Page 138 of Black Light: Cured

She casts me a mock glare, and I can’t help but chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” I tease back, leaning

against the back of the tub. “You better enjoy this while you can because the moment I’m feeling

better, I’m the one in command again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice is soft, breathless, and I really want to pull her into this tub and defile her.

But though the spirit is willing, the flesh is definitely weak. Even now the erection from earlier is

fading until I’m only about half-mast. No way I can fuck her now. Giving her another small smile, I

note the concern in her eyes. It’s touching that someone actually cares about me this much.

An ache forms in my heart that has nothing to do with the congestion in my chest. She’s giving me

things that no one has ever cared about giving me. Even past girlfriends didn’t really care about my

wellbeing. It was more about the fun of the relationship. When things got difficult in any respect, they

were gone.

Yet, here she is, taking care of me despite the fact that I quarrel with her over her methods. I just

wish I knew how to find a middle ground. I don’t think all holistic practices are rubbish, just the ones

that don’t have the proper training behind them. Actual Eastern doctors study similar things to Western

doctors—they just apply the healing in a different way. But with massage therapists… it gets dicey.

I’ve heard too many horror stories of uneducated people offering things to others that caused

severe reactions. I’m not trying to lump Lila in with the other ‘holistic oil peddlers,’ but as a massage

therapist, she’s prone to fall under the spell of get healthy quick schemes more than others. Still, she

hasn’t steered me wrong yet. Perhaps it’s time to stop pushing her away and really give her a chance?

I lie in the tub, sipping on the hot toddy she brought me until the chef pokes his head in to tell me

time is up, and dinner is ready. My limbs feel weak and relaxed, and all I want to do is crawl in bed

and sleep, but I drag myself upright.

Letting the tub drain, I rinse myself off like she told me to do and towel off before stepping into

the room. There’s another diffuser going in there as well, but that’s not what holds my attention. On

the bed is a small stuffed creature that looks very similar to the cold virus. The rippled blue clump

stares up at me, with all its dots in all the right places. I can’t help but smile as I slide into bed and set

it on my chest to stare at it some more.

No one has ever given me a stuffed toy. Ever. Even as a kid, I rarely received any toys, and never

in my remembrance were any of the ones I did get soft and cuddly. My mother was far too busy

chasing the next drink and falling over in bars to give me much of anything. Everything I got, I worked