The last thing I need when I’m being Mother Theresa is a raging hard-on.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“Yes, please.”
I lift her and carry her in to sit on the toilet.
She widens her eyes. “Can you go out?”
“Ugh.” I go out and wait for a minute and hear the toilet flush.
“Okay.” I collect her and help her wash her hands and lay her back in bed. I put her on her side and arrange a pillow under her wrist and ankle. “You okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I turn the side lamp on and turn off the main light. “I’m going to have a shower,” I say.
“Okay.” She smiles sleepily. Those meds are working great.
I shower and soap myself up. Is it wrong that I’m beyond excited to be here looking after her? I feel like I won the lottery or something. Eventually, I walk into the bedroom in a towel to find Gracie sleeping like a baby and I smile as I watch her.
I throw on my boxer shorts and slink into bed. I lie on my side and watch her for the longest time.
Bruising is not her best look, I have to admit, but to me…she is perfect. Her long hair is splayed across her pillow and her dark lashes flutter as she breathes.
A real-life angel…my angel.
To her regulated breathing, I feel myself drifting into the abyss.
Beside her at last.
“Oww,” Grace cries.
I jump awake. “What?”
“You hit my arm when you rolled over.”
“Oh.” I wince. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing in this bed?”
“I…” I rub my eyes as I try to wake up. “I thought you might need something.”
“I don’t need you hurting me.”
“Sorry, sorry,” I mumble. “Go back to sleep.”
She exhales in frustration, and we lie in the darkness for a while. “Now my hand is aching.”
I roll over and look at my phone. “You can probably have some painkillers now, you were meant to have them in half an hour anyway.” I get up and grab the pills. She sits up and takes them.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
I lift her and take her to the bathroom. Fuck…I was in the deepest sleep then. I wait for her and then carry her back to bed and lie back down and close my eyes.
“Gabriel,” she whispers.
“Huh?” I jump awake.