Chapter 44
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
Tuesday will be my last infusion, and for every word of positivity I spew to Elijah, a much less optimistic one floods my mind.
I've been trying to take a page from his book and not ruminate on the negatives, but it's hard not to when my future isn't laid out on solid ground like I'd thought it was just a few months ago.
The sun on my face and the brush of Elijah’s pinkie against my thigh ground me to the moment, and for that, I'm thankful.
He doesn’t think I notice, but I’ve become acutely aware of every move he makes, and I can’t seem to stop. Thoughts of Elijah flood in, pulling me from the constant horrors creeping at the corners of my mind.
“I’d have worn sunscreen had I known we’d be out like this. Am I burnt already?” he asks. I smile, noticing the light-pink hue over the bridge of his nose and dusting his cheekbones. I take the opportunity to stare at him under the guise of inspecting for signs of sun damage.
Stubble coats his strong jawline, the knot in his throat bobbing. Impossibly strong shoulders and carved arms lie at his sides, and the ripple of muscles across his abdomen forms an Adonis belt pointing an arrow straight to the hoochie-daddy shorts covering his massive thighs.
He clears his throat, and my eyes snap to his, my ears heating as he smirks.
“That’s an awfully thorough inspection you’re performing there, Adhira.
I fear you’d make a wonderful dermatology PA, but maybe you should stay out of the emergency department, seeing as it takes you several minutes to record your findings. ”
I unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth and pull my shoulders back. “My days might be numbered, princess. Who am I to deny myself such a magnificent view?”
His face twists with worry, and I regret my words, my gut wrenching. “Do you really think that?” he asks, his words hollow.
I shake my head. “No. I don't necessarily think I'm going to drop dead any minute, but I am worried I'll need radiation or that the cancer won't have responded appropriately this time around either. I also think that's normal though. How could I not worry?”
He leans forward to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering a beat too long, and my pulse hammers in response.
“Dark humour has never bothered me before, but in the case of your mortality, I’m not sure I can handle it,” he admits, and guilt opens a pit beneath me, threatening to drag me down.
I push through my discomfort, resting a hand over his, knowing he needs the physical touch. He melts into it, shifting closer. “It’s just how I cope with shitty things that scare me, but I’ll be more mindful,” I promise.
“Thank you,” he whispers, brushing his lips over my cheek. The touch is featherlight, almost imperceptible, but my pulse flutters all the same.
He relaxes against the trunk of the tree. “How are you feeling about Tuesday?”
I shrug. “I know my scans weren’t perfect last time, but they showed significant improvement. Just not enough to call it quits, so I’m hopeful.”
He rewards my honesty with a small smile. “Good. And for what it's worth, I feel confident this is it.”
His words are always worth far more than he gives himself credit for. They set me at ease, even when he doesn't mean for them to.
We shift under the tree, scooting to a spot better covered by a canopy of orange and red leaves, now facing the water fountain at the centre of the botanical gardens.
I settle back against the trunk, and Elijah’s bark of laughter startles me. I fall towards him, my hand shooting out to catch myself, but as he shifts to grab my shoulders, my hand smacks down on his bulge. He yelps in pain as I hurry to right myself.
“What the hell were you laughing at?!”
He groans, adjusting himself in his shorts.
“The squirrels over there,” he says, pointing to a paved walkway ahead.
Two chunky squirrels are getting it on, chasing each other around the base of the tree, stopping to hump for a moment before continuing the chase.
“I’ll make a note not to laugh around you.
Apparently, the sound is so foreign that it puts my dick at risk. ”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms. “You could try not doing it directly in my ear,” I chide.
“I’ll remember that next time I find something humorous. Step one: hold back laughter. Step two: place two metres of space between my mouth and Adhira’s ears.”
“Three,” I scold.
“Ah yes, step three: laugh,” he says with a low chuckle.
“No, I mean three metres of space. You said two, but I have good hearing.”
“I’m not sure I can handle that much space between us,” he admits, and whether it’s true or not, my heart doesn’t care as it does a happy little flip.
I stare down at the grass beneath my arse as if it’s burning a hole in my skin, unable to meet his eyes. I pluck one of the bags from beside me, sifting through it until I find the perfect thing to keep us occupied while distracting me from the rising tension.
