Page 93 of Perfect
“Connection, definitely.” She smiles and raises her eyebrows like she wants me to keep talking. “Um, she makes me feel accepted, I guess.” Dr. Mills blinks and purses her lips, and I try not to wince.
It’s not a lie, it’s just not the truthyet.
***
When I get to Alex’s place, she’s curled up on the couch, coughing.
“Unless you want this cold, go away,” she snaps, coughing again. I don’t get sick easily, so I go out and get things to make her chicken soup, loading it up with turmeric, garlic, and ginger. She barely eats it, she barely drinks any water, and she gets angry when she realizes that I’ve used her phone to text Catherine and Suzie that she’ll be out of work the next day.
“Stop fucking mothering me,” she mumbles, sinking down into the couch and refusing the tea I hand her. She’s coughing and blowing her nose constantly, but insists she’s fine.
She’s kind of an asshole when she’s sick, apparently.
She’s worse on Friday, but she refuses to take anything, continuing to insist she’ll be fine. I go to the store and get her bullshit homeopathic cold remedies as well as normal cold medicine, but she refusesallof it. She hasnoidea how to take care of herself, and she refuses to accept any help from me, and I start to lose my patience with her as I kneel in front of her with a mug of tea.
“Drink this.” She shakes her head and burrows further into the blankets. “Sweetie, you need to let me take care of you.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbles in a petulant voice.
“Alexandria Marie Shearer, drink thisright now,” I snap. She pouts, but she drinks half of it. She gets woozy when she standsbecause she’s barely eaten since Wednesday, so I scoop her up and tuck her into bed, trying to keep my temper in check.
She develops a low-grade fever later that night, and she refuses to do anything to help herself, even take a cold bath. She says she just needs to sweat it out, and she refuseseverythingI try to do for her, snapping at me any time I try to help her. She mostly lays in bed and sleeps, her head in my lap with the soft drone of a nature documentary series playing on her laptop. I coax her into drinking fluids anytime she wakes up, even though she keeps telling me she’s fine.
I understand she’s stubborn, but this is ridiculous.
When she wakes up on Saturday, her fever hasn’t broken, and I start to get pissed with her. I force her to eat, and she’s too tired to fight me, but I can tell she hates it. She’s too exhausted to be mad at me when I put her in a cold bath and make her drink water, but she saves all of her energy to fight me about not taking any type of medicine or fever reducer, insisting she’ll be fine and she’ll hate me forever if I force her to do anything else. Her fever doesn’t break and even starts to climb, and I don’t sleep at all, checking on her every hour.
Sometime early Sunday morning, I decide I’m done with her bullshit. She can hate me if she wants to, but I’m not letting her die of the flu just because she’s stubborn. She whines a little when I pick her up out of bed, but she wraps her arms around my neck and seems reluctant to let me go when I put her in the car.
“Honey, come on.” Her eyes open, and she shakes her head when she sees the sign for urgent care, mumbling something aboutno doctors. I pull her face towards me until her glassy eyes are focused on mine, stroking her hair softly.
“Alex, listen to me. No one will know you were here, okay? I’m going to take care of you.” She looks like she might cry, but she nods softly and lets me take her inside. I fill out her name and as much of her health information as they need and use myaddress and information for everything else. Alex looks too pale and shivers even though she’s wearing warm clothes, so I wrap my arms around her while we wait, and she starts to fall asleep against me.
I carry her into the room the nurse leads us to and do most of the talking because she’s barely awake, frustrated as I explain to the doctor that she’s refused everything I’ve tried. The doctor looks Alex over and says it’s just a bad flu. She hooks her up to an IV, hands me a prescription for antivirals, and tells us she’ll be back in half an hour.
I sit in the room with Alex, who gives me a tiny smile and barely squeezes my hand.
“Thanks, Theo,” she murmurs, “I never get sick.” All my anger melts away, and I smile back at her and push her slightly damp hair back from her face.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You need to let me take care of you from now on, okay?” She nods and squeezes my hand gently, and I relax entirely. When we get home, she does everything I tell her to, and she curls up with me and lets me hold her as she sleeps, snoring a little because she’s so stuffed up.
By Monday afternoon, her fever is gone. When I return from the store, she’s curled up in bed, her laptop playing some old sitcom I know she’s seen before, and she looks up at me and smiles, pausing her show.
“How’re you feeling?” She whines and burrows further under the blanket, pouting a little.
“Terrible.”
“Terrible, but better?” She nods, and I feel her forehead just in case before I crack the lid on the bright blue sports drink she asked for and hand it over.
“I have no idea why you want this. It’s all sugar.” She laughs softly.
“Didn’t you do any sports as a kid?”
I shake my head. “I hated team things.”
“Makes sense,” she says, smiling. “I’m sure it would have made your grandparents’ lives easier.” I laugh.
“Yeah, probably. I picked up running when I was fourteen because Nana told me I was driving her fucking nuts and that I needed to do something to deal with my energy other than get in fights or jerk off all day.” Alex snorts out a laugh.
