43. You. I need you.
43 /
you. i need you.
charlie
A different nurse comes to me fifteen minutes after Rafael has been taken back. “Hi. You came in with Mr. Machado, right?” I nod once. “Are you his partner or significant other?”
“N-no. I’m not. I’m just a friend.” I swallow down the disappointment that I didn’t think to lie and say I’m his partner so I can see him.
Is that all this disappointment is about?
“All right, well, unless he asks for you and authorizes it, we can’t take you back to his room or give you any updates. I’m sorry.” She smiles kindly at me.
“Right. Thank you. I’ll just be here, then.” I sit on the hard waiting room chair and replay the last hour.
How did I not know he was allergic to mushrooms? I pull the fidget toy I have in my purse and focus on the movements as I stand and pace the small room, trying not to spiral into a pit of guilt and shame.
Maybe I should leave? No. I should stay. No one even knows he’s here. I don’t have any contact information for his family. If this were Robert, I’d be able to call his dad. If this were Robert, this never would have happened. He doesn’t have any food allergies. We’ve talked about that before because we used to see one another nearly every day. For years. Because that’s what it takes to really know someone, isn’t it? It takes more than just a few weeks and orgasms, but actual time together, getting to know important facts. I don’t know anything about Rafael. Not really.
After the first hour passes, I feel like I may throw up.
Ninety minutes after I drove us here, it feels like every organ in my body is tied in knots. I’ve managed to keep my meltdown at bay by running through all the strategies I’ve developed with my therapist. I know I’m only prolonging the inevitable, but I don’t have it in me to meltdown here, in the middle of a hospital. I’d much rather do it at home. Alone.
I have to go. He hasn’t asked for me. He must be so upset. Of course he’s upset. I poisoned him!
I’m going. I’ll get a cab back to my place. No, back to his. I should clean up the sauce.
I’m halfway to the door when I hear someone. “Miss Howard?”
“Yes?” I turn back to find the same nurse from earlier.
“He’s asking for you. Urgently. He’s a bit agitated, actually, so can you please come with me?” She extends her arm, indicating the hallway we should go down.
I follow her, all the while preparing myself for him to tell me he never wants to see me again.
When we get to the room I’m assuming Rafael’s in, the nurse opens the door but doesn’t follow me inside. As it shuts behind me, I find myself unable to move. My feet are glued to the floor, and I feel the need to stay as close to the door as possible so I can run out when he dismisses me. Hot tears roll down my cheeks as I take in the scene in front of me, as I see the consequence of my mistake.
He’s hooked up to an IV, his strong body tense and rigid on the bed that looks too small for him. His eyes are closed, and the lights are dimmed, so I clear my throat to announce my presence. His lids barely part, and he’s squinting as if he’s in pain. “Red?”
“Yeah,” I answer, wiping at the tears on my face.
“Why are you so far away?” I don’t say anything. “Shortcake, can you please come here? I need...”
Those two words have me practically sprinting to his side. “What do you need?” I scan his body for I don’t know what.
“You. I need you . Come here.” He reaches for my hand, pulling me to the bed. “Please?” He whines as he pulls me closer. So close that I’m practically toppling onto him.
“Rafael, I?—”
“ Please , Charlie,” He pleads with eyes still closed.
“All right,” I whisper. His shoulders visibly relax, and I settle on the bed next to him. On him, really, because it’s a tiny bed. I lay my hand over his heart, my head on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he answers plainly. “Not yet. But I’m much better now. Thank you.” He kisses the top of my head, holding on to me tightly. The pressure is like a weighted blanket, easing me toward calm.
“I didn’t know you?—”
“Shhh. I know. Is it okay if we do this later?” His voice is so quiet, I hardly hear him. This is a version of Rafael I’ve never seen before, and I have a feeling most people would say the same. There’s no joy in his voice, no playfulness.
“Okay,” I answer quietly. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Would you read to me? I don’t care what it is. The ticking clock and the beeping from the hallway are driving me crazy. And I love the sound of your voice.” He kisses the top of my head again, then whispers into my hair. “Please, Charlie?”
New level of intimacy unlocked. I try not to read too much into it. He’s probably doped up, but aren’t people more honest when they’re in this kind of state?
