Page 72 of The Cruelest Kind of Hate
He rises to a stance, reaching out to help me off the floor. I swipe the snot from under my nose with my forearm before accepting his outstretched hand, and he lifts me effortlessly to my feet.
I forgot how amazing his hand feels in mine. The warmth from his palm, the callouses over still-tanned skin from however he spent his summer, the protective cradle of his fingers.
“Thanks,” I murmur, nearly forgetting that we’re still holding each other’s hands.
But I think Gage remembers.
That smile of his has evolved into a full beam, the crepuscule shadows in his eyes lifting to reveal the first glimmer of sun encroaching on the horizon. He’s staring at me like I’ve bewitched him.
“I’m always going to be here for you, Cali. Even when you don’t want me to be.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “How did you even get in the house?”
“Teague let me in, and I didn’t even have to threaten him.He’s such a nice kid. I have no idea how you two are related,” Gage ribs, a chuckle of amusement building at the base of his throat.
I honestly don’t, either.
I prepare my elbow for a Gage-directed jab, but then a stabbing pain flares up in my stomach, forcing me to keel over at my midsection and clutch the source of the unabating cramping. I hiss through my teeth as another tidal wave of heat crashes over me, and I mentally plead for this to be a normal cramp and not one calling for the assistance of the porcelain throne right in front of me.
“Shit, Cali. Is it cramps?” Gage’s disembodied voice asks from somewhere beside me.
“It hurts,” I whimper pitifully, apparently not having said farewell to my tears because they’re rallying in my bloodshot eyes.
“I know, baby. We’re gonna get you in bed and get you some painkillers. I’m gonna be right here. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
With a weak nod on my part, Gage scoops me up in his arms and carries me bridal-style to my room, choosing me over his injured hip. I close my eyes to placate the blistering sting in my corneas, and the unevenness of his gait bumps me against the hard planes of his chest. I loop my arms around his neck, burrowing my face into the clean linen of his shirt as I simultaneously breathe in his unadulterated musk. I don’t know when we make it to my bed, but I never let go of him.
24
LOVE THY DANCE TEACHER
GAGE
I’ll never know what cramps feel like, but I’m guessing they’re the equivalent of having someone wring out your intestines like a wet sponge. Consistently. Over a seven-day period.
Pretty soon after I got Cali to bed, she passed out, which is probably a good thing considering she was crushing the bones in my neck when she was holding on to me.
When Aeris told me that Cali was sick, she didn’t really go into specifics. She said it could be one of two things. One: it could be a common cold that comes with the changing weather, but none of the students in her class were sick, so she thought that seemed unlikely. Or two: she was on her period. And then Aeris, as usual, overshared some very traumatizing memories about her period which I definitely didn’t need to know.
So I did the wise thing and stocked up for both with the usual soup, tissues, cough medicine, cough drops, thermometer, and Gatorade. And the usual pads, tampons, tissues (again), chocolates, heating pad, bath bomb, herbal tea, and candle. Oh, and a vanilla milkshake from Been There, Bun That.
I know next to nothing about periods. The only walking pamphlet of information I was afforded was the random middle-aged woman at the store staring at me while I was in the feminine product aisle.
I wanted to do something for Cali to make her feel better, so I enlisted Teague to help me spruce up her room for when she wakes. And he so generously offered to lend me some of Cali’s favorite movies, which—a surprise to no one—are all very graphic horror movies. Not a chick flick or Disney movie in sight. There’s even one in black-and-white because the color version had been banned in several countries.
Even though the rest of Cali’s apartment is decorated for Halloween, there were no decorations in her own room. So I took the liberty of finding a few twinkle lights and hanging them around. I then laid out everything I got her at the foot of her bed, ready to sprint to the bathroom in case she needs me to draw her a relaxing bubble bath. I heard heat helps with cramps. I also have trusty dusty Tylenol in case none of my efforts seem to work, but here’s to hoping they do. I have a tendency to fuck shit up a lot of times—mostly from carelessness, sometimes from overconfidence. I don’t want this to be one of those times. I don’t want there to be a time at all when it comes to Cali.
I know I should be watching practice right now, but there’s no way in hell I’m leaving her in the state she’s in. And honestly? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
While she’s curled on her side, snoring quietly, I relegate myself to the other side of her bed and keep a respectable distance between us. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries here. Like she said, we’re not…we’re not together. Just friends. But sometimes it feels like we’re more. It’s all really confusing, but she’s not ready yet. And I’ll be ready for when she is.
I know the future isn’t set in stone, but I think about it all the time. Specifically with Cali. I wonder if she’ll still be teaching when she’s in her fifties. I imagine myself swinging by Been There, Bun That and getting a milkshake to bring her after class. I’ll stand by the front desk and watch her dance, all as the condensation from her milkshake drips into my now-freezing hand, and she’ll keep dancing like nobody’s watching. But I’ll always watch her. Until my old heart stops beating.
I’m tearing up just thinking about it. Thinking about if we decide to have children. Thinking about us bantering like the old married couple we might eventually be. (Preferably) not thinking about having old person sex as our bones clank together like plastic skeleton Halloween decorations. Thinking about how grown-up Teague will be, and how he’ll probably be the one to put us in a retirement home after he gets fed up with our shit. Thinking about?—
“Are you crying?”
I get whiplash when I spin my head around, staring bug-eyed at a very sleepy Cali sitting up next to me, her curls even more fluffed up from her short-lived nap.
