Page 31 of Echoes of Us

He closed his eyes and sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. I helped him as much as I could, washing his hair, handing him the soap, washing his arms and hands. I found him clean clothes and changed the bedding in his room. I tried to clear it of all the garbage. After walking him back to bed, I went to get the food.

I noticed absently that my hands were trembling while I handed the money to the delivery man. I got Noah to eat something—not much, but something—and then put him back to bed.

“Are you leaving?” he asked when I pulled the covers over him and turned the TV off.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

“Please stay.” His voice cracked at the end.

“I’ll stay. Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back,” I told him and left the room.

I walked to the terrace and closed the door behind me. The cool night air hit my face as I watched the view of the city lights twinkling below. I let my eyes well up with tears before I rubbed my hands over them.

I took a couple of deep breaths and went back to him. I got into bed, and he pulled my arm around him. Snuggling up close behind, I heard him sigh. I tried to sleep, but the fear that gripped my chest was too intense. I didn’t even know who I could call for help. Just the thought of that made me feel like crying again. Seeing him alone in the middle of this waste of an apartment—he looked forgotten. And despite not knowing how to do it, my heart ached with a fierce need to protect him, to help him find his way back.

I woke up early the following day and went to get cleaning supplies. Got all the trash out, scrubbed the floors, and did some laundry before I heard the shower turn on. I had also gotten groceries and cleaned out his fridge. I was making him a grilled cheese and was almost done when he walked out. His face was clean-shaven; I had never seen him like that. He looked younger and handsome, his jawline sharp and skin smooth. He glanced around the apartment and then at me, giving a small smile that made my heart flutter.

“How domestic of you,” he joked.

I smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through my chest.

He sounded more like himself. He had put on the sleeveless shirt over a pair of black sweats, leaving his feet bare as usual. He sat on the stool before me, and I placed the food in front of him.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked as I got him a bottle of water.

He stared at his fridge, a little surprised. I guess he wasn’t used to seeing food there.

“You know, I have a lady who does these things,” he said, and as if on cue, his washing machine sounded.

“Yeah? Do you think she maybe quit?” I asked.

He let out a laugh before taking another bite. “This is good. You’re a good cook and a cleaning lady, apparently. Maybe I should hire you,” he said.

I sat beside him. He avoided looking at me, but I could see the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. I’m still staying here with you today, okay?” I said, my voice soft.

I reached for his neck, placing my palm over it, feeling the warmth of his skin. He swallowed around a bite and then nodded. He moved closer to me, curling himself under my arm and placing his own around my back. I wrapped mine around his shoulders, feeling the solid weight of him againstme. He sighed again, rubbing his face against the side of my neck. His hair tickled my skin, and I inhaled his clean scent. He grabbed my other hand and pulled it towards his shoulder. I smiled, getting the message and hugging him close.

“Thanks, Atty,” he said quietly, his voice muffled against my neck.

“Anytime.”

We stayed like that well after he had finished his food, the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine soothing my worries. The simple act of holding him, feeling his heartbeat slow down, made everything else fade away.

“Does your mom do this?” he asked, and I glanced up at him, rubbing my hands clean on a napkin.

“What?” I asked after I swallowed.

“The pushy feeding bit.” He took another bite of his food.

I had ordered lunch after we finished cleaning the rest of his apartment. He’d refused to let me handle it alone. We even folded and tucked all his clean clothes into the closet.

“Kinda.” I didn’t want to point out that the reason I was doing it now was because he had gone from looking underfed to severely undernourished in a week. His cheekbones were more prominent, and his eyes, though still striking, had lost some of their usual spark.

“Well, it’s nice,” he admitted with a smile.

“Do you think I could shower?” I asked.

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