“Don’t argue with me,” I spat out when Silas tried to pay for the cab. “It’s the least I can fucking do.”
The pounding in my head had accelerated to a roar and I hurried to the entrance of my apartment building, ignoring everything else and focusing on getting the right key out on my keyring.
He offered his hand. “You want me to—”
“No, I’ve got it.” My voice was clipped. God, I didn’t mean to be a bitch, but I was fading fast. Fifteen steps to the stairwell, two flights, four doors down. You can make it.
I flung the glass security door open, flying past the mailboxes, not knowing if Silas was planning on coming up with me or not. I couldn’t think about it. I counted the stairs as I climbed, and heard them creak behind me as he followed. Nausea hit me at the landing and I braced myself on the railing, fighting to keep myself from throwing up right on the carpet. You’ll be better once you’re home, I told myself, pushing on.
I’d been so wrong. It was a million doors to my apartment, and I wanted to sob. “Can you go?” I said. This migraine was the motherfucking end of all migraines, and I didn’t want him to see me like this.
“You want me to go?” His tone was pure disbelief.
“I’m about to throw up in this hallway. I don’t want to do it in front of you.”
He paused for a single breath. “Tell me which door is yours.”
Goddamnit. “Green rug.” I already had the key out and he took it from my hands, moving away as I stood hunched over in the center of the hallway, my hands on my knees, panting.
Maybe I could just lie down here until the worst of the nausea passed. I hardly ever saw my neighbors, and it wasn’t like the hallway was busy. I leaned down and put a hand on the stubby, dirty carpet. I’d just rest until the pounding was quiet enough I could move again.
Where the fuck did this pan come from? It was on the carpet in front of me.
“Can you carry that?” A booming male voice asked, and I cried out at the sound, but I followed the voice’s request. I stared down into bottom of the steel pan, and moaned in pain when arms wrapped around me.
“Fuck,” I whimpered, clutching the steel handles as I was lifted and tilted back so my gaze went up to the ceiling and the terrifying lights which were as blinding as a thousand suns. Every step he took as he carried me through the doorway of my apartment was awful. It sounded like a cannon going off when he shut my front door.
Was he trying to whisper? “Tell me what you need.”
I needed to die, but that wasn’t possible, so I panted out my only alternative. “Dark. Quiet. Lay down.”
It was a painful blur as he jostled me through the apartment and into my room. I was placed on the bed so I could curl around the pan, and I whimpered as he pulled off my shoes. There was a piercing crack when the lights turned off.
He gave me the dark and the bed, but not silence. What the fuck was he doing? Loud, unnecessary rustling filled my ears, followed by two booms.
“Quiet!” I pleaded.
The bed rocked and I clutched the pan tighter. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
I was too focused on my goal to stop him. His enormous body wrapped around mine, spooning me. His fingers slipped into my hair, gently caressing my sc
alp.
Soft, feather light strokes in a soothing rhythm, over and over, which gave me something else to focus on instead of the nausea. His touch disarmed.
It kept me distracted long enough to let blissful sleep take over.
The pain behind my eyes had subsided, and I blinked them open. The worst of the migraine had stormed through and I was shaky and weak in the aftermath, but able to function again.
The room was pitch black and quiet as a tomb.
Except it wasn’t. Oh, no. There was a steady sound of someone breathing and an arm around my waist. He was still here? I tensed and whispered as quietly as I could. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah.” He matched my whisper. “What do you need?”
Oh my God. I shifted gingerly under his arm, turning on the bed so I was facing him, even though it was too dark to see. “How long have I been out?”
“A couple hours, I guess. I don’t see a clock.”