Page 124 of Charmed, I'm Sure
I love you.
It hovered on the tip of my tongue as he gently set me on the edge of his bed. It stayed there as I collapsed onto the soft down comforter, watching through half-lidded eyes as he moved around the room.
I flinched when he turned on the bathroom light, squeezing my eyes shut as I rolled over.
“You okay, Mags?” he asked softly, the bed dipping as he sat behind me, warm palm sweeping along my back in a soothing caress.
“Yeah, just a headache. I’ll be better after I get some food in my system.”
“Alright, I’m going to go grab everything from the car. I put a t-shirt and the sweatpants you keep trying to steal on the edge of the bed if you want to change.”
“Thank you.”
I sat up, reaching for the clothes, but even that small movement made my head swim.Nope.
I was still sitting there, clutching his shirt like a security blanket, when he walked back in, food in hand.
“Okay, so do you want… Mags?” His voice was wary, his gaze searching mine. When a single tear rolled down my cheek, his eyes widened. “Shit. No, no, no—don’t cry.”
He practically dropped the food and was in front of me in a heartbeat, hands running up and down my arms.
“It’s more than just a headache, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” I squeaked, pinching my eyes closed and pressing my fingers into my temples.
“Alright. Arms up, sunshine.”
“What are you doing?”
“Helping. Scale of one to ten, how bad is it?” His fingers gripped the hem of my shirt, and I raised my arms.
“Are you really trying to play doctor right now?” I asked, aiming for humor and falling short when my voice cracked with the pain.
“Not playing, sunshine. Give me a number.”
“Seven.” Skeptical sapphire blues met mine as he discarded my shirt. “Seriously, it’s a seven. Trust me, I’ve had worse.”
“Okay, what usually helps?” he asked as he sat back on his heels and started unlacing my tennis shoes.
“When I don’t have my meds?” He nodded and pushed to his feet. “Salty snacks, chocolate, Coke, and a dark room. Sometimes a shower, but I don’t know if I could handle that right now.”
“Do you think you can stand long enough for me to get your pants over your hips, or would laying down be better?”
“I can do it, Taylor.”
“I know, but you don’thaveto. Let me help, Mags. When was the last time you let someone take care of you?”
I scrunched my nose.
“That’s what I thought.”
Taylor helped me out of my remaining clothes and into his, then helped me move up toward the pillows. Once he had me tucked in like a toasty little burrito, he brought over the food. As much as Iwantedto eat, and knew that I needed to, the smell had bile rising in my throat, and that was a one-way ticket to the porcelain throne.
It must have been written all over my face because he placed it back on the dresser and asked, “Nauseated?”
“Very.”
“Is there anything else I can get you? Tylenol? Excedrin?”
