Page 36 of Lift Me Up

“Well… maybe when you come back, if you’re fine with it, because I’m fine with it, you could sit here.” She pats the open space of the bed beside her.

“I’d like that.” I start to leave the room, but I hear Georgie hiss in pain. I glance back, and she stills, realizing I’ve noticed. “You will… eventually tell me what’s really going on so I can help, right?”

“Maybe.” She says it nonchalantly, but I can see deep down she wants to tell me, but she’s scared.

“I can be patient, Georgie. But I just want you to know that I care, and I am here.” Her eyes sparkle, and she gives me a smile.

“I know.”

That’s all that matters to me.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

GEORGIE

The universe works in mysterious ways, of that, I am almost certain.

It took its time creating Noah. This rare breed of human who is just so innately, inherently, intrinsically good. For some reason, I was given the gift of getting to know him, and for that I am eternally grateful, and I feel almost undeserving.

Noah reads to me, from the other side of my bed when he returns with our book of choice, and I find myself lulled into a sense of security and comfort. Him being here distracts me from the constant pain I’m in right now. The flares came back after the good days gave me a reprieve. Exercising with the dogs probably wasn't my best idea, but it was something Noah wanted to do, and I wanted to be with Noah, and so in that moment it was worth it. It’s still worth it, but now I am paying the price.

I can barely sit, the flare at the tiptop of my butt crack where my tailbone is has reared its ugly head again, and the worst part is the only way to soothe that one is to not sit, or if I am sitting, it’s naked in a tub so hot the water turns my skin lobster pink and the Epsom salts soothe the ache until I can’t stand it anymore. Pair that with a new flare on my thigh right next to the old scar, I understand why Birdie was resting her head on my legs and sniffing me. It’s like she could sense it coming.

At some point, I feel myself drifting toward Noah; his soft voice, not too deep but just deep enough to soothe me, draws me in and makes me want to get closer to him. He says nothing when he feels the dip of the bed as I scoot closer to him. He says nothing again when I nudge his arm out of the way so I can rest my head on his chest. I can hear his heart beating, a heavy boom-boom-boom.

He doesn’t look nervous, he doesn’t even hesitate as he continues to read out loud about Val and Tom, the best friends of the book’s characters. He wraps his arm around my shoulders as he turns the next page. It makes me let out a content sigh, nuzzling my head just a bit to see a reaction. His jaw flexes, his heart thumps, but he continues as if I am not snuggling up to him. But I think he knows that I know the brave face he puts on is a farce. He is nervous. Because of me. I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.

The thing is, because I’ve already read this book, I’m not really listening to the words. I know what’s going to happen in the story. But Noah’s voice is clear and like warm dripping honey, slow and sweet. It’s soothing, I can feel myself growing heavier, eyelids threatening to close.

“You with me?” Noah says softly, rubbing my arm with his hand. I can feel how cold his fingers are in comparison to my skin and I hiss.

But it feels nice, and I hope he doesn’t stop.

“‘M not sleeping.” I mumble against his chest.

He chuckles, “It’s okay if you are. Rest, Georgie. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I sigh again, a smile on my face. I feel him kiss my forehead, absolutely melting me inside out. He’s warm and he’s solid and he’s here and he’s got me, and I fall asleep with that playing in my mind like a mantra.

He’s here, he’s got me.

When I wake next, there’s the smell of something wonderful wafting through my apartment and the sound of music in the kitchen. I almost forget why there would be those smells and noises, but then I remember all at once. Noah is here, he’s still here, and it’s the driving force to get myself out of bed to investigate. It takes some effort, but I do it, slowly and stealthily making my way into the hallway, to veer right into the doorway of the kitchen.

Now that I am near him, I can hear him humming as he stirs something aromatic, something fresh. I try to think of what it could possibly be, but last I checked I had very little in the way of nice groceries. I lean against the door frame, my arms wrapped around my middle while watching him cook. He’s standing at my stove, humming a song that sounds familiar but I can’t quite place, swaying from side to side as he stirs whatever it is he’s concocting. He turns slightly but doesn’t notice me, so I get to see him with his guard down.

Noah’s eyes are soft, a little puffy with sleep and his lips are pulled into a contented smile, his hair is fluffed and pushed off his face. His T-shirt is a size too big for him but raises slightly when he reaches above my stove into a cupboard to grab seasoning from my spice basket. I can see a thin strip of his skin, and wonder what it would be like to kiss him there, the soft skin at his hips, the small of his back…

I make a noise, I must, because he stills at what he’s doing, glances over his shoulder at me and grins. It’s only then that I realize it's too late. He’s seen me. I am not wearing pants. Just my t-shirt and some old underwear that should never see the light of day and-

“Hello, beautiful.”

His comment does nothing to stop my brain from screaming at me to run, to hide, to pull down the shirt, to cover the scars he might see.

In this state of undress. In the aforementioned underwear. Oh god. I want to die.

“Hey, none of that." He tuts, realizes what I'm trying to do and takes a step towards me, away from whatever delicious-smelling thing he's cooking on my stove.

Part of me wonders what that is, but another part of me is distracted by the fact that he is standing in front of me, he's looking at me, he's taking my hands in his and he's pulling them away from the hem of the shirt that I'm trying to hold down to cover myself.