Page 83 of Check the Halls
It’s not that I don’t want to go with Ben. Of course I want to be with him. But I also want to finish my degree, and my student advisor thinks I would be an excellent candidate for the MBA program at Dal. Plus my parents, my friends—everything I know is here.
“Mads—”
Ben’s phone starts to vibrate. One text coming in after the other. He pulls it from his pocket and stares at the screen.
It’s probably one of his teammates, but there’s that ugly voice that whispers in the back of my head that it’s another girl. I don’t know why I do that to myself. In the years we’ve been together, he’s never so much as looked at anyone else. And given the way other girls look at him, it’s not for lack of opportunity.
“I better get to practice.” He hops off the bed and grabs his baseball hat from the back of my chair placing it backwards on his head. Which shouldn’t be allowed, given how attractive it makes him.
“Of course.”
“Good luck studying. I’ll text you after?”
“Okay.”
When he reaches the door, he stops. After a few moments he does a 180 and walks back over to me, leaning down and cupping my face. He kisses me slowly, thoroughly, with purpose. I kiss him back, trying to put all the things I’m feeling into the kiss.
When he pulls away, we’re both panting. He rests his forehead against mine.
“I love you,” he breathes.
“I love you, too.”
NOW
“I hate you.”
My words are meant to push him away, but instead cause Ben to pull me closer to his side.
“Hate me all you want,” he states plainly. “You’re still getting checked out.”
People don’t go to the doctor for a stomach ache. That’s what I told Ben when I went to bed with my heating pad last night. I told him again this morning as I got ready for work despite feeling worse. And finally I told him through clenched teeth when he dropped by my office unexpectedly with lunch and found me curled up in cold sweat, my head on my desk.
He took one look at me and said he was taking me to the hospital.
Ben knows better than most people how much I hate hospitals. The way they smell, the way they make me feel. I hate the gowns they make you wear, like the one I’ve got on now. I shiver and Ben immediately tugs me closer, his arm a steady, familiar weight around my shoulders.
But I don’t want comfort right now. I want to be home, in my own bed, where I can pretend this isn’t happening. I push away from him, my movement crinkling the thin sanitary paper lining the exam table beneath me.
"People don’t go to the hospital for a stomach ache," I argue, for what feels like the twentieth time. My voice is hoarse, stubborn. "I’m fine."
But I’m not fine. The pain in my lower abdomen has sharpened into something unbearable, a deep, searing ache that only seems to grow. My skin is hot, feverish, and my stomach rebels against even the thought of food. This is the worst I’ve ever felt, and beneath my denial, fear courses through my veins like ice water.
Ben exhales sharply beside me. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s frustrated. "As soon as the doctor agrees with your diagnosis of ‘fine,’ I’ll take you home. But not before then."
I open my mouth to snap back, but the sudden tickle in my sinuses cuts me off. It builds fast and I barely have time to brace myself before I sneeze.
White-hot pain explodes through my midsection, so sharp and blinding it steals my breath. My vision blurs. A choked sob escapes me as I double over, arms wrapping around my stomach in a feeble attempt to hold myself together. Hot, unwelcome tears spill down my cheeks.
Ben’s arms are around me in an instant, lifting me onto his lap and hugging me tightly to his chest. I bury my face in his shirt, grateful to it for muffling my cries. His voice is distant, frantic. I can feel his hands on me, but I can’t focus on anything except the agony twisting through me.
“It’s okay, baby.” Ben’s mouth moves against my head as he murmurs into my hair. “You’re going to be okay.”
I sob, my body shaking against him so violently as he cradles me like a ragdoll. I think he might be trembling, too, but I can’t be sure in my present state.
A small woman in a white lab coat enters the exam room. I’m only vaguely aware of her asking Ben to set me down on the table so she can examine me. I try to protest being moved from the safety of Ben’s arms, but I’m in too much pain to speak.
She makes me extend my legs so I’m lying straight. My body wants to curl itself back into a tight ball. Everything feels wrong.
