To the Rescue

Jayce

“We need to get her to a hospital!” Armand’s voice was sharp with worry.

“I’ll dial 911,” an employee offered, already reaching for her phone.

I held up a hand to stop her. “No need. We’ll take her. And I’ll cover the cost of the mess.”

“We had no clue she was feeling unwell,” Armand said, his voice soft. “We’re really sorry.”

The employee blushed and left, presumably to fetch cleaning supplies.

“Armand, don’t you have a class to attend?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch, his brow furrowing. “I do, actually. But are you sure you’re okay handling this alone?”

“We’ll manage,” I reassured him. “I have time to get her to the hospital. She’s safe with me. You should head back to school, and you can check on her later.”

He still looked worried, but he nodded, gathering their leftover food to dispose of on his way out. I gently laid Tuli down on the bench and returned to the counter to leave an extra tip. “Apologies for the mess,” I said to the manager.

He waved away my apology. “Just get your friend to the hospital. I hope she’s okay.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, picked up Tuli, and carefully navigated my way to my car, making sure not to bump her head on anything.

I managed to unlock and open the passenger door, and gently settled her into the seat.

***

About ninety minutes later, Tuli was resting in a hospital bed. The doctors had taken care of her, and she was now sleeping peacefully.

Despite her pallor, I was relieved to see her okay. The doctor said she was showing signs of the flu. He prescribed some medication and instructed me to ensure she drank water as soon as she woke up.

“If she doesn’t hydrate, she’s not leaving today,” he warned.

“I’ll make sure she drinks.”

He nodded and left the room.

Tuli slept longer than I expected. I ended up cancelling my next class and sent a mass email to my students.

I also called the school to have them post a notice on the door for any students who didn’t get the email in time. All that was left was to wait for Tuli to wake up.

I was reading an email from my sister, detailing a fight she’d had with her husband. I was about to suggest she consider divorce when I noticed Tuli’s blue eyes flutter open.

“Hey there, sleepyhead.”

She groaned and slowly sat up, wincing. “What happened? How long was I out?”

“Before we get to that,” I said, handing her a glass of water, “you need to drink this.”

She weakly pushed it away. “I don’t want it,” she grumbled, sounding like a petulant child.

I smirked at her. “You’re cute when you’re defiant, but the doctor said if you want to go home today, you need to drink. We can’t have you fainting again.”

She eyed me warily before accepting the glass. She winced slightly but brought the cup to her lips and took a sip. She looked at me again, clearly expecting me to speak.

“Drink a bit more, then I’ll answer your questions,” I said softly.

She blushed, likely recalling the first time I’d called her ~damsel~. But she focused on drinking her water.

After she’d drunk half the glass, she set it down on the counter and looked at me expectantly. “What happened?”

“Do you remember being at the Pho restaurant with Armand?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Armand said you were talking when you suddenly stood up and started throwing up,” I explained.

“As soon as I heard you vomit, I knew I had to check on you. You threw up twice before you passed out. I told Armand to go back to school, and I brought you here. You were unconscious for almost two hours. Does your stomach still hurt?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “But not as much as before.”

“You had a fever, too,” I added. “The doctor thinks you might have the flu. We should pick up some medication before we head home.”

“We?” she echoed, surprised.

I snorted. “Did you really think I’d let you go home alone?”

“We’re not supposed to be seen together,” she shot back, glaring at me.

“Right now, I don’t give a damn about that, and neither should you. I want to make sure you get home safely. And that you go to bed as soon as you do.”

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue.

“You should finish your water. Then they’ll let me take you home.”

She picked up her glass and drained it, refusing to meet my gaze.

The doctor checked her temperature, made her drink another glass of water, and then discharged her.

As promised, we picked up her medication before heading home.

Despite her protests, I insisted on her using a wheelchair. I told her if she refused, I’d carry her to the car myself.

She chose the wheelchair.

I gently pushed her to the car in the wheelchair, opened the door for her, and offered my hand to help her in.

I savored the feel of her hand in mine. I’d missed her touch. Smiling, I helped her into the car, patiently letting her do most of the work herself as she wanted to.

We reached her apartment about twenty minutes later. Once again, I offered my support so she could get out with minimal assistance. As I did, I couldn’t help but share the thought that crossed my mind. “You remind me of a young doe, learning to walk.”

Tuli snorted. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

I helped her up the stairs to her apartment. She looked nervous. “What’s wrong?”

“I can never keep track of my roommate’s schedule. Or my brother’s. Who knows what they’re up to right now,” she mumbled.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of them together. “Funny, I think you’d be quite happy if it were you and me in their shoes.”

“Sometimes, I really want to smack you,” she grumbled.

I held the door open for her as we entered her apartment. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that her brother and roommate were nowhere in sight.

We made our way to her bedroom, and she let me guide her onto her bed. I tucked her in, my eyes catching sight of a blue-and-red teddy bear at the foot of her bed.

Curious, I picked it up for a closer look.

“His name’s Theodore,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice. “A dear friend gave him to me.”

“I see,” I replied softly. “I guess you haven’t seen this friend in a while?”

Her smile faded. “Theodore is the last thing I have from him. I don’t know what became of him.”

I mentally kicked myself as I handed the bear back to her. “I bet he’d be glad to know you’ve kept a piece of him with you.”

Her smile returned, and I felt a wave of relief. Seeing her sad was like a punch to the gut.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”

“If it’ll help you sleep better,” I whispered, settling down next to her on top of the covers.

She snuggled up close to me, and as she drifted off to sleep, I was hit with a realization. I couldn’t keep denying my feelings.

I had to figure out how to unlove her.