Page 28 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
9
I place the flowers by his hospital bed and gaze down at him as he sleeps, gasping in surprise as he opens his brilliant blue eyes and looks at me.
“I’m sorry,” I begin to back out, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was awake already. Sit, Tess,” he says, frowning as he struggles to rise to a seated position.
Leaning in, I adjust his pillows so he can sit comfortably, thrilled to be able to be so close to him without wanting to bite him. It is still such a novelty. I haven’t really considered how it happened or told anyone. I’d like to call Pru and discuss it with her, but I know she’s busy, and anyway, my phone drowned when I jumped into the well. I’ve got it in a bucket of rice in the kitchen, hoping maybe it will dry out and work again. If not, I’ll have to order another. For now, my Irresistible turned not-Irresistible - but still seemingly as unattainable - is my secret.
“Thank you,” he says, meeting my gaze and leaning away.
I turn and pull up a chair, hurt at his distancing of himself, although I don’t know why I expect anything else. After all, just because I suddenly feel able to be around him without biting him, doesn’t mean he wants to be around me too.
“I just wanted to check on you, and let you know I’ve been looking after Toto. I took her home, but she didn’t want to stay, so I’m feeding her daily at your house now.” I speak quickly, wanting to be out of his room and away, given he seems so aggrieved to have me here.
“I trusted you would. And thank you for the flowers.”
I look down at my hands, feeling awkward and out of place.
“You don’t have to be here, you know,” he says quietly.
I look up quickly to see him studying me.
“I’m sorry,” I jerk to my feet, “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Tess,” he shakes his head, smiling, “I want you here, I just know you prefer your own company.”
“Oh,” I sit back down, “no, I’d like to stay if that’s OK?”
“It’s OK by me, but if you are so happy to be here, why do you twist your fingers like that?” he asks gently.
“You, ah, you said something when I revived you,” I murmur, looking down at my hands again and making a conscious effort not to fidget.
“What did I say?”
“You said, ‘not supposed to be you.’ I, ah, I thought you were angry at me being there, and here,” I shrug.
He laughs quietly. “I guess my subconscious got the better of me,” his chuckles pause as he starts coughing.
I help him to a drink and wait for him to elaborate, but when he doesn’t, prompt him.
“Your subconscious?”
“Yeah,” he shakes his head. “Don’t be offended, but I kind of think of you as Snow White. The last time I looked, she was the one waiting to be kissed back to life, not the other way round.”
“Oh,” I smile, “what makes you think I’m Snow White?”
“Are you kidding?” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in humour, “you live deep in the forest, surrounded by animals. You literally have rabbits grazing on your front lawn and bedding down in your lounge. I expect any time I see you that a halo of birds will be flying around your head singing.”
I shake my head, “you know they are all pets. I can assure you, I’m no Snow White.”
‘No part of me is white, not my hands, not my heart, not my past – God, if only you knew, I’m red, blood-red all over.’
“But if I was,” I shake my head to dispel my dismal thoughts, “you’re right, as the prince you really should be kissing me awake.”
“I’m not the prince,” he says, suddenly sombre.
“You have to be something, living next door to Snow White,” I quip, trying to keep the conversation light and draw him out of the despondency I see creeping back over his features.
