Page 23 of Taken Off Camera
He removes the blindfold, replacing it with a fresh cold compress, and I gasp at the sudden chill.
“Too cold?” The question comes from right above me.
“No,” I breathe. “Feels good.”
“More medicine in an hour.” His fingers brush my hair back from my forehead, lingering at my temple, and my stomach tightens at the tenderness in the gesture. “Try to sleep.”
I drift in and out of consciousness, anchored by his presence in the room, experienced through the tap of keyboard keys and the occasional phone call, where GentlemanX drops to a murmur as he steps into the hallway.
When I wake again, it comes with a painful demand from my bladder.
“I need the bathroom,” I announce to the room, unsure of his location.
“Here.” He comes from my right, followed by the creak of my desk chair. Footsteps approach, and cool air rushes in as he lifts the comforter away from my body. “Can you stand?”
“With help.” The admission costs me, but pride won’t get me to the toilet.
His arm slides beneath mine, around my back. With embarrassing ease, he lifts me to my feet. My legs wobble, muscles liquefied by fever and disuse, and his arm tightens to support my weight.
“Lean on me.” He guides me forward, my bare feet dragging across the carpet. “Three steps to the door.”
We shuffle together, my body pressed to his side. He’s taller than I expected, and solid, warmth radiating through the expensive fabric of his sweater.
The cool tile of the bathroom floor signals our arrival, and he guides my hand to the countertop. “Can you manage from here?”
“Yes.” Relief floods me at the offer of privacy. “Thank you.”
“Call when you’re finished.” The door clicks shut behind him.
I fumble my way to the toilet, sitting down with the blindfold still on, so I’m not tempted to sneak a peek at GentlemanX by “accident”.
When I finish, I wash my hands, then call out weakly.
The door opens, as if he’d been waiting with his hand on the knob, and I collapse into his arms the moment he touches me, my energy sucked away by even this small effort. Without asking, he lifts me into his arms and carries me back to bed.
“You’re doing well,” he encourages, lowering me to the mattress. “The doctor said movement is good, even if it’s minimal.”
I drift off again, waking to the sensation of a straw at my lips. “Drink. You need electrolytes.”
I sip, too tired to argue or ask questions.
When I wake next, the apartment is different. Empty. I reach up, touch the blindfold still secured around my eyes, then pat the mattress beside me.
Nothing.
“GentlemanX?” His name scrapes my sore throat.
No response.
Panic flutters in my chest. Did he leave? The thought brings a wave of loneliness so strong that tears sting my eyes.
Then the sound of a key in the lock breaks the silence, followed by footsteps entering the apartment and the rustle of plastic bags.
“You’re awake,” he calls from the doorway. “How do you feel?”
“You went out.” The accusation slips past my lips.
“For supplies.” The mattress dips as he sits. “Your pantry consisted of ramen, stale cereal, and three cans of energy drinks.”
