Not Meant To Be Broken

I was startled by her words.

“You aren’t broken. You will experience love. I know you will. You've been strong enough to move in with Brian and Zach, and you will be strong enough to find your happiness.”

The microwave beeped, glad for the distraction. I opened the door, took the popcorn out and turned to head back to the living room.

“Wait,” Reagan said. She raised a tissue to my face and dried the remains of my tears. I did the same for her and after checking our reflection in the window, we returned into the living room. After our conversation, I actually felt better. Reagan met my eyes across the room before she sat down on Kevin's lap. I put the popcorn into a bowl on the table and sat down on the loveseat, my legs pulled against my chest. I rested my chin on my knees and focused on the TV. I felt eyes on me and tilted my head to the side to find Zach staring at me. He smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back.

Zachary

I buried my face into my pillow. I felt like shit – as if my body had been overrun by a truck repeatedly. For once this wasn't the effect of a night spent partying with the guys. My stomach constricted. With a hoarse groan I rolled over onto my back and stared at the white ceiling. The motion sent a new wave of sickness through my body. “Fuck.” My stomach’s contents wanted to see daylight and I'd be damned if I'd let that happen in my room. I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and my hand shot to my head when dizziness set in. “Fuck,” I groaned as I stumbled to my feet and out of my room. My vision turned blurry for a moment but I managed to find the bathroom. Once there, I emptied my stomach into the toilet bowl. The last time I’d hurled like that was in my freshman year at college after doing two kegstands in a row. A hang-over, that I could deal with, especially if it entailed a fucking great night of fun, but this shit? I couldn’t even remember the last time I had the flu.

I dragged my sorry ass back to my room and flopped down on the bed, not bothering to cover myself with the blanket. I was drenched in sweat. The boxers and t-shirt stuck to my skin but I couldn't even bring myself to change clothes right now. A knock at the door caused me to lift my head a few inches, though I let it plop down on the pillow almost instantly because it was taking too much effort.

“Zach?”

I replied with an unintelligible grunt. The door opened and Brian entered, dressed and groomed for college, not one hair out of place as usual. He let his gaze wander over my sprawled-out form.

“You look like shit.”

I grimaced. “Hadn't noticed.”

“I take it that you won't attend classes today,” he said with a smirk.

I flipped him the bird, then snatched up a book from the floor and chucked it at him.

“Have fun,” he called as he dashed out of the room and slammed the door shut before the book could hit him in the head. Instead it banged against the door and fell to the ground. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the turning of my stomach.

Some time later, another knock disturbed my silent suffering but it was softer than the one before.

Amber? I sat up slightly and straightened my clothes. “Come in.”

The door opened and Amber poked her head in, hair still damp and curling at the tips. I gave her a smile and she stepped into the room, her foot bumping against the book that I'd thrown at Brian. Amber stared down at it with a little frown. “Is this supposed to lie there?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I aimed it at Brian, but he was too fast.”

One corner of her mouth pulled up into an almost smile as she picked it up and lay it on a cupboard. I didn't want to ask, worried about unsettling her, but I was starting to wonder what she was doing in my room. Her eyes wandered around my room, taking in my trophies and the posters of Patagonia on the walls, and eventually returned to my face. “I made chicken soup for you and I wondered if you'd like to eat some now.”

I sat up fully. “You cooked for me?”

Amber nodded, biting her lip, and her cheeks turned a soft pink. Holy shit, she was fucking beautiful.

“Brian told me that you aren't feeling well and that you're staying at home. He said I should order pizza but with an upset stomach that would be stupid, so I made soup. It will soothe your stomach.”

The only person who’d ever made soup for me was Theresa, the nanny my parents hired so my father could jet around the world and work while my mother drowned her loneliness in alcohol. Misunderstanding my silence and my frown, her face flushed an even deeper shade of red. “I mean...you don't have to eat my soup. If you'd rather have pizza, I can order –”

“No!” I half screamed. She jumped. “Sorry.” I paused. “I want your soup. I don't think my stomach could handle pizza right now.”

Her eyes lit up. “I'll get it for you.” She hurried out of the room and returned with a tray.

“Where did you find a tray?” I asked as she set it down on my nightstand. I sent a silent thanks to the powers above that the packet with condoms was stored in my top drawer and not in plain sight.

“It was at the back of the kitchen cupboard.”

“I didn’t even know we had one. Must be a leftover from the previous owner.”

“It has its uses,” Amber said, leaning against my desk. I chanced a look at the tray. A plate with steaming chicken soup was positioned in the middle. But that wasn’t all. There was a mug with a pale liquid. I took a whiff. Chamomile tea. I scrunched up my nose.

“It will help your stomach,” Amber said sternly as she noticed my expression.

“I hate the taste.”

She smiled slightly. “You will get used to it.”

I grabbed the tray and positioned it on my lap, careful not to spill anything. Amber turned around on her way to the door. “Will you keep me company?” I blurted out. Slowly, she turned around, surprise flashing across her face.

“You don't have to. I'm sure you've better things to do than keep a dying man company.” I let out a melodramatic sigh.

She let out a laugh, her expression and body relaxing visibly. “Actually, I've got nothing better to do right now but you don't look as if you're dying.” There was an amused twinkle in her brown eyes that I'd never seen before. For once the haunted look had left her beautiful face.

She sat down on my office chair. I was surprised that she'd chosen to sit so close to me. Weak and sick with the flu, I probably looked pretty pathetic, not at all dangerous or threatening. I’d never been happier about looking pathetic. At least, Amber felt comfortable in my company.

When I was done eating the soup, the tea was cold. Maybe Amber would show mercy and not make me drink it, but I had no such luck.

“You should really drink it. Don't you want to get better?”

I gulped the disgusting liquid down, making a face. Amber smiled and I decided that the horrible taste was worth seeing her smile. Her eyes returned to the trophies I'd won in karate and in martial arts. “Those are yours?”

I nodded, not sure if it might intimidate her.

“Dad always wanted me to learn self-defense.”

“I could teach you some day,” I suggested, though I wasn't sure how to do it, since it would probably require physical contact.

To my surprise, Amber seemed to consider my suggestion and I could have grinned stupidly because I was so happy.

She found the frame with a photo of my parents and me at my graduation on my desk behind a pile of ignored books. “Your parents?”

I leaned back against the headboard and nodded. “Yes.”

“They look nice, but your mother looks so young,” she said.

“They do look nice. And my mother was twenty-two when she had me. My father is fifteen years older than her. She was an intern at his company when they met.”

She studied my face. “You don’t get along?”

“We hardly see each other. They are too busy.” Well, my father was. My mother spent most of her time with her therapist or in our country club, at least when she wasn’t in rehab.

“What about when you were younger?”