35. Indie
INDIE
JANUARY
The nausea erupts too quickly for me to realize. One second I’m deep asleep, drifting peacefully, and the next my stomach turns in on itself and I’m gagging violently.
My body is guided up and to the side just in time for me to vomit.
Everything hurts.
My head is pounding, my eyebrow stings, my skin feels like every nerve is dialed to a thousand, my stomach cramps over and over as I empty the contents into… something. And my muscles ache with every movement of my body.
I moan as another wave causes my stomach to spasm painfully, and a deep rumbling voice by my ear soothes me, murmuring sweet words.
I feel the shame hold me, as the need to apologize for someone having to take care of me while I’m feverish and vomiting and disgusting.
A burden and an inconvenience.
“Ssssorrry…” I shiver, leaning into whoever is holding me, feeling their strong arms tighten.
A scent reaches my nose, warm and woodsy and… I can’t reach it. I try to crack open my eyes and flinch, slamming them shut again when the light burns.
A pathetic whimper escapes my mouth.
“I’m sorry, honey, I know…” the voice rumbles, and I feel it against my back, a hand gently cradling my jaw. I slump back against the comforting presence. “I should have gotten curtains, I’m sorry…”
“Don’t…” I rasp, gagging once more.
The hand on my jaw gently directs me to the side so I can throw up again. And again, until I’m gasping for breath and tears are leaking from my closed eyes.
Instantly, I feel better, though, and once again let all of my weight lean against the warmth behind me, my body shaky and weak.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. A name is right on the edge of my mind, trying to break through the sharp pain in my skull. A warm hand cradles my jaw, “Are you done, baby?”
“Yesss…” I mumble as my body is shifted and placed back on a very soft surface.
A bed.
I’m in a very comfortable bed.
The body beside me moves away, and panic spikes through me so abruptly that it cuts through the fever fog. I whine, reaching out blindly, not wanting to be alone.
Frantic footsteps rush back and the bed dips with his weight.
“I’m here,” he says quickly. “I just had to dump the bucket. I’m here, Indie.”
The name I was searching for finally settles in my mind.
“Teddy…” I sigh, shivering slightly. Warm blankets are pulled up around me, tucked tight around my shoulders. A cool cloth wipes my face, around my mouth and chin, cleaning me up with a tenderness that makes me feel strange. “Teddy…”
“Yes,” he says, and he sounds relieved. “I’m here, honey. I’m right here.”
“Don’t leave me…” I whine, feeling myself being pulled under, a welcome relief from the pounding in my head. “Please don’t leave…”
“There isn’t a force on earth that could take me away,” he promises, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Rest, baby, I’ll be here.”
“Promise?” I ask, though the question makes my stomach tighten for some reason.
I reach out to him, my pink extended like my body is moving on its own. Something wraps around the digit, and then there’s a press of soft lips against my hand.
Teddy’s voice is firm.
“I promise, Indie. I promise.”
When I wake again, my head feels much better.
My fever has definitely broken. My body is still achy, but my skin is feeling back to normal and my thoughts are more coherent.
I grimace, slowly becoming aware of how disgusting I feel. My hair feels greasy. My mouth tastes horrible. My shirt sticks to my back, and I have no idea how long it’s been since I showered.
Slowly, I sit up in bed and squeak when something pops up from the floor next to me.
Teddy.
His eyes are wide and alarmed as he springs to his knees by the bed. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, his beard longer and unkempt. His eyes are red-rimmed, with dark circles underneath like he hasn’t slept in days.
I can’t stop staring at him as he cradles my cheek, then places the back of his other hand on my forehead.
“Are you okay? Are you dizzy? Do you need the bucket? Your temperature feels much better, I checked last night and you were at 100. Are you feeling—”
“Teddy,” I croak, gently cutting through his panic.
My eyes look to my other side, seeing the large space on the bed he could have slept on.
“You slept on the floor?”
His cheeks go a little pink beneath his beard and he shrugs, like it’s nothing.
“I didn’t want to crowd you.”
Guilt and affection make a dizzying combination in my chest. But all I can really focus on is how gross I feel.
“How long have I been out?”
“About three days,” Teddy says, wincing.
I blink a few times at that. It’s not surprising, given how awful I felt and the combination of being sick and concussed. But three days is a while.
And he stayed. He took care of you, my mind whispers happily.
“You’ve been in and out. I think your fever finally broke… do you remember anything?”
“Bits and pieces,” I say, rubbing at my head when I try to remember. I get flashes of his voice, his green eyes wide and concerned, a cool cloth, and a voice softly singing to me. I give Teddy a smile.
