When I wake up I can’t figure out why the walls are the wrong color and why the bed seems so close to the window.
I sniffle, smell a foreign shampoo on my hair, and it all comes rushing back.
Shane. Penetration, so deep I could feel it in the very bottom of my soul. Running, walking in the cold, Jenny. Shane’s hands in my hair, her panicking eyes.
I sniffle again and roll over. I can hear the shower running. The covers on her side are still warm.
I should get up, start laundry, go grocery shopping. But the sheets are warm and smooth, and they smell like Shane, and I can hear the giggling of kids next door, and it’s peaceful.
I feel like I’ve been stripped inside out. Like my nerves are on the outside. As if anyone who looked at me, especially Shane, could know my every thought and feeling.
The shower turns off and I listen closely. I hear a low, atonal humming, that I never noticed before. I smile, distracted from my momentary feeling of exposure, but then I hear the bathroom door open and her footsteps coming close.
Panic. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep, forcing myself to take slow, even breaths. I don’t know why. I’m not ready to interact with her. I want to be inert, inactive, untouchable.
The footsteps come nearer and then stop. I can hear her weight shifting in my doorway, creaking the floorboards. Why did she stop? Is she watching me sleep?
I open my eyes then, find her staring at me. She looks lost, and I’m not sure why. I notice water droplets on her naked shoulders, actually her entire body is naked. The scarring on her shoulder is pink and shiny from the shower’s heat.
“Morning,” I whisper, closing my eyes and rolling over. I can’t look at her.
“Hey. Did I wake you up?”
“Hmm. No, I’m gradually waking up on my own.”
“Ah.”
I watch her nod and I feel a searing almost-pain in my sinuses. I cover my mouth, and sneeze so hard I feel it in my lungs.
“Bless you,” she says over her shoulder. She moves toward the dresser and pulls out a pair of worn jeans, slips them on to her long pale legs, no underwear. Desire crackles like fireworks inside me, sudden and sharp. I feel so hyper-alive inside, thoughts running like fast water.
“Dunno how you can stand going commando,” I mumble, feigning sleepiness. I am far from sleepy, instantly awake, and my thoughts are running quickly.
“Dunno how you can’t,” she says, opening a drawer and pulling out a white tee shirt. She gives me a small lopsided smile that shoots ice water adrenaline through my veins, and sits down on the bed. She lifts her arms to slip into the shirt, and she winces. “Ow.”
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I sit up, all pretense of somnolence gone.
“Nothing, just… was hoping to get through this day without Percs, you know?” She shakes her arm out as if to shake away the pain, and makes a face.
“Hottie, if you’re in pain, take the stuff.”
She moves gingerly, slowly extending her arm. “Yeah,” she says as she slips the tee shirt carefully over her chest.
“You overextended yourself last night.” I throw off the covers, sit next to her, run my fingers through her wet hair. “Great dinner, great *****, nice shampoo job. You have to take it easy, you know?”
“Hmm,” she says, indicating that she doesn’t want to have this conversation. “What are your plans for today?”
“Um, I work tomorrow so I need to do laundry and get groceries.”
“I can get groceries for you. Just make me a list.”
“Naw, it’s okay. I never know what I need until I’m actually in the store.”
“D, it’s no trouble. Just tell me what you want.”
I know she wants to spend what little money she has left on groceries, and I won’t hear of it.
“No,” I say, standing up, feeling the cool air on my naked skin. “We’ll both go, just let me get dressed.”
“What about breakfast? I was gonna cook.”
“I told Al I’d meet her at the Planet.”
“Oh.”
“Hon, you don’t have to cook me three meals a day. You are worrying way too much.”
So we go to the Planet, though I can tell Shane doesn’t want to. I can practically see her obsessing over money. While the rest of us pig out on brunch, she neatly downs her double shot and a plain bagel. Everyone fusses over her being out of the hospital, and some people I don’t even know come over to hug her, and by the end of it her mouth is drawn tight and I can practically see the headache forming behind her eyes. I don’t know if she’s taken her a.m. dose of Percoset. My guess is not.
I don’t feel so hot either, and I don’t feel like lingering at the Planet. After we say goodbye to the gang, we drive down Sunset. “Where are you going?” she asks.
“Laurelwood first, for produce, then to Ralph’s.”
“Right.” She is quiet and I wrack my brain trying to think of something to say to make her more comfortable. We are quiet until we get to the store. Inside, I glance covertly at Shane as she looks around dubiously at the expensive organic and gourmet products. Her stubborn pride is giving me a headache.
I grab some fruit, a few carrots, and spinach for a salad, then my favorite dressing. I see her looking at a giant bag of pistachios, and when she isn’t looking, toss them into the basket. Girl is gonna drive me crazy.
Luckily Shane runs into two girls she knows, and while they are chatting, I bring my basket to the register.
“How’ve you been,” one of the girls says. “We haven’t seen you around much lately.”
