Chapter 26
THEO
“How are you, Theodore?”
“Fine.” Dr. Mills looks me over quickly, frowning.
“Is everything alright?”
I shrug and slouch back into the chair. “I didn’t sleep very much last night.
” I haven’t slept in about 36 hours because I’ve been going through Danny’s social media with a fine-tooth comb to learn what phishing emails would work best on him.
Something involving Joe Rogan, creatine supplements, or some Blue Lives Matter bullshit, probably.
Idiot.
On top of that, I had to check on Alex about fifteen times last night because she kept coughing so much that she could barely sleep. I think she’s getting sick, and I want to be at home taking care of her.
“Theodore, how much do you sleep on average?” I’m not so tired that I don’t know where this is going, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“I sleep a normal amount, Dr. Mills.”
“Have you made an appointment with a psychiatrist since you’ve been home?”
“No.”
“I’d like you to consider it. I think maybe finding medication that works for you would be a good next step in terms of your reintegration.” I take a slow, deep breath and give her a small smile.
“I’m fine, thank you. We’ve discussed this before, and my feelings haven’t changed. The medication wouldn’t benefit me at all.” I know what she’s about to do before she does it, so I blink and purse my lips at the same time she does, but she doesn’t seem to catch it.
“Alright. How are things with Alex?”
I smile a little. “They’re going really well.”
“I’d like to hear more about that. What do you think makes you two good together?”
“We just fit. I think Alex needs someone she can trust, someone who makes her feel safe and cared for, and I do that.” Dr. Mills’ mouth twitches slightly.
“What makes her a good partner to you?”
“Everything, honestly. She’s smart and creative and kind of funny, and she’s so fucking sweet. She’s wonderful.” Dr. Mills smiles.
“Sounds like it. You’ve mentioned something you provide for Alex, so what does she provide for you?” I blink once, carefully keeping my face neutral as Dr. Mills’ gaze becomes slightly scrutinizing.
“Connection, definitely.” She smiles and raises her eyebrows like she wants me to keep talking. “Um, she makes me feel accepted, I guess.” Dr. Mills blinks and purses her lips, and I try not to wince.
It’s not a lie, it’s just not the truth yet.
***
When I get to Alex’s place, she’s curled up on the couch, coughing.
“Unless you want this cold, go away,” she snaps, coughing again.
I don’t get sick easily, so I go out and get things to make her chicken soup, loading it up with turmeric, garlic, and ginger.
She barely eats it, she barely drinks any water, and she gets angry when she realizes that I’ve used her phone to text Catherine and Suzie that she’ll be out of work the next day.
“Stop fucking mothering me,” she mumbles, sinking down into the couch and refusing the tea I hand her. She’s coughing and blowing her nose constantly, but insists she’s fine.
She’s kind of an asshole when she’s sick, apparently.
She’s worse on Friday, but she refuses to take anything, continuing to insist she’ll be fine.
I go to the store and get her bullshit homeopathic cold remedies as well as normal cold medicine, but she refuses all of it.
She has no idea how to take care of herself, and she refuses to accept any help from me, and I start to lose my patience with her as I kneel in front of her with a mug of tea.
“Drink this.” She shakes her head and burrows further into the blankets. “Sweetie, you need to let me take care of you.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles in a petulant voice.
“Alexandria Marie Shearer, drink this right now,” I snap. She pouts, but she drinks half of it. She gets woozy when she stands because she’s barely eaten since Wednesday, so I scoop her up and tuck her into bed, trying to keep my temper in check.
She develops a low-grade fever later that night, and she refuses to do anything to help herself, even take a cold bath.
She says she just needs to sweat it out, and she refuses everything I try to do for her, snapping at me any time I try to help her.
She mostly lays in bed and sleeps, her head in my lap with the soft drone of a nature documentary series playing on her laptop.
I coax her into drinking fluids anytime she wakes up, even though she keeps telling me she’s fine.
I understand she’s stubborn, but this is ridiculous.
When she wakes up on Saturday, her fever hasn’t broken, and I start to get pissed with her.
I force her to eat, and she’s too tired to fight me, but I can tell she hates it.
She’s too exhausted to be mad at me when I put her in a cold bath and make her drink water, but she saves all of her energy to fight me about not taking any type of medicine or fever reducer, insisting she’ll be fine and she’ll hate me forever if I force her to do anything else.
Her fever doesn’t break and even starts to climb, and I don’t sleep at all, checking on her every hour.
Sometime early Sunday morning, I decide I’m done with her bullshit.
She can hate me if she wants to, but I’m not letting her die of the flu just because she’s stubborn.
She whines a little when I pick her up out of bed, but she wraps her arms around my neck and seems reluctant to let me go when I put her in the car.
“Honey, come on.” Her eyes open, and she shakes her head when she sees the sign for urgent care, mumbling something about no doctors. I pull her face towards me until her glassy eyes are focused on mine, stroking her hair softly.
