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We say goodnight to each other, and I make her promise to text me all day tomorrow, even though I’m at work, keeping me updated with what’s going on. She didn’t have the results of her MRI scan, so we think the doctor will come tomorrow. I promise that if she keeps me updated, I will keep her laughing and distracted. I may not be happy with the deal, but she is, and to me, that’s all that matters.
* * *
The next couple of days pass by in a very similar pattern. She texts me throughout the day, while her family are visiting her, and then we Facetime at night before the nurses tell her off and make her go to bed. Every day I ask if I can come and visit, and every day she makes an excuse as to why I can’t.
She doesn’t even really talk to me about what’s going on with her. I ask if she’s got any test results back, and all she says is they’re doing further tests. They are still unsure what’s going on. I know she’s got some sort of medicine being administered into her arm via a drip, and with each passing day, I can see it’s wiping her out. She’s getting more tired quicker, and generally she’s looking more unwell. I’ve never seen her this pale, and given she’s always had a beautiful, creamy alabaster skin tone, that’s saying something.
Every day it physically hurts me that she won’t let me see her, and that she won’t open up to me. I keep telling myself that the role I play is far more important, that she needs someone to make her laugh, as that will help her get through it. But it still doesn’t make me feel any better.
After five days, she’s finally allowed home. Her dad drops her off at her flat around four in the afternoon. I know she’s had an argument with her family, as they think she needs to move into her grandparents' spare room, so they can look after her while she’s not well. But Emmaleigh is a stubborn woman, who of course wants her own independence, and so she demanded to be allowed home.
I didn’t bother asking her if I can come over, as I have a sneaky suspicion I know what she would say. So instead, as soon as work is over, I drive straight to her flat. Once I’m upstairs and outside her door, I knock and wait for her to answer. I can hear movement inside, but it seems to take forever for her to get to the door. That’s when the sinking feeling overwhelms me and I worry I’ve just woken her up.
Over the last five days, one of the things we’ve talked about repeatedly is the lack of sleep she got in the hospital. The nurses were waking her every hour at night to check on her, and then during the day there was so much going on, she didn’t have any chance to nap. So, of course she would have wanted to go to bed as soon as she got home.
As Emmaleigh finally opens the door, I realise she’s been holding back a lot more than I thought. She’s using two crutches to hold herself up, and even then she looks like she’s seconds from collapsing. The bags under her eyes attest to how fucking exhausted she really is. Her normally fair skin has a grey tinge to it, and her cheeks begin to flush as she sees me standing there. Her eyes drop to the floor, like she’s embarrassed.
“What are you doing here?” she snaps, before turning around and beginning to hobble slowly towards the living room. She doesn’t even bother to hold the door open for me, making it very clear I can come in, but I'm not invited. I don’t care. I close and lock the door behind me before following her. My instinct is to pick her up and carry her, but I know that would only piss her off more, and believe it or not, the purpose of this visit was not to offend her.
“I’ve been worried about you, Em. I wanted to come and see you,” I explain, as she sits down on the sofa.
I’m so used to this place now, I feel completely at home, which is why I don’t even hesitate walking over to the fridge. I look over at the table beside Em and see it’s empty, so as I grab a can of Coke for myself, I offer her one. She nods her head, which is very much unlike her. Normally, she’d make a sarcastic comment about me offering her one of her own drinks. I actually find myself missing the old Emmaleigh. But she clearly has a lot going on, so I can understand why she’s not in the mood to mess with me.
“You should have asked before you just showed up. What if I had people here?” she snaps, as I hand her the can of Coke.
I sit down beside her and take hold of her hand. She tries to shuffle and pull away, but I don’t let her. “I don’t care. I’ve been so worried about you. I just needed to make sure you’re okay. I don’t give a shit who knows that.”
