8. PAUL
My feet dangle off the end of the couch as I lie back, tossing a basketball in the air. We won tonight’s scrimmage against a nearby school, and you’d think that would make me happy. Even if just a little bit. But I’m not. In fact, I’m far from it.
It’s been a week since Sarah stood me up after my game, and not knowing what I did wrong to make her leave is killing me.
Why would she go through the effort of coming to my game to then disappear right after, ignoring my texts and calls?
I don’t get it.
Not one fucking bit.
“Aw, poor Sarah,” Natalie murmurs, sitting on the love seat beside the couch.
“What?” I sit up in a panic, tossing the ball to the floor. Was I talking out loud?
She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “Are you okay?”
I mold into the leather couch, sliding a hand over my face. “Yeah, sorry. Just tired.” I rest my feet on the ottoman, trying to appear casual. “What was that you were saying about Sarah?”
She looks down at her phone in her hands. “We were supposed to go out tonight, but she just canceled. Said she’s not feeling well.”
Sarah’s sick?
And alone.
I don’t like this.
But why don’t I like this?
People get sick all the time.
But what if she’s so sick she can’t get out of bed? Or what if she caught one of those rare flesh-eating bacteria? Just last week, I saw a story on the news about a guy who tried on a new shirt at the mall and then lost both of his arms a week later. Oh God. This isn’t good.
“Maybe I should bring her some soup,” Natalie ponders, tapping her chin.
I straighten, gripping the edge of my seat. “I was heading out anyway. I can stop by with some soup.” Natalie’s eyes focus on me, her brows pinching together. She’s on to me. “If you want,” I add, shrugging my shoulders to feign indifference.
“You wouldn’t mind?” she asks.
“No.” I stand abruptly, not giving her a chance to make more out of this than it is, which is just a guy bringing a girl soup. “I’ll go to that little deli nearby and grab some chicken noodle soup,” I say over my shoulder as my fingers grab my keys on the entryway table, and my legs book it out of there.
After picking up some soup, it occurs to me that I don’t actually know what Sarah is sick with. And after convincing myself that it’s not a flesh-eating bacteria and probably just the common-day cold, I stop by the pharmacy and get a bit of everything: tissues, a thermometer, pain reliever, cough suppressants, vitamin C, and a bag of chocolate candies.
Because, obviously, chocolate makes everything better.
Thirty minutes later, I tap my knuckles against her door, which soon opens, revealing Sarah in nothing but an oversized T-shirt, looking extremely surprised to see me.
Can’t say I blame her.
“Umm, Paul. What are you doing here?” She wipes her hand across her damp forehead and pushes her hair out of her face. Her normally iridescent eyes appear slightly bloodshot and puffy like she’s been crying.
A wave of fierce protectiveness washes over me.
“I was at my house when Natalie was there and said you weren’t feeling well. I was heading out anyway, so I thought I’d pick you up some soup.” I reach inside the bag to pull out the warm container.
“You…you went out to get soup for me?”she asks, confused.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “You should smell this. I don’t know what they put in it, but the aroma is mouthwatering. Had me salivating the whole drive here.” I chuckle. “My mom always makes me this kind of soup when I’m not feeling well.”
Her face softens, and a half smile appears.
I peel back the lid and bring it close to her face so the fragrance surrounds her.
Suddenly, her eyes widen in horror as her hand clamps down over her mouth. She quickly sprints toward the back of her apartment to, I assume, the bathroom.
Shit. Good job, Paul. Guess it’s not the common-day cold.
I walk inside, shutting the door behind me as the ever-familiar heaving sound fills the apartment. Quickly, I place the bag and the soup on the counter and then head to her bathroom, where I find her kneeling, praying to the porcelain god.
Her back hunches as she grabs the toilet seat and once again heaves out whatever is inside her. I stand behind her and pull her hair away from her face, keeping it in one hand as my other hand gently rubs her back. She stays like this for a minute or two before her body finally relaxes, and I reach over her to flush the toilet.
“Please go away, Paul. You don’t want to see this,” she mumbles, placing her cheek on the toilet seat.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her.
I see a bottle of mouth rinse and a washcloth on the counter beside it. Obtaining a cap full of the mouth rinse, I hold it out for her to take. She looks at it hesitantly before grabbing it from me with a shaking hand, throwing it back, gurgling, and finally spitting it in the toilet. I then hold the washcloth under cold water before wringing it out. When I look back at Sarah, her eyes are closed, as though she is about to fall asleep with her head on the toilet seat, which won’t do.
“Okay, you’re not sleeping here.” I reach down, placing one arm under Sarah’s knees and another around her waist, pulling her up against my chest. She doesn’t fight it like I thought she would and instead nuzzles her head into the crook of my neck.
“Why are you such a nice guy? You’re making this so much harder for me,” she murmurs, the scent of her minty breath wafting into my face.
“Being nice is making things hard for you?” I ask, confused.
She remains silent, clutching onto the center of my shirt as I walk into her bedroom.
It’s different than I would have imagined. Her bedding is all white with a black throw and black accent pillows. Her white curtains are draped to the side, revealing her view of the city all lit up. And it looks like a collection of new art supplies is in the corner of her room, left alone and in their original wrappings. The pristine white walls are bare and vacant from any photos or decorations. Overall, it’s very plain. Some may even say it’s depressing.
