Page 44 of Lighting the Lamp
Alise slips off her jacket, folds it, and tucks it beneath my head like a makeshift pillow. Her hands are shaking, but she moves with the quiet certainty of someone who refuses to leave. Who refuses to look away.
“Do you need heat? Meds? Ice?”
“I need to stop feeling like I’m being crushed from the inside out. That’d be great.”
She lets out a soft, watery laugh. “I can work on that.”
I try to hold still, but blinking hurts. Breathing hurts. A deep, bruising ache pulses behind my eyes. My skin is too hot. The floor is too cold. My body feels torn in half, like every nerve is fighting itself, unsure which kind of hell to settle on.
And through it all, Alise stays. She sits right next to me on this hard-ass floor, waiting for my body to cooperate with me.
“Don’t pass out,” she whispers, brushing damp hair from my forehead. “Please, don’t pass out.”
“I’m still here,” I breathe, voice thin and frayed.
Her hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together like she’s anchoring me to the ground. “Then stay, just stay.”
I grip her hand like it’s the only thing tethering me to this world because it is. She is. Not the people I’m failing by not getting my shit together. Not everyone else I’ve been pushing away to protect them from whatever is going on with my body. Just Alise. No matter how hard I push her away, she always comes back anyway. I don’t deserve her. I know I don’t, but it doesn’t stop me from letting her hold me while my body breaks because she’s the only thing keeping the pieces from shattering completely.
Eventually, the worst of the pain loosens its grip, and I can breathe without white-hot spikes lancing up my spine. She leans in closer, her forehead nearly touching mine. Her eyes are wild and wet, fierce with something I can’t name but feel down to the marrow. “What do you need right now? Tell me what you need.”
I swallow hard, shame burning like acid down my throat. “I need to get up and shower. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin, but I can’t… I can’t do it alone.”
“Okay. Then we’ll do it together. One step at a time,” she murmurs, already shifting closer, bracing her body against mine. “We’ll go slow. Just tell me what you need, okay?”
I let my forehead rest against her shoulder for a moment, letting the feel of her calm my heartbeat, my breathing, and my shaking hands. We shift together. Every movement is agony, but she’s always there. Her body is steady beneath mine, her voice in my ear counting breaths, soothing me when the tremors hit too hard. She half-carries me into the bathroom, my feet dragging across the tile, every step sending a white-hot spike up my spine.
Alise leaves the door cracked behind us, one hand braced against my waist, the other wrapped tightly around mine like a promise she refuses to break. My legs threaten to give out as we near the shower. She moves fast—shoulders under mine, guiding me to sit on the closed toilet lid before I collapse. I sink like a stone, breathing hard, my palms planted on my knees to keep from folding in half.
“I’ll start the water,” she says, voice soft but certain.
She crosses to the shower, turning the knobs. The pipes groan for a moment before a deep, sudden rush of water explodes into the tiled stall. The steam hits almost instantly, curling around my legs and rising into the air like smoke, thickening the air in my lungs. The sound is too loud, too relentless. It feels like the entire room is closing in around me.
Alise returns to me, crouching in front of where I’m hunched over. Her brow creases as she studies me—my too-pale skin, the fine tremors in my hands, the way my jaw’s locked so tight it hurts.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Her gaze flicks worriedly to my chest. “If your heart rate spikes again, we’re calling. I mean it.”
I nod once. “Deal.”
“I’m gonna help you out of these,” she says softly, fingers brushing the waistband of my sweatpants. “Then I’m getting in with you.”
“What, no dinner first?”
It’s technically a joke, but the words fall flat. The usual flirtatious edge is gone, scraped out by exhaustion.
“Not in the mood for your fake flirting, Hendrix.” Her voice is steady, but her hands tremble slightly. “Arms up.”
I try, but my shoulders seize before they’re even halfway there. Pain radiates from my spine like ripples across a fault line.
“Fuck—” I breathe, body curling instinctively. “I can’t?—”
“Okay,” she says quickly, kneeling between my legs. “One side at a time.”
She moves slowly, threading my arm out of the sleeve like I’m made of glass. When my shirt is off, she helps me stand, inching my sweats down with clinical precision, before helping me sit down again, and pulling them off my feet. There’s no shame in it, only necessity. Once she’s finished, she strips quickly. Not for seduction or comfort, she just wants to make sure I won’t fall. So I won’t be alone in it.
