Chapter 40 - Out of Control #2
"I think so. He has a pretty high fever. I'm staying here today."
Silence.
I knew that silence.
"Maya."
"I didn't say anything."
"Don't."
"I literally didn't."
"And don't tell everyone."
"Angelica."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
I lowered my voice.
"Manage them."
"What?"
"Everyone."
"I'm not an elementary-school teacher."
"You're the closest thing we have."
"That's insulting to both me and elementary-school teachers."
"Maya."
She sighed.
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
"I don't know."
"Excellent plan."
"Just manage them somehow."
"Somehow?"
"Yes. I don't know how you're going to do it, but you have to do it for me. Come up with something. Anything."
Maya was quiet for a second.
"You owe me."
"Fine."
"A lot."
"Maya."
"Okay. I'll handle it."
"Especially Ben."
"Obviously."
"And Emma."
A smaller pause.
"I know."
"Thank you."
"Text me later."
"I will."
"And Angel?"
"Yeah?"
"If he gets worse, don't be stupid. Take him somewhere."
"I know."
I hung up.
I had absolutely no idea what Maya did after that.
Threatened them.
Bribed them.
Locked Ben in a supply closet.
Possibly all three.
But nobody called.
Nobody texted.
Nobody asked me where I was.
For the rest of Monday, my phone stayed almost completely silent.
I looked toward the living room.
Adrian was asleep now.
One arm across his stomach.
Hair falling over his forehead.
Pale.
Exhausted.
Completely unlike the man who had walked into a Halloween party three nights ago dressed like every bad decision I'd ever considered making.
I stood there for a moment.
Then opened the refrigerator again.
I had come here planning to check on him.
Maybe stay an hour.
Make sure he was alive.
Then go back to work.
Instead, I took out the rice.
Found a pot.
And started cooking.
Apparently I wasn't going anywhere.
By eleven-thirty, Adrian had decided I was annoying.
This was encouraging.
It meant he had enough energy to be irritated.
"Eat."
"No."
I sat on the edge of the coffee table with the bowl in my hands.
"You haven't even tried it."
"I'm not hungry."
"I didn't ask if you were hungry."
His eyes opened.
Slowly.
"You've started doing that deliberately."
"Doing what?"
"Using my sentences against me."
I smiled.
"Maybe."
He closed his eyes again.
"No."
I looked down at the bowl.
I'd made rice soft enough that it barely qualified as rice anymore, with chicken and enough broth to make it easy to eat.
Nothing exciting.
Nothing particularly impressive.
But he needed something in his stomach before I gave him anything else.
"Three bites."
"No."
"Five."
His eyes opened again.
"That negotiation went in the wrong direction."
"Four."
"Angelica."
"Three."
"No."
"Fine. Five."
He stared at me.
I stared back.
"Your technique is terrible."
"And yet you're still negotiating."
His eyes narrowed.
I held out the spoon.
"Three."
He looked at it like I'd personally offended him.
Then at me.
Then back at the spoon.
Finally, he pushed himself upright.
And that was when I realized just how weak he actually was.
He made it halfway before his arm gave slightly beneath him.
"Okay."
I put the bowl down and was beside him immediately.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Make that face."
"What face?"
"That one."
"I'm not making a face."
"You are."
I slid an arm behind his back.
"Come on."
This time he didn't argue.
He let me help him sit up.
I pulled the cushions behind him until he could lean back against them.
For a few seconds, he just sat there with his eyes closed.
Breathing.
I picked up the bowl again.
He opened his eyes.
"Give it to me."
I looked at him.
"You can barely sit up."
"I can hold a bowl."
"Okay."
I handed it to him.
His fingers closed around it.
For approximately two seconds.
Then the bowl tipped.
I caught it before hot broth ended up all over him.
Adrian stared at the bowl.
I stared at Adrian.
Neither of us said anything.
Something changed in his face.
Embarrassment.
Maybe frustration.
Probably both.
And suddenly I didn't want to tease him anymore.
"Hey."
His jaw tightened.
"It's fine."
I took the bowl back.
"I'm not hungry."
"I know."
"Then stop."
"No."
I picked up the spoon.
His eyes moved to it.
Then to me.
"Absolutely not."
"Open."
"Angelica."
"Adrian."
"I'm not five."
"Then stop behaving like you're five."
"I'm not letting you feed me."
I held the spoon in front of him.
"You have two choices."
His eyes narrowed.
"I don't like where this is going."
"You eat voluntarily, or I sit here and annoy you until you do."
"Those are the same choice."
"Good. Open."
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Eventually-
very slowly-
he opened his mouth.
I gave him the first spoonful.
He swallowed.
"There. Horrible?"
"Yes."
"Liar."
I gave him another.
