Page 36 of Desperate Haste

There’s a pause over the line before I hear her sigh. “That would be nice. And maybe some crackers or something. I haven’t been able to keep anything down or get out of bed but I know I don’t have any food here.”

“Already planning on getting some. Anything else?” I pause and wait. For a moment I think she has maybe fallen asleep and then she speaks again.

“No, that’s it. The door code is 0923. Just come up, I’ll unlock the door for you.”

“I’m on my way.” I almost hang up when I hear her voice come over the line as almost a whisper.

“Hey, Malcolm?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Her voice is small but I can still hear the gratitude in it. The corner of my mouth picks up and my eyes fall to my feet.

“Anything for you, princess.”

19

OPHELIA

Reason number 593 why I’m never going through pregnancy: puking is the absolute fucking worst. And lucky for me, I’ve been doing it all damn day.

I know it’s food poisoning and not something as equally unwanted because I just finished my period two days ago. It came the day after Malcolm came to my office and visited for its standard six day stint. For some women, their period is a monthly burden to disdain and groan about. To me, it’s a welcome reminder of the freedoms I still have. Kids, just like marriage, are for some people but they aren’t for me. While some people might not understand my lack of desire to have kids, they don’t need to because it’s not their life. And I’m happy with the decisions I’ve made.

Except the decision to go to the sushi bar last night with Dale.

My stomach does a flip and gurgles in a way no stomach ever should and I can feel what little remnants are left in my stomach start to rise into my throat. Leaning over the edge of my bed, I hurl into the trash can sitting beside it that has become my best friend over the last twelve hours. When I roll back over onto my back, my ears catch the sound of my front door opening and the lock being turned once it’s closed.

“Ophelia? Hey, are you okay?” He must have heard the tail end of what I can only imagine an exorcism sounding like and comes to kneel by the side of my bed. He glances into the trash can and pinches his nose at the smell before moving it into my bathroom.

“Jesus, I’m gonna go with no. Here, sit up, and drink some of this.” He helps pull me up so I’m sitting and unscrews the cap from a bottle of Pedialyte before handing it to me. I grimace looking at the sugary liquid for fear that I’ll just end up extricating it from my body like I have everything else. “It’ll keep you hydrated, come on, one sip.” He takes my free hand and watches as I take in as much as I can.

“That’s disgusting,” I groan as I set the bottle down on my bedside table. Malcolm scoffs out a laugh and brushes my hair out of my face.

“It’s disgusting, but I’m assuming you’ve emptied your stomach and all your electrolytes which you need to replenish somehow. I’ve puked up enough Gatorade to know that shit’s worse coming back up than it’s going down so I grabbed this instead.”

I wiggle myself back down into my bed and pull the covers back up under my chin. My eyes close and I can feel myself shivering all while my hair is sticking to my neck. After a moment, I feel a bead of sweat fall down the side of my face. Who knew you could feel so bad? I’m going to fucking kill Dale when I see him again, this is all his fault. My bed gives way to a new weight and I feel his hand frame my face.

“I’m going to let you sleep, if you need me I’ll be in the living room, okay?”

“Okay,” I moan as I feel another wave of nausea wash over me. I squeeze my eyes together and pray that I don’t heave all over his lap. I start to breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the rolling feeling in my stomach and can feel myself starting to fall asleep. Before I do, I feel the bed give to his weight again as he leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead. As he does, I feel my heart do a flip that rivals that of the ones happening in my stomach.

* * *

My eyes feelheavy as I blink them open and the image of my room comes into focus. My body is radiating a heat that I’m sure is part of the rising sea levels and a cold sweat has broken out along my neck. I lean over, feeling like my stomach is about to empty itself again, and notice that my small but mighty trash can has been emptied, cleaned, and refilled with a fresh bag.So I didn’t dream that he came over. Or that he kissed me on the forehead and my little traitor of a heart wishes he would do it again. There is a glass of ice water and a small plate with crackers patiently waiting for me on my bedside table that weren’t there when I fell asleep. Pushing myself up in bed, I take a sip of water before cautiously biting into a salty square. When I feel like it’s safe to stand, I pull myself from my bed, bringing my comforter with me and wrapping it around my shoulders before heading for the living room.

“Hey there, sleepy head,” he soothes from the couch. He has an arm along the back of the couch and a leg crossed over his knee. On his face are his signature thick frames and he is holding a book open with his hand.

“What time is it?” I ask as I make my way towards the couch. My voice is groggy and my eyes are hardly open as I cross the living room and lower myself down on one end of the couch. Without telling it to, my brain directs my body to lie down and Malcolm lowers his knee so I can rest my head in his lap. Almost instinctively, he starts to run his hand along my forehead, brushing the sticky hair off my face.

“A little after six. You slept for a solid three hours.” My eyes are closed as I lay on my side with my head in his lap but I can still feel him looking down at me. I will myself to turn my head and crack one eye open to look at the book in his hand and then up at him.

“What are you reading?”

“Something off your bookshelf, it’s not bad. Better than the other book I finished while you were playing Sleeping Beauty,” he teases. I can’t decide if I want to smack the cocky grin off his face or press my lips to it.

“You’ve read one and a half books since I fell asleep?”

“Technically two and a half. I finished my book on Winston Churchill shortly after you conked out and then one more after that. I just started this one.” He shakes the open book at me as I look up at him, stunned.

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