Page 32 of Making It While Faking It
I think I get up to pee.
There are people around me.
Oh, I ache.
I’m so sleepy.
I think it’s Caroline who helps me to the toilet.
“Drink this…” Achilles says.
Yuck. What is that?
Umm…I feel a lot better, though.
* * *
I’m facing Achilles. He’s taller than I am by a good eight inches. I’m forced to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. What a sexy man he is. What deep, dark, and hypnotic eyes he has. The backs of his enormous fingers trail down one side of my face until they delicately caress my chin, and his thumb slides across my lower lip. I can’t move a muscle.
“I hate you,” Achilles whispers.
The words I want to speak struggle to make it past my lips. But I push, grimacing, fighting to finally say, “But why?”
My eyes pop open.
* * *
I’m in bed surrounded by comfy bed linens and fluffy pillows. The blinds are up. Sunlight filters in through the enormous windows. The view isn’t so unsettling from my bed which is far back from the glass. I’m still not one hundred percent back in my body, though. But I twist, stretching like a cat waking from a nap. No aches or pains. I feel good—really good.
What happened last night?
Droplets of memory drip into my brain as if from a leaky faucet. I was on the helicopter. Achilles strapped me into my seat. He said…
What did he say?
Damn it, I can’t remember.
Then I fell asleep. I sort of remember him cradling me and my arms wrapped around his neck and my lips near the side of his face. I wanted to kiss him. I had an overwhelming desire to do it. I was thankful I could sleep while he carried me, though. Being awake felt arduous. I trusted him.
There was a woman. I think it was Caroline. I push the covers down to look at myself. I’m wearing my pink-and-white striped satin pajamas. I’m not in my lime-green sweater dress, which I would’ve totally worn to bed if it were left up to me.
I’m starving.
I kick the covers off my legs and carefully sit up against the headboard. Yep, my body feels rejuvenated.
On the nightstand sits a nearly empty plastic bottle of electrolytes. Now I remember Achilles insisting that I drink most of the contents. I gasp. He was in my room, and a doctor wearing a white coat told me to open my mouth, and then I held a thermometer under my tongue.
Oh no…
At some point, and maybe a few times, I went to the bathroom and fell asleep on the toilet. I cover my face and wait for the embarrassment to pass.
My stomach growls like a ravenous wolf.
I’m hungry, very hungry.
It’s time to eat.
* * *