He took it.
Then another.
After the fourth, he turned his face away.
"Enough."
"No."
"Angelica."
"Half."
"No."
"Half the bowl."
"I'm done."
"You're not."
"I can't eat anymore."
That made me stop.
I looked at him.
He looked genuinely exhausted just from sitting there.
I softened my voice.
"A little more."
His eyes closed.
"Please."
That did it.
His eyes opened again.
He looked at me for a long second.
Then, without another argument, opened his mouth.
So I fed him.
Slowly.
One spoonful at a time.
He complained twice.
Tried to stop three times.
And every time, I waited a little and made him take another.
Until half the bowl was gone.
Then I finally put the spoon down.
"Done."
Adrian let his head fall back against the cushions.
"You're horrible."
"You ate."
"Against my will."
"You'll recover."
His eyes opened slightly.
I smiled.
"Drink."
This time, when I brought the glass toward him, he didn't even try to take it from me.
I held it while he drank.
If Adrian argued with me, he was impossible.
If Adrian didn't argue with me, I assumed he was dying.
Apparently there was no winning.
I checked the time.
Almost noon.
"You need to sleep."
"I have work."
"No."
His eyes shifted toward me.
I smiled.
"That was fun."
"Angelica."
"No."
"My laptop is upstairs."
"Congratulations."
"I need it."
"No."
"I have emails."
"Claire exists."
"I have meetings."
"Not anymore."
His eyes narrowed.
"What did you do?"
"I did nothing."
"What did you tell Claire?"
"That you're sick."
"What else?"
"That I'm taking the day off."
His expression changed.
"You're not."
"I already did."
"Go back."
"No."
"You don't need to stay here."
"I know."
That stopped him.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
His eyes stayed on mine.
I knew I didn't need to stay.
That wasn't why I was staying.
And apparently neither of us wanted to examine that too closely.
So I stood.
"Sleep."
He looked away first.
"Bossy."
I nearly laughed.
"You have absolutely no right to say that to me."
He settled back against the couch.
"Go home."
"No."
"Go to work."
"No."
"Do something useful."
"I made you food."
"Debatable."
I stared at him.
"You ate it."
"I was weak."
"You're still weak."
"Exactly."
I picked up the cushion beside me.
His eyes opened.
"Don't."
"You're sick, so I'm showing restraint."
"How generous."
"I know."
His eyes closed again.
A few minutes later, his breathing changed.
I stayed where I was.
Just for a little while.
Watching him.
I'd never seen Adrian asleep before.
Somehow, despite everything that had happened between us, this was the first time.
And it was strange.
There was no control left in him.
No carefully neutral expression.
No awareness of the room.
No ability to notice that I was looking at him and immediately look back until I became the uncomfortable one.
He just looked tired.
Human.
Vulnerable in a way Adrian almost never allowed himself to be.
I didn't like it.
Not because there was anything wrong with seeing him this way.
Because I hated that he had apparently been like this alone.
Maybe since Saturday.
Maybe yesterday.
He hadn't called anyone.
Of course he hadn't.
Adrian could probably lose a limb and send Claire an email saying he'd be working remotely.
I stood and carried the bowl into the kitchen.
Washed it.
Cleaned the pot.
Wiped down a counter that was already clean because apparently I needed something to do with my hands.
Then I checked on him again.
Still asleep.
Good.
I took my laptop out of my bag.
If I was going to be trapped in an enormous white penthouse with a sick dictator, I might as well answer a few emails.
At some point, I stopped working.
Not because I'd finished.
Because Adrian started shivering.
I noticed the movement from the dining table.
At first I thought he was adjusting the blanket I'd put over him.
Then it happened again.
I was out of the chair immediately.
"Adrian?"
His eyes opened.
Barely.
"Cold."
My stomach tightened.
I touched his forehead.
Still hot.
Really hot.
"Okay."
I found another blanket and put it over him.
Then checked his temperature again.
103.1.
Not better.
Not significantly worse either.
I told myself that mattered.
"When can you take the next dose?"
He didn't answer.
"Adrian?"
His eyes opened again.
"What?"
"When did you take medicine before I got here?"
A pause.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I mean I don't know."
"You took something?"
"I think so."
"You think so?"
His eyes closed.
Great.
Excellent.
Wonderful.
I went back to the kitchen and checked the medicine.
Then stood there staring at the bottle.
I couldn't safely guess what he'd already taken or when.
So I wasn't going to.
I brought him water instead.
He drank some.
Then fell asleep again.
I checked on him so many times over the next two hours that eventually I stopped pretending I was doing anything else.
Around three, his fever finally dipped below 103.
102.8.
I nearly celebrated.
This was pathetic.
At four-fifteen, my phone buzzed.
Maya.