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In all of this, my eyes keep going to the door, and I want to delude myself that I’m expecting a nurse or a doctor to come in, but I know it is Ronan I cannot stop looking forward to seeing.
I’m tempted to complain about why he is taking this long.
I roll my eyes, but the movement causes another jab of my headache across my head, and I wince from the sting. Then the door swings open.
I sit up, still wearing the expression of trying to curb the sting of my headache on my face, when my eyes fall on Ronan standing by the door.
“Ronan.” I would have gone to him if I didn’t have restrictions like the pipe connected to the back of my hand for fluid to run into me.
“You are alive,” he takes no more than one step, and I nod as slowly as I can manage.
I’m alive.
“It will take more than choking on my favorite soup to get rid of me,” I smile faintly, and he breathes, then slinks a hand into the pocket of his black jeans.
I have seen him in jeans more times than in anything else, but it never loses its charm. He never loses his charm, no matter what.
And right now, I can tell something is wrong.
“What is it?” I try to hold his stare, but he keeps slipping away, “Ronan?”
“It’s…” he grinds his teeth and starts taking careful steps towards me, “it’s something about what happened.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I think I was eating too fast…” I begin to explain myself to him but he shakes his head, dismissing me.
“It wasn’t that,” he sits on the side of the bed. “The test results came in and…”
“I had an allergic reaction? Because I never h?—"
“You were poisoned,” he blurts, and my body goes numb, then a wave of cold washes from my head down to the tip of my toes, “I don’t know how it happened and how anyone was able to do that under my roof, but I just fucking…”.
“Ronan,” I clip, shoving the revelation to the side.
I will get back to that later. I will try to understand why anyone would try to poison me, what I did to earn the hatred of anyone so badly that they would seek to kill me.
But for now, I need to stop what he is doing to himself. I know Ronan, and this is one of those moments where he hates himself and feels responsible for something he had no control over.
How could he have known?
“Ronan, it’s not your fault,” I state firmly.
He nods.
He stands, grips some of his hair, tugs at it, and then begins to pace back and forth.
“I should have done something. Mount better security, bring the food to you myself, or do fucking something,” he growls, and I flinch, “I’m sorry,” he breathes, then comes back to sit beside me but this time closer.
“It’s not your fault,” I maintain my initial stance because, in all fairness, it’s nobody’s fault. A lot has happened to lead me to this point.
He nods again, “I should have been more careful with you,” he lets go of his hair, “I should have known I couldn’t trust anyone…”
I stop his spinning by taking his hand in mine. I wait to see if he will flinch or react to it in a way that tells me he doesn’t want to be touched by me, but he does nothing.
When we were together, Ronan could never keep away from me.
“I want you to take one deep breath for me,” I lift his hand to my mouth and press a kiss on the back of his. “Just one,” I press another kiss on the back of his hand, and just like that, he nods, this time for real, because I see the instant his shoulders relax.
This takes me back to high school. Ronan had a temper, but he listened to me even amidst the heat of it.