I tilt my head to better understand the conversation as the gingham-clad guy boredly rings up my purchases. I’m pretty damn sure that Shane’s not going to come out and answer them honestly. Not that I blame her.
“I’ve been around,” she says. “Just not feeling so well.”
Not feeling well. I think of her bleeding out, her dove gray skin, and anger spikes up the length of my spine. I don’t know why.
Certainly being shot is her business to share only if she wants to. I wouldn’t advertise it if I were in her position. I have no right to be angry. No, my anger is to do more with the fact that she is making light of what was the greatest trauma of my life. Which is stupid, because it wasn’t me dying. Just felt like it.
“Fifty-eight eighty,” the guy says, and I hand my card to him. I glance at Shane and catch her staring at me.
I’m relieved when I sneeze three times in quick succession, forcing me to break our gaze.
Later, we are wandering through Ralph’s. She hasn’t said a word since we arrived. I grabbed a cart for us and then she grabbed another one. This is stupid, I’m more than happy to cover grocery expenses, but I don’t know what to say to her. I’m not sure I have the energy to say anything.
I’m already feeling exhausted. In fact, now that I think about it, there is a soreness in the back of my throat. *****, I don’t need to be catching a cold now. I make a mental note to grab some Echinacea, and toss some steaks into the cart.
I plod slowly through the store, no clue where Shane has gone. I want to ask her if she likes asparagus with hollandaise but she’s nowhere to be found. I keep walking. It’s a grocery store. I have to run into her sooner or later, right? I make sure to get some Ny-Quil and Tylenol Cold, just in case. It is cold and flu season, but hopefully I won’t need it. What else did I need to buy? Toothpaste. And Tampax.
I sniffle again. *****. Push the cart around the corner, and see Shane already in line for the checkout. And her cart is full. I see my favorite coffee, and a huge pack of Ramen noodles. Disgusting. I’m gonna kill her. She’d better drink some of that coffee too.
I turn away, into the paper aisle. Definately going to be needing tissues. This is a bad one. I can feel it.
By the time I’m done, a searing ache has risen into my forehead, especially on the left side, and I know for sure that there’ll be no fighting this.
Tissues. Yeah, that’s all I need in this aisle, so I turn around, back toward the check outs. I see Shane pulling out a card from her back pocket. What the ***** is she doing? If she uses her last dollar on my favorite coffee, I’m gonna wring her skinny neck.
Nothing I can do though. She’s gonna do what she’s gonna do, and nothing is gonna change that.
I watch for a second as the cashier points to the machine. She swipes her card. I can hear every other word they say, something about food stamps.
I turn around so she doesn’t realize I was watching her. It all makes sense. She’s ashamed that she’s on welfare. As if it’s her choice. As if she didn’t want to work.
*****. She’s gonna catch me watching her. A sharp searing tickle rises in my sinuses. I sneeze. And sneeze again.
In the car I’m quiet. Suddenly the sun hurts my eyes. *****, I’m fading fast. I pull my shades from the sun visor and put them on.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m coming down with something.”
“D, you shouldn’t have run out last night wearing hardly anything.”
I had to, I think. I had to get a way from you and that tender light in your eyes.
“I needed air.”
“Still.”
This is a first: maternal, lecturing Shane. I don’t bother telling her that it’s just a wives’ tale, that exposure to cold isn’t relevant to incidence of the common cold, that other factors like hand washing are far more relevant.
I glance at her, slouched beautifully in the passenger seat. She smiles at me. Just the motion of my head makes it ache and I groan.
“You need to go home and go to bed.”
“No argument here, Yoda.”
The minute we get home and put the groceries on the table, she looks at me. “Go to bed,” she orders. “Go sleep in my room, okay? We got chocolate all over your sheets.”
“Kay.” I can’t help but smile at the memory. I take some cold medicine and head up the stairs.
Climbing the stairs makes me break out into a sweat. Gross. I shed my jacket, my shirt and jeans, just leave them there in the guest room. I crawl into the cool covers… feels so good.
I lie there, feeling my head rush around. This came on so quick. I feel like I never slept.
It’s hot. I throw off the covers.
I can hear her downstairs, opening and shutting cabinets as she puts the groceries away. “Shane?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you bring me some ice water?”
“Sure.” Normally I’d get it myself, but I don’t want to move and I know helping me is, in her mind, good for her. I close my eyes. Should take my temperature. I touch my forehead and it feels cool, how is that? I’m burning up inside.
I close my eyes and it gets very still. I feel a dull fissure of pain through my head and I pray the cold meds kick in soon.
“D. Your water.”
Huh? Feel like I’ve been sleeping for ages. I open my eyes and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m very naked, covers kicked off, and that Shane is holding a glass of water and looking at my naked body.
I moan, aching everywhere, pleased on a small level though that even in my hideous condition she is checking me out. “Thank you,” I whisper and take the water from her. I’m suddenly so thirsty, a burning and dry earth. I drink the water in one long gulp that leaves me breathless.
