too fast. For a runner who regularly pushed herself, she’d never worked this hard to function at rest.
My eyes met hers, and I tried to read her expression. “What are you saying without saying it?”
“I want to live.”
“But?”
“Even if you catch the virus, you could reach your family before it gets bad. Talk to them outside. See them one last time. I’m not sure I’m going to survive this, and I need you to go while you can.”
Anger blazed through me. My shoulders tensed. I knew exactly what I was risking when I chose to stay. The guilt, the regret—it was too heavy a burden without her piling on more.
Whichever way you looked at it, choosing one thing meant losing the other.
“And that’s exactly why I’m staying,” I said, pulling my hand back, “so don’t suggest it again.”