“I feel better,” my voice cracks, and I try to clear my throat. Teddy’s already moving, grabbing an insulated bottle of water, and sitting on the edge of the bed.
He brings the straw to my lips and lets me take a few sips.
“Do you want a bath?” he asks, my hands shaking as I try to hold onto the water bottle.
Teddy just places his hands over mine, steadying the glass and bringing it to my lips.
It feels like heaven in my dry, cotton-mouthed throat, and I have to keep reminding myself to sip, or else it’ll just come back up.
“Please,” I say hoarsely, before going back to sip some more.
My stomach doesn’t feel that empty pang of hunger, so he must have been able to get something in my system during the days I was out.
“If you’re comfortable,” he starts, then looks down for a second before meeting my eyes again, “I can help you. Bathe you, I mean. I don’t mind. But only if you want me to.”
He looks at me then, almost hopeful, like he really wants to take care of me. After days of this, of seeing me like this, he hasn’t left my side. He’s still looking at me like that.
He’s still here.
Affection pushes through the fog in my head.
“Yes, please,” I rasp.
Teddy’s face brightens, and he smiles at me, “Thank you.”
I don’t know why he’s thanking me, but I lift my shaky arms when he bends toward me and wrap them around his shoulders. He lifts me easily, one arm beneath my knees and one behind my back. I rest my head against his shoulder, exhausted even though all I’ve done is sleep.
I catch a whiff of myself and almost gag.
“Sorry, I stink,” I mutter.
Teddy’s mouth curves. “You don’t.”
One side of my mouth quirks, and I snort, “Liar.”
He chuckles. “It’s my pleasure to bathe you, my Lady, for you are a bit ripe.”
I laugh weakly.
“God, how could you even stand to be around me?” I grimace, thinking of the mess of sweat and vomit I’ve been trapped in.
Teddy doesn’t even blink, just looks me in my eyes as he brings me into a bathroom.
“Because it’s you, Indie,” he says plainly. “I’d do anything for you.”
I hold his gaze, seeing the truth of his words in his wide green eyes. And I smile. There’s none of that doubt, none of that silent ‘but’ in his words.
It’s just the truth now.
“I believe you.”
Teddy presses a kiss to my forehead before setting me down on the counter and turning to fill the tub.
That’s when I finally see the space we’re in.
My eyes widen slightly at the very large, very nice clawfoot tub in this gorgeous bathroom.
There’s a large clawfoot tub beneath a stained-glass window, a kaleidoscope of colors filtering in from the sun, blue tile, and a very large glass shower. A vanity sits in the corner and I automatically picture my own products and perfumes on the beautiful white marble.
“Wow…” I whisper, and Teddy glances over to me, a very smug grin on his face that I feel too distracted to ask about.
The scent of peppermint reaches my nose, and I find the source is a diffuser in the corner, one that looks very similar to mine in my office.
He turns off the water once the tub is half full, then walks back over to me. His eyes flick to the shirt I’m wearing, then to my face.
“Can I help you out of this?”
“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” I say.
Teddy doesn’t say anything to that, just gives me a small smile and lifts my shirt over my head. He helps me stand then, and eases my underwear down my legs, leaving me naked, but not exposed in front of him.
Teddy keeps his eyes on my face, his expression so caring as he lifts me again and carries me to the tub.
My skin is no longer sensitive, and the warm—not hot—water feels amazing. I hum as he places me in the water and kneels to help me recline, placing a small towel under my head.
When he looks unsurely at the door, like he’s debating whether to stay or go, I reach out and clumsily grab onto his t-shirt. He freezes but meets my eyes.
“Stay.”
His eyes fall closed for a moment before he smiles and nods.
“Can I wash you?” he asks, his voice almost pleading.
The tenderness makes my eyes sting with tears, but I smile at him and nod, thankful the pounding has subsided.
It all comes back to me in fragments as Teddy takes a washcloth and some soap—the same soap I use, I smell—and washes my tight, sore limbs.
I had woken up with a pounding headache, not entirely uncommon, especially since I still haven’t been able to master my circadian rhythm out here yet.
I pounded back a Red Bull, thinking some caffeine would help, and then another when that didn’t work.
Then, somewhere between checking charts and speaking to a patient, I started feeling foggy.
Too hot. Then shivering from being too cold.
Then a strange combination of both where I couldn’t get comfortable.
Being sick and working in a Cancer Center is dangerous; everyone is vulnerable and immunocompromised from the treatments.