Page 26 of The Plus One
The noise of the TV was the only sound in the room for a few moments.
“I’m so hopeful for him,” she whispered. “I love that I get to watch people learn to heal themselves. It’s magic.”
Jude couldn’t look away from her mouth, the cadence of her words like a lullaby.
“Then why can’t you sleep?” he heard himself asking.
Indira smiled—a small smile with the tiniest hint of hurt.
“I don’t know; I worry about my patients, I guess. Even when things are going well. It sometimes feels like I’m missing a crucial piece to their puzzle and it makes me restless.”
“You shouldn’t let your work affect you like that,” Jude said, sounding like a smart-ass even to his own ears.
Indira turned fully toward him, her face expressionless except for her eyes, which were endless pools of irony.
She looked at him like sheknew. Like she’d seen every haunting dream, witnessed every one of his choked awakenings. She stared at him like she’d paced his room with him for hours until the sun rose, desperately wishing for sleep but dreading the idea of attempting such torture.
That stare caused his skin to prickle and his muscles to tense. He felt exposed under her consideration, and his heart stuttered in his chest.
“Want some chips?” she asked, keeping her voice level and her gaze locked on his as she reached down, then handed him a bag of Doritos.
“Okay,” he said, swallowing on a dry throat as he accepted the bag, getting lost in the liquid copper of her irises. After what felt like an eternity, she finally blinked away and turned back to the TV.
Instead of feeling relieved and freed from the intensity of her stare, Jude had the distinct sense of falling backward, like she’d just cut the rope while he dangled over the edge of a cliff. What the hell was wrong with him?
And then she laughed. The sound was deep and goofy. A true, genuine laugh that seemed to set some of his discombobulated pieces back into order. At least for a moment. He sucked in a deep breath, grounding himself on the couch, absorbing the noises of the TV and Indira’s breathing and the crinkle of the chip bag as she reached over and fished some out.
“This part’s really funny,” she said with a full mouth, nodding her chin toward the screen.
Jude fixed his eyes on the TV, but his body still felt on high alert. Tense and taut like dreams or danger would blow down the door.
He felt Indira’s gaze on him, assessing him, in that careful, sensual way she had about her. Her looks usually annoyed him. Provoked him. But, for some reason, in the haziness of early morning hours and bad sleep, that look felt like a comfortable weight on his skin.
He glanced at her, and gave his most genuine attempt at a smile. It was slow and hesitant and probably looked more terrifying than anything, but he had to try.
Indira’s eyes trailed to his mouth, tracing his lips.
Then she smiled back, and it, ever so slightly, tipped Jude’s world upside down. His breath caught at the top of his throat, heart dipping then doing a wild circuit around his torso while a steady shimmer of warmth shot down to his toes.
Slowly, so slowly Jude could tell Indira did it for his benefit, she reached out her hand across the inches that separated them, and picked up his. She scooted her body a little closer, still leaving plenty of couch between them, and rested his hand on her lap.
Jude wondered if she had any idea of the bolt of sensation she’d just sent through his whole body. It was like every nerve ending had fired and flooded him with good hormones when she’d broached the distance, touched him.
Both of their eyes back on the show, Indira lazily started massaging his hand, working her thumbs into his palm, pulling gently at each joint.
A foreign sense of calm trickled from the back of his neck down his spine, slowly spreading across his chest. Into his arms. Down his legs.
And it was good.
For the first time in months, he was feeling something that wasn’t numbness or shame or fear. He was feeling… contentment. It was delicious and warm and disorienting.
Part of Jude feared it. If he indulged in the good feelings, it would hurt all the more when they inevitably left him. But, with the glow of the TV, the softness of the blanket, and the gentleness of Indira’s fingers, it was impossible to resist. So, he didn’t.
And, for the first time in so long, he felt almost normal. He felt like a real life human being, sitting on a couch, watching TV and eating junk food. He could almost laugh at how such small things brought him overwhelming relief. But in the same instant, his throat felt choked and clogged, like he was a moment away from weeping, like all the pain he kept closely in check would burst out of him.
He had to get a grip. He had to find control. He crammed all these conflicting, confusing emotions into tiny separate boxes, dragging them to the furthest corners of his mind, hoping they’d stay locked and collect dust. Jude wouldn’t waste this brief reprise on analyzing his response. He’d sit on the couch and listen to Indira laugh.
It happened so gradually, Jude didn’t notice at first, but as they made it through season after season of Thanksgiving-themed episodes, Indira moved closer to him on the couch until she was pressed lightly against his side, his hand still cradled in hers, her body melting around him in comfortable warmth. He felt the rise and fall of her chest against his biceps, the vibrations of her laugh against his shoulder and neck. Even her bizarre, mangy cat joined in, perching on the arm of the couch and staring at him with intermittent slow blinks.
