Page 69 of The Last Love Story
I cup her cheek and sit down next to her as tears spill from her eyes.
“Of course I will. I’ll be wherever you want me to be.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, fingers curling into her messy braid.
“Stay here,” she whispers, leaning into me. “Just stay with me.”
Her eyes close again, and no matter how loopy she is, I’m still taking her words seriously.
If this is where she wants me to stay, then this is where I’ll be. If she wants me by her side, I’ll stay here forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JADE
Surgery can suck it.
Why yes, I have lost all ability to form a better sentence than that.
It’s been six days since I last wrote. Cue theIt’s been eighty-four yearsmeme, because that’s how I’m feeling.
My pain is down significantly since the first couple of days, and I don’t need the narcotics anymore. All my memories from the day of my surgery and the following day are a bit hazy. Other than Justin being the absolute sweetest human in existence.
It’s killing me a little bit because I don’t know if he’s a caretaker by nature or if he wants to take care ofme. Nothing else sexual has happened, and I’m not expecting it to. For once, my horniness has chilled out because everything else about healing has taken precedence.
On the flip side of that, Justin has been sleeping next to me on the couch every night. I’m hoping to move back to my bedroomtonight, and I want him there with me. I sleep better. I’m calmer. I’m happier.
I’mscrewed.
I want him, and it’s so hard to know where we stand with each other or what he wants from me while I’m still healing and need so much help. The last thing I want to do is get into some big conversation about it right now and make things weird. Because I like how he takes care of me.
A few weeks ago, I never would’ve imagined wanting anyone but my dad to take care of me, but I’m glad it’s been Justin by my side. Especially for the sponge bath a couple days in. I was able to do most of it myself, but I still needed his help with a few things. Now I can comfortably sit in the bathtub and wash myself with my left hand. It takes forever, but it’s one thing I can do.
I can’t wash my hair yet, though. Thankfully, my hairdresser was nice enough to let me come in a couple of days ago, and she washed my hair and styled it. I can get by with dry shampoo for about a week, even if it leaves me feeling a little gross.
I know Justin would wash my hair if I asked, but contorting in the bathtub while he tries to do that sounds uncomfortable at best and dangerous at worst. And I want my hand to heal.
I left myself a long voice note this morning because I had a brilliant idea, but I was still trying to type left-handed or scribble notes along the way, so I didn’t forget things I wanted to say later while I was talking.
Being a creator without tools to create is inhumane.
It’s cruel and unusual punishment.
So is being stuck on the couch day after day after day.
I don’t even know what day it is anymore.
Wednesday? Thursday?
I might be a touch dramatic right now, but I feel good. I want to do things. But my hand is unusable, and it’s been pouring rain for two days.
I’ve got cabin feverbad.
I’m losing my mind. My skin is crawling.
And there’s a smudge on my glasses that’s making my eye twitch, but I haven’t been able to coordinate cleaning them effectively one-handed with my non-dominant hand.
Gah!