I toss him the round plastic toy, and he catches it effortlessly, his forearms flexing. Not that I’d notice such a thing.
“Twenty questions?” he asks, pressing the button at the back to power it on. “I thought this was a present for Archie?”
“We’re just breaking it in, making sure it works,” I assure him.
“Alright, first question: person, place, or thing?”
“Person,” I answer without a second thought.
He nods, selecting the appropriate answer. “Does it come in pairs?”
“Yes.”
“Always or sometimes?”
“Always.”
We continue like this until all twenty questions have run out, and the asinine, outdated ball guesses a married couple. I roll my eyes, and Elijah tracks the motion.
“Unimpressed, huh? Well, tell me. What was the right answer?”
“Flatmates,” I tell him, bumping his shoulder.
“Well, some would say that married couples are flatmates,” he jokes, his dimples popping, and I have the strangest urge to reach out and touch them. To touch him.
“Yeah, but most married couples share a room, which is something I’m not interested in.”
He quirks a brow and asks, “Not ever or not now?”
“Never. I think having personal space and a place to decompress that’s entirely your own is important in any kind of relationship.”
“I agree,” he says, tugging me from my more self-deprecating thoughts.
“I’d like to get married one day, but I want my own room.
Our current set-up is ideal,” he adds, that last part like an afterthought, his eyes flickering with something I can’t describe.
He bites his lip, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Really? You seem like a cuddler to me.”
His cheeks flush bright pink. “The only person I’ve ever cuddled is you, but I can’t say I don’t enjoy it.”
Elijah’s willingness to be open with me, even when I can tell that it makes him uncomfortable, pushes me to share more than I’d often bother to. “I was never a huge fan of physical touch, but it feels more natural with you,” I admit, a little shocked at the truth in those words.
“Adhira, are you afraid of cooties?” he asks, his voice flowing with light laughter, and my heart swells at the sound.
“As a matter of fact, yes. But mostly, the sensation of another person’s flesh rubbing against mine makes me physically ill, almost always.”
He swallows, his next words leaving his mouth in a rush. “If you were married, whose bed would you snuggle in?”
“As I previously stated, I'm not sure I'm much of a ‘snuggler,’ but sex wouldn't be in my bed,” I scoff. “I don't want the secretions in my sheets.”
He snorts, then laughs so hard he practically chokes, and I can't help but wonder what he finds so funny.
“You have a fair point,” he says between wheezes, “but why do you have to make it sound so clinical?” He has tears in his eyes, and his face is as red as a tomato. His circulation must be incredible with the way his blood vessels react to every little thing.
“I've never enjoyed sex much. I have a hunch that I'm probably demisexual, only able to gain pleasure from being with someone else sexually after falling for them emotionally.” I leave out the fact that, before meeting him, I didn't realise that was even a possibility for me.
I've never felt this—well, what I think is sexual attraction and a whole lot of tension—before getting to know Elijah.
And now that I've experienced it, I'm not sure if I hate it or if I'm utterly obsessed.
“I think I might experience something similar, but I'm not sure—I might never have fooled around with anyone to find out because I was too busy and it wasn't worth making time for.”
“Sexuality is a spectrum.” I shrug. “You don't have to identify with any one experience or put a label on it if you aren't comfortable doing so. You can try things out and…” I trail off, my stomach twisting with unease at the insinuation of Elijah's body touching anyone else.
The knot pulls tighter as I recognise the emotion as—jealousy?
That can't be right.
I've never, not once, cared about the sexual habits of anyone else in my life.
Until now.
Before I can think too deeply, I clap my hands on my thighs, cutting through the strangeness swirling between us. “Ready to go, princess?” I ask with a cheeky grin.
He pushes himself up, flushed skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat in the sunshine, and my tongue feels too big for my mouth. I force it to stay put, refusing to allow it to loll to the side like a bloody dog as Elijah reaches out to pull me to my feet.
His grip sends a tendril of awareness through me, and I push it to the back of my mind, unwilling to ruin a perfect day with my imagination.
I refuse to lose the only flatmate I've ever tolerated, someone who's become a friend and, if I'm willing to admit it to myself, maybe a bit more. Certainly not because my libido has decided to make a comeback in celebration of my final round of chemo.
As if none of our conversation had happened, we head back to our flat just in time for our nightly call with his sisters.