For an artist, I thought there would have been more color in her room—more life. But instead, it feels a bit desolate, reminiscent of a blank canvas. It’s as though all the life and color drained from the space within these four walls.
“Sometimes it’s easier to see the world in black and white.”
I ponder her words. It might be easier, but it sure as hell isn’t a life worth living, and I’ll be damned if I let her continue living like this for another second.
I lay her body on the bed, bring a blanket up to her chest, and then lightly press the folded washcloth on her forehead as I sit beside her, my knuckles stroking her jaw. I don’t know if the damp cloth is needed, but again, it’s just one of those things my mom always did for me.
Without warning, my eyes spot the ugliest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life on the side of the bed beside her. I pick it up, examining it as I hold it between two fingers, not letting it any closer in fear of catching a disease.
This right here is what they would call Patient One.
“What in God’s name is this?” One of the eyes is hanging by a thread, and the rest of its fur looks matted and worn.
Sarah’s eyes pop open, and she quickly snags the little gremlin from my hands. “Don’t touch Teddy.”
“You named your teddy bear…Teddy?” I ask, my lips curving up. “I’m disappointed.” I tsk. “I took you as someone a little more creative than that.”
“I was nine when I got him.” She closes her eyes. “My creativity hadn’t flourished yet.” Her hands clutch it to her chest, holding on to it for dear life like it’s the most valuable thing in her life.
And maybe it is, even if it looks like it would be happier living at the bottom of the trash barrel.
I watch her taking gradual, deep breaths, rubbing her stomach.
“How are you feeling?” I cup her cheek, checking for any sign of a fever, but thankfully, she’s as cool as a cucumber.
Her eyes flutter open. “I’m fine.” She releases a rush of air. “I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.”
I nod. “Sorry about the soup.”
She lets out a weak laugh. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“I will. Probably won’t be able to sleep tonight because of it,” I joke, but it’s true.
Her smile wavers as she watches me. She bites her bottom lip and closes her eyes, an internal war raging inside her head. Right before opening her eyes, she whispers, “You should stay here then.”
I catch her eyes, wishing I could hear every thought inside her head. “You want me to?”
She nods. “I’m just having one of those days where I don’t want to be alone.” She looks at the ceiling before returning her sight to me. “Do you ever have days like that?”
I don’t hesitate when I say, “All the damn time.”
She moves her teddy bear to the other side of the bed and lifts the blanket, motioning for me to slide in beside her, which I do, positioning myself on my back. Turning on her side, she removes the washcloth from her forehead and throws it on the nightstand before she rests her head on my chest and melts against me as my arm wraps around her waist, my hand brushing her bare skin where her T-shirt has ridden up.
Her hand rests on the lower half of my torso, her fingers tangling around the fabric, and her leg swings over mine, clinging to me.
We’re cuddling. And it doesn’t feel forced or weird. It feels natural, like something we should be doing all the time.
“You’re good at this,” she says softly.
“Good at what?”
Looking up at me, under those dark lashes, she says, “Cuddling.” The corners of her lips curve up as she moves herself on top of me, her chin now resting right on my chest. “Thank you for taking care of me. No one has done that in… Well, thank you.”
I slide my hands under her shirt on her back, applying a soothing pressure. “Of course.” I lean up, kissing the top of her head, her raven-black hair cascading over her bare shoulder. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She pierces me with those damn beautiful emerald-green eyes, momentarily distracting me.
Removing one of my hands from her back, I watch as she subtly frowns until I place it on her cheek, my thumb gliding across her smooth skin. “Why did you leave after my game?”
Her whole body tenses in my arms as she pales, looking like she might get sick again.
“I…umm,” she starts to say.
“I texted and called you, but nothing. I left the arena searching the parking lot for you, worried something might have happened.” Her lips part, her eyes glimmering against the translucent moonlight entering her window. “You don’t seem like the type who would just up and ghost someone. So why?”
Her eyes avert me, her bottom lip trembling before she sucks on it. “I’m sorry for worrying you, but…I don’t do relationships, Paul,” she admits with a shaky breath. “I’m not that kind of girl, and I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression of me if I went out with you after your game.”
My eyes flick up at the ceiling, her words leaving an unpleasant taste in my mouth, but only momentarily. Because the bigger part of me, the part that witnessed her light up when I asked her out, doesn’t believe a damn word she just said.
She came to my game.
She wore my jersey.
She wanted to be there.
So what made her leave?
“It was just supposed to be one night,” she whispers, tucking her chin down.
The impact of those words stabs me right in the center of my chest, but I ignore it because she’s right. It was supposed to be just one night, but now, I want more.
I want all of her nights…if she’ll let me.
“Yeah. You’re right. I knew that,” I say, hiding the pain of not feeling good enough to be more than one night for her.
“I’m sorry, Paul.” She looks up at me with glistening eyes, blinking fast to keep her tears at bay.
“It’s okay, Sarah.” I slowly swipe my thumb across her bottom lip, trying my best to give her a small smile.
“If you want to leave, I understand.”
I hold her tighter, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for one more night.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” I reply, pulling the blanket up around us as she closes her eyes and, soon after, drifts off to sleep.
Why did I fall for the one girl in the world who wants nothing to do with me?
I don’t know, but what I do know is I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to her that I’m worth it.
And I sure as hell am not going to give up on her.
Or us.
The only sound comes from the raindrops hitting the windowpane steadily, providing a relaxing white noise that eventually lulls me to sleep with the girl of my dreams in my arms.