Part 17 (1/2)

”Ya think?” I asked in a snarky tone. ”f.u.c.k. How am I supposed to go to your parents' house feeling like this?”

He rolled over, the bed dipping, which almost made my stomach's contents empty on the spot. It had been a long time since I'd been this hung over. Why had I picked last night of all nights to do that s.h.i.+t?

”Stop moving!” I screeched, moving my hand to cover my mouth.

The bed shook from his deep laughter. ”Sorry,” he whispered, but continued laughing. Even though the bed was barely moving, it might as well have been an earthquake with the way my stomach was being jostled.

”Baby, you really need to stop f.u.c.king moving.” I wouldn't call myself grumpy, just ill.

”I'm going to go make you a little hair of the dog.”

”Ugh,” I groaned, praying to pa.s.s out. It was so much better when I was asleep and oblivious to the way I'd mistreated my body last night.

”I promise it will make you feel better.”

The bed dipped and sprang back to its original form, and I rolled to the side, trying to find the edge. I wanted to lie on the floor, thinking it would be a more stable surface.

”Ouch,” I cried as I plopped on the hardwood floor with nothing to break my fall. So not a better choice. I sprawled out, closing my eyes as I let the coolness of the floor soothe me. Everything was spinning, even the blackness behind my eyelids.

”Want me to help you into the bathroom?” he asked from the other side of the bed.

I wasn't going to open my eyes to see where he was. ”No. Leave me here to die.”

”I'll be right back,” he said, snorting.

Then I heard his footsteps. It sounded like a bear was walking the halls. Every sound was amplified, and I couldn't imagine listening to a loud Italian family today with this type of hammering in my head.

Drool started to dribble from my lip and collect under my face on the floor. I didn't bother to wipe it away. I couldn't move. f.u.c.k. I said a little prayer, promising to never drink again if G.o.d would only make me feel better. We all make that prayer when we're in over our head, even though we know it's a crock of s.h.i.+t.

His loud footsteps woke me again. ”Up ya go. You have to drink this.” He touched my shoulder, making my body lurch away without thought.

”Just kill me. It'll be easier,” I whined, my body molded to the floor. I had to look like quite a sight. Sprawled out, naked, lying in puddle of drool, with my legs bent in an awkward way. I was too sick to even care, in all honesty.

”Nah. I love you too much to let that happen,” he said, his voice closer than it had been before.

He loved me. He loved me. I didn't think I could ever get sick of hearing those words.

Peeling one eye open, I saw his knee close to my face. ”I can't sit up by myself. It's impossible.”

Placing his hands under my arms, he began to lift me.

”Oh, G.o.d,” I grumbled. Everything started to move, and I had to seal my eyes shut to keep whatever was in my stomach down.

He propped my back against the bed and held me by the shoulders. I took three deep breaths, trying to push down the lump that had formed in my throat. Using every ounce of energy I had, I brought my knees up to my chest and rested my chin against my cool skin. Then I opened my eyes just enough to see him kneeling in front of me and looking fresh as a f.u.c.king daisy.

Removing one hand from my shoulders but still holding me steady, he grabbed the gla.s.s and held it in front of me. ”I swear this will make you feel better.”

In the gla.s.s was a b.l.o.o.d.y Mary. The thought of something so salty and thick made me instantly start to gag.

”I can't,” I closed my eyes.

”Come on, Angel. Just a small sip,” he coaxed me, pulling my chin up in his direction.

When I opened my eyes, I was met with a look of concern and love-tilted head, soft eyes, and a small smile. He was staring down at me with the gla.s.s in his hand.

”I'll try,” I agreed, knowing he was right. I needed to fight through it and somehow down the liquid.

Bringing the gla.s.s to my mouth, I grimaced when I got a whiff of liquor and tomato. I pinched my nose with my other hand. Even if I had to taste it, I didn't want to smell what I was going to guzzle. My senses were on overdrive, so blocking one out was a good thing.

”How about a hot bath?” he asked, brus.h.i.+ng the hair away from my forehead as I tried to take bigger and bigger gulps of the salty concoction.

”Mm, hm,” I grunted, feeling the thick liquid slide down my throat. If I didn't puke now, it wouldn't happen.

There's nothing worse when you want to puke than having something slide down, coat your throat, and take its f.u.c.king time to settle in your stomach.

As he walked away, I took a break from the drink. Placing the cool gla.s.s against my forehead, I closed my eyes and took a couple of shallow breaths. After the water turned on, I saw him walking back and forth, grabbing a bottle from the linen closet and some towels.

I sighed, taking a few more sips, and stared straight ahead. After drinking the last bit of the b.l.o.o.d.y Mary, I set the gla.s.s on the floor, leaving my hand next to it. I was wiped out, physically worn, like an old shoe in need of repair.

He returned to the bedroom moments after the water turned off. ”Want me to carry you?” he asked, standing in front of me.

”I can crawl,” I whispered, moving forward and stopping almost immediately.

Crawling wasn't a smart idea either. My knees ached from the hard floor, my head throbbed worse from the pressure, and the b.l.o.o.d.y Mary was starting to creep back up the way it had gone down.

”Stubborn woman,” he mumbled, scooping me up in arms and holding me against his chest.

I wouldn't say it was a better way to travel, but at least I didn't have to expel any energy and could focus on not hurling on him during the short walk to the bathtub. I slumped against him, curling into a ball as he carried me.

The water sloshed as he stepped inside the tub. Keeping me against his bare chest, he sank down into the water, holding me safely in his arms. Letting the warmth surround me, I rested my head on his shoulder as he leaned back, taking me with him.

Resting his hand on my hip, he stroked my cheek, staying silent. I snuggled against him and listened to his breathing.

”Feeling any better?” he asked, brus.h.i.+ng his lips against my forehead.

”Yeah,” I lied.

”I brought you some aspirin and water.”

My body moved with his as he reached for the gla.s.s and pills he had set on the edge.

”Thanks,” I whispered before placing the two capsules on my tongue and taking tiny sips of water. I didn't dare toss my head back to help them slide down. Movement, especially quick ones, made the entire situation worse.

After handing the gla.s.s back, I melted into him. I didn't know how long we lay there in that position before he started to wash my skin. Without the energy to try myself, I let him and soaked in the pampering. I couldn't even remember a time when my mother had done the simple task. I didn't have one fond memory of her taking care of me or treating me like a child. I had been a nuisance-or, at least, she treated me like one.

”Why are you so good to me?” I asked in jest. I'd do the same for him. That was what you did for someone you loved.

”I don't like when you don't feel well. I should've told you to slow down last night, but I figured you needed to blow off some steam.”

”It felt good, but I regret it today.” I smashed my cheek against his pec. The water descending over my skin in tiny rivulets felt like dozens of fingertips grazing my flesh.