Page 53 of Someday Not Soon

Peeking inside, I find the blinds shut and the room iscompletely dark. I step closer, listening for any sound of life, and feeling like I’m stepping straight into the intro of a horror movie.

The soft light from the hallway spills into the bathroom, casting a glow on him slumped against the tub, head dropping between his knees.

Crouching at his side, I put a hand on his back, smoothing it down the column of his spine. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. Even though he’s obviously not fine whatsoever.

“Migraine. A bad one,” he explains.

“Shit. Do you have medication to take for it or something?”

“Upper cabinet in the kitchen. To the left.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Don’t move…not that you exactly can anyways right now.”

I see the corner of his mouth tip into a smile at my comment, as I push off the floor, closing the door to keep the light from shining in. I’ve only had two migraines in my life, but I’ll never forget how light felt like a boning knife to the brain.

Within a few minutes, I find the bottle of migraine pills and grab a coconut water from the fridge door.

When I return, he’s still sitting in the same spot, his eyes closed, like a lifeless mannequin. The only indication he’s alive is the faint rise and fall of his chest in the darkness.

I crack open the coconut water. “Hey, I have somemedicine for you if you think your stomach can handle it.”

He grumbles as I grab his hand and deposit a pill into his palm. With one audible gulp, he washes it down with a sip of the drink.

Smoothing my hand up and down his back, I feel the heat of his body, clammy and hot, radiating through his shirt.

“You’re really hot,” I tell him.

“Thanks. I am, aren’t I?” he laughs, his voice full of a surprising amount of sarcasm for someone so incapacitated.

“Oh my god,” I laugh. “Good thing your head is so big so you won’t fall in the toilet.”

I shift to sit beside him, the cool tile pressing into my legs. The second I’m settled in, he repositions himself. His head rolls onto my lap, while the rest of his large frame sprawls across the bathroom floor. Waiting for the medication to kick in, he closes his eyes. His breathing begins to grow deep as he dozes off in the silent darkness.

Sitting there with him clinging to my legs, another one of my walls crumbles. It’s an odd feeling, having someone seek comfort from you. I’ve never been needed, or even particularly wanted. But here he is, vulnerable and relying on me. It cracks me wide open, like he’s taken a sledgehammer to my ribs, emotion and attachment seeping out from every crack and crevice.

I run my fingers through his thick hair. It’s recently washed, clean and smooth without a trace of hair product.He groans in my lap as my fingers slowly continue to rake through his scalp.

“Oh god, that feels good,” he mumbles against my leg.

I smile into the darkness and continue, letting my fingers work through his hair in a steady rhythm. The weight of his head in my lap feels grounding, like we’re anchored together, building something solid beneath us.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For being here.”

“Always,” I reply softly.

He shifts slightly, turning his face toward me. I can feel the warmth of his breath through the fabric of my pants. Slowly, he reaches up and wraps his fingers around my free hand.

“Stay with me today?” he asks. His eyes squint open to gauge my reaction just long enough for me to see the vulnerability in them.

“Of course. Anything you want.”

“All I want is you,” he replies. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.”

It feels more like a confession than a simple statement. So I choose to stay silent because words could never capture the depth of my feelings toward an admission of that magnitude right now. Especially one said in a migraine and medication-induced haze.

We sit like that for a while, the silence between us comfortable as he starts to drift off, his hand still holding mine. I tip my head back against the wall, letting this rare sense of contentment wash over me. Even with him being sick, sitting on this uncomfortably hard floor, and thesmell of vomit in the air, it all somehow clicks into place. For the first time in a long while, it feels right.

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