I reach to put the empty glass on the night stand but she takes it from me. She sits down and looks at me and despite the water I suddenly feel as if I might combust. She pushes my hair back from my face, and the long curls just fall back, but it feels so damn good. I close my eyes and lean. She touches my forehead, and when I open my eyes, she looks at me, concerned.
“Hmm. Thanks for putting the groceries away.”
“No problem. No way are you going to work tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Dunno where this came from, it just hit me out of the blue.”
Her eyes on mine are so beautiful as she strokes back my hair gently. If I weren’t sick, I would want to cry from the sweetness there. But I just wanna sleep.
“Lay down and rest. I’ll bring you more water.”
“Hmm.” I obediently sink into the covers. I ***** love you, Shane. I sleep and sleep. And when I wake, the light has shifted into late afternoon, gold autumn sunlight, which catches on a glass pitcher of water on the night stand, mostly ice cubes, and it is frosted and dripping in the brilliant sun. So sweet of her. I pour it into a glass and drink.
Later, I wake up and see her reading in the chair by the closet, legs curled up to her chest. The role reversal of it hits me, her at my sickbed and for a second I blink a way the sleepy confusion from my mind.
“Hey,” I sit up, regretting it. My head aches.
“Hey.” She puts a slip of paper into the book, which somehow surprises me. “How you feeling?” She gets up and sits down on the bed next to me, touches my cheek. Oh. My pulse quickens, and not from being sick. Sweet.
For a second I think I won’t be able to speak.
“I have to pee.” I get up abruptly, feeling her eyes on me as I rush to the bathroom. That was cold. Returning her affection with civility isn’t gonna get me anywhere, but sometimes she scares me so much.
When I come back, she’s still sitting on the bed. I smile and fall gracelessly onto the bed, taking her with me, arms around her.
“Thank you for the water. I feel a little better.”
“That was like five hours ago.”
“Hmm. I wrap my arms around her tightly. We lie like that for a few seconds. The fabric of her tee shirt, stretched tight over her arm, feels so soft. A wave of aching moves through my brain, dispelling any thoughts that this illness might be short-lived.
“Hey, you don’t have to stay here and wait on me. You should go out and have fun. I’m probably just gonna sleep until this is over.”
She is smiling and I look into her eyes. Something there isn’t right, despite her smile. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Please tell me you’re not sick, too.”
“I’m fine,” she says, her smile not convincing me.
I’m not sure what to say, but I don’t believe her. Did I say something?
“Did you take any Percoset?”
“I took a half one.”
“Good.”
“The ***** knocks me out.”
“I’m sorry, I’m in your bed.”
“It’s your bed, D.”
I roll my eyes. She’s gonna pull this houseguest bit again, and I’m not going to argue with it.
“It’s big enough for two,” I say, flirting. Well, as flirting as much as I can with a headful of phlegm.
She grins, as if she’s been waiting for an invitation all along, and she stands up, loses the tee shirt and the jeans, and climbs in next to me. Nice. She spoons up behind me, holds me with her hands clasped over mine. Sweetness.
“Hmm. You feel good.” I feel so good, relaxed. I drift back to sleep with her holding me.
When I wake, I’m alone, it’s dark, and the house is quiet. I stumble, suddenly ravenously hungry, down the stairs.
“Shane?” I call. There is no answer.
When she comes in she always puts her keys on the counter. They’re gone. She’s gone out. How long was she sleeping beside me, holding me? Time is confused and my mind is bleary. It felt, when I was falling asleep, like hours. Now I’m not sure, it could only have been minutes.
Sleeping all day has fucked with my internal clock. I strip the chocolate-smeared sheets from my bed, and wash the germ-infested ones from the guest room ones as well. As I bend over to put the clean sheets into the dryer, sweat breaks out all over my body, and I strip my clothes off then and there. I ball up the sweaty pajamas, wishing I’d thought to throw them in with the sheets.
I walk upstairs, wearing only my panties, thinking that I hear her pulling up outside, but it’s not her. I slip into a tank top and shorts that are little more than boy-cut underwear. I like this showing-flesh-around-the-house thing.
I smile. I like this having-Shane-around-the-house thing.
I crash onto the couch with a box of tissues. It’s almost two in the morning. I flip on the TV. I should get up and take some Ny-Quil but The Daily Show is on, and Jon Stewart is funny, and my ***** feels like lead.
I’m watching TV, laughing at The Daily Show, when I hear the key in the door and my pulse quickens. Yay, she’s home.
I open my mouth, on the verge of calling out, when I hear it. A strange woman’s voice, higher and sweeter than Shane’s. “This is a nice place. I love the paint.”
I can almost hear the long doppler whine of a bomb dropping in my gut. She brought someone home with her? To my house?
You have gotta be ***** kidding me.