My heart wants desperately to believe this is special, but my head is telling me it’s nothing, that I can be here for him now and then go back to whatever we were before we asked for each other’s help.
Without answering him, I take out my phone and lower the screen brightness as much as I can. Then, I continue reading the book I had started, certain there are no sex scenes I’ll come across since it’s a closed-door romance. It’s hard to say whether it’s being this close to Rafael or reading having the effect on me, but within minutes, I feel calmer, and I feel him relax as well, his breaths growing steadier.
I’m not sure how much time passes, but we lay together until someone knocks lightly and then comes in. With my back to the door, I try to move away from Rafael, but he holds me in place.
“Hi,” the nurse whispers. “Mr. Machado, how are you doing?”
“Better now that you let my girlfriend in here.” He opens his eyes to look at her, and my body goes completely stiff at the word girlfriend. He must have told them that so that they’d let me come. “Can I go home yet? I’m pretty sure I expelled any trace of mushrooms that had been in my stomach, and I don’t need to be hospitalized for a migraine. I deal with those pretty regularly.” His voice is calm, but there’s pain etched into it. I don’t like knowing I put it there.
The dimmed lights and his quiet voice make sense now, knowing he’s dealing with such pain. I wonder how often he has migraines, how they affect his everyday life. I can’t imagine it’s easy.
The nurse checks a few things in his chart and nods. “It’ll probably be at least a couple more hours before you can go home, but we’re okay to give you something for the migraine now.” She shifts her kind eyes to me. “Miss, are you going to take Mr. Machado home? It’s possible that the medication will make him quite drowsy.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, trying to sit up, but again, Rafael will not let me. The nurse, whose name tag I can’t see because of the dimmed lights, hides a smile behind her hand. She lets us know she’ll be right back, and as I shift to lay my head on his chest again, he pulls in a long breath and holds it.
“Shit,” he mumbles. This time when I move to get off the bed, he lets me, and then he’s up, dragging his IV pole and taking long strides to the bathroom on the other side of the room. He slams the door shut, and I can hear him dry heaving. I wince, because I feel awful for him and also because, well, vomit is gross.
I give him his privacy and look around the room to find a bottle of water. There’s one on a nearby table, and I pour some into a cup for him. He stumbles out of the bathroom a minute later, wincing, eyes nearly shut. I go to him to offer him some support to get back to the bed, helping him sit on the edge. I get the cup of water and hand it to him, but his eyes are closed. I stand between his legs, and, holding the cup to his lips, I whisper, “Open your mouth and tip your head back.”
He groans in pain, so I support the back of his head with my other hand. I have no idea if anything I’m doing is helping, but I know I can’t sit here and do nothing. When he’s finished, I set the cup on the table and bring my other hand to the back of his head, massaging gently. He groans again, but this time, it seems like it’s a happier sound. Resting his forehead on mine, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Again, I feel tears prick at my eyes, and before I can think of a way to respond, the nurse is back.
“Hi.” She hands him the little cup with pills and some water, and I step away from the bed. “I’ll be back to check on you soon, but call me if you throw up again or feel anything unusual.”
Rafael nods, making no mention of the fact that he just threw up. Before she reaches the door, I catch up to her. “ Sorry, nurse… I didn’t catch your name. My apologies. I’m Charlie, by the way. He did just throw up, but I take it you’d like to know if it happens again, after the medication?”
“I’m Lisa. Nice to meet you, Charlie. And yes, if he continues to throw up, we’ll need to know. This medication should help with the nausea as well as the pain.”
“Thank you. He’s…” I look down at the floor, and Lisa simply waits for me to continue. “He’s okay, right? I mean, other than the migraine now?”
She lays a gentle hand on my forearm. “He’s doing great. Showing no signs of anaphylaxis coming back, and he’s been much calmer since you got here. We’ll keep him a bit longer, just in case, but you should both be able to go home soon. You’re doing great.” She squeezes my arm, and I nod, incapable of telling her just how wrong she is since I’m the whole reason he’s here. “If you need anything, call for me or come find me out there, okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“Carrot cake? Where are you?” Raf’s lying back down, and his arms feel around the bed, looking for me. Even in a world of pain, he manages to be sweet.
“I’m right here.” I curl back into him on the tall but narrow hospital bed. “I’m right here,” I repeat, because, despite the fact that I caused this mess, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.