“Alex, listen to me. No one will know you were here, okay? I’m going to take care of you.
” She looks like she might cry, but she nods softly and lets me take her inside.
I fill out her name and as much of her health information as they need and use my address and information for everything else.
Alex looks too pale and shivers even though she’s wearing warm clothes, so I wrap my arms around her while we wait, and she starts to fall asleep against me.
I carry her into the room the nurse leads us to and do most of the talking because she’s barely awake, frustrated as I explain to the doctor that she’s refused everything I’ve tried.
The doctor looks Alex over and says it’s just a bad flu.
She hooks her up to an IV, hands me a prescription for antivirals, and tells us she’ll be back in half an hour.
I sit in the room with Alex, who gives me a tiny smile and barely squeezes my hand.
“Thanks, Theo,” she murmurs, “I never get sick.” All my anger melts away, and I smile back at her and push her slightly damp hair back from her face.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You need to let me take care of you from now on, okay?
” She nods and squeezes my hand gently, and I relax entirely.
When we get home, she does everything I tell her to, and she curls up with me and lets me hold her as she sleeps, snoring a little because she’s so stuffed up.
By Monday afternoon, her fever is gone. When I return from the store, she’s curled up in bed, her laptop playing some old sitcom I know she’s seen before, and she looks up at me and smiles, pausing her show.
“How’re you feeling?” She whines and burrows further under the blanket, pouting a little.
“Terrible.”
“Terrible, but better?” She nods, and I feel her forehead just in case before I crack the lid on the bright blue sports drink she asked for and hand it over.
“I have no idea why you want this. It’s all sugar.” She laughs softly.
“Didn’t you do any sports as a kid?”
I shake my head. “I hated team things.”
“Makes sense,” she says, smiling. “I’m sure it would have made your grandparents’ lives easier.” I laugh.
“Yeah, probably. I picked up running when I was fourteen because Nana told me I was driving her fucking nuts and that I needed to do something to deal with my energy other than get in fights or jerk off all day.” Alex snorts out a laugh.
“You must’ve been a nightmare.”
I frown down at her, crossing my arms. “Like you were perfect.”
She shrugs. “I never fucked anyone in a school bathroom at ten in the morning.” I roll my eyes, fighting off a smile.
“You’re definitely feeling better if you’re being a dick.” She reaches out for my hand, trailing her fingers against my palm.
“I get to be a dick. I feel awful,” she pouts, twining her fingers through mine. “Come to bed.”
My stomach flips and I take off my pants and sweater and climb into bed with her, feeling a thrill run down my spine at how her head immediately goes into my lap as she plays the sitcom again.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” she murmurs as she drapes an arm across my legs. I look down at her, surprised.
“Yeah, of course, sweetheart,” I say softly. I start stroking her hair, and she reaches for my other hand, threading her fingers through mine as she cuddles into me.
I like this version of Alex.
On Tuesday, Alex seems to enjoy being taken care of for the first time, and it’s only then that I realize that she probably hasn’t been taken care of like this since she was a little kid. I double down on doting on her, and she becomes affectionate in a way I’ve never seen.
It seems like the more I do to take care of her, the more she relaxes into the relationship and opens up to me.
***
On Saturday, I let her sleep in and then drive her into Portland because she wants to see an exhibit at the art museum.
She’s openly affectionate as we walk around the museum, holding hands with me, leaning into my touch when I hold her as she stares at paintings, and smiling at me anytime I catch her eye.
Alex is chatty and knowledgeable and more than a little pretentious about art, but I love listening to her.
She tells me that her mother was a fine artist, that she spent every summer at a creative arts camp in Maine, and that she ran her school’s art club.
I know all of this, but I'm thrilled that she's finally sharing it with me.
When I ask her why she’s stopped painting recently, she closes off and says she hasn’t felt like it, but she misses it.
She shuts down a little after that, spending a long time sitting on a bench and contemplating a black and white photo of a man’s hand holding a lock in front of a chained door.
She seems tired and slightly sad, and I want to do something nice for her, so I slip out of the gallery hall and book her a massage a few blocks away.
She’s exasperated when I tell her about it as we leave the museum, but I’m insistent that it doesn’t count as a gift. I tell her that it’s for her health, that it’s good for her circulation after being sick, and she looks at me with amusement and rolls her eyes but acquiesces.
I wait for her outside of the art museum, scrolling through a hotel rental. Alex seems to be adjusting so much better since she was sick, and I want to reinforce the positive direction things are going in any way I can, and I think sex is how we connect best emotionally.
When I notice her walking towards me, I keep my face pointed down at my phone but look up at her for a second. She doesn’t notice immediately, and I’m stunned when I see the emotions on her face.
Desire. Affection. Adoration. Happiness.
I raise my head, and she schools her expression quickly, but it’s all still there.