Her breath hitches, and I can tell she’s seconds away from breaking down. Her exhaustion combined with this whole scenario are getting the better of her. “I’m not okay, Lee. I don’t know if I ever will be,” she cries, and that’s all it takes for the floodgates to open. She begins to sob hysterically, and even though I want her to explain what she means, I know I won’t get anything out of her while she’s like this. So, I do the only thing I can do, I pull her onto my lap, rest her head on my chest, wrap my arms around her, and I hold her while she cries.
I don’t know how long we sit like that for, but I definitely can’t feel my legs. This position became uncomfortable at least half an hour ago, but Em is still sobbing, so I keep soothing her. When she eventually calms down and stops crying, all she can do is yawn. Her exhaustion overtaking her. So, I shuffle around with great difficulty until I’m in a position where I can pick her up safely. She tries to protest at first, but even that’s weak, and she gives up almost immediately.
I carry her into her room and tuck her up into bed, pulling the leggings she is wearing off, leaving her in just my baggy T-shirt that she’s been wearing since I got here. I hadn’t noticed she was wearing one of my old T-shirts when I got here. It must have been one of the few I leave here for when I stay over. I love seeing her in my clothes, it does something almost primal to my body, but I push that to one side. Right now is definitely not the time for my cock to be hardening.
Once she’s tucked in, I turn to leave. I know I’m not going to leave the flat, but I can sleep in the spare bedroom. That way I can be here for her if she needs me, but I can still give her space. I don’t even manage to take a step before she grabs hold of my arm, pulling me towards her. I don’t move because there’s no strength at all behind her pull, but I do look at her.
“Please, Lee. Stay with me, just for tonight. I just want one more night with you.” Her words are almost incoherent, the tears have only made her exhaustion worse. I don’t know whether she’s talking about me going home tomorrow and tonight being our last night. Or whether she doesn’t want to see me again. I would take either of those two over the worst case scenario that’s invading my brain as we speak. What if she’s dying?
Surely her family wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave her on her own if she is dying? Then again, Emmaleigh is so fucking stubborn, she might not have told anyone what’s going on with her. Like me, she might have told her family that she’s fine. She’s been trying to tell me it’s all because of these bad migraines she’s been getting, but we both know that’s not true. I don’t doubt she hasn’t been having migraines, but I’ve never known a migraine to leave someone needing crutches to be able to walk around. I have an awful feeling that whatever is going on with Em, it’s something very serious, and she has no intention of telling anyone what’s wrong with her.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
EMMALEIGH
Waking up the next morning, in Lee’s arms, caused the gnawing ache in my chest to worsen. I’d come up with a plan when I was in the hospital. I need to push him away. Lee only wants to be friends, but that was before. He wanted to be friends with the normal version of me that he met a couple of months ago. The one who can go on fun days out together, and who isn’t bothered that he doesn’t want more.
I’m in a position now where I don’t want anything serious, and the more time I spend with Lee, that’s exactly what I want. I know he said he won’t ever change his mind, but I can’t risk it. I’m not strong enough to close off my feelings and still have him in my life, so he has to go. That thought alone cuts me deeper than every fucking nightmare I’ve encountered over the last week—and believe me, I’ve been living some of my worst nightmares. But with Lee, I can’t risk it.
I know I should have told him that I don’t ever want to see him again before I left the hospital, but I never expected him to turn up at my fucking doorstep. I shouldn’t have let him in. I shouldn’t have cried on his shoulder. And I definitely shouldn’t have fallen asleep in his fucking arms. I remember he was going to leave, and my weak little heart begged him to stay. I’ve never felt so completely vulnerable, yet I trusted him not to hurt me.
For just a fraction of a second, I wanted to tell him everything. Not the piss poor version of events I’ve been practising for the last couple of days, that I’ve used on my friends and family. I’m not in the mood to tell everyone the ins and outs of my business, so I have told them what they need to know, which is not a lot. But as Lee held me in his arms and just let me cry, I really wanted to open up to him.
I wanted at least one person to know the whole truth, so I can have someone to speak to about everything, but he’s not the right person. He only wants to be friends. I have to keep reminding myself he’s not my boyfriend. If he was, I would tell him everything, but he’s not. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me when he finds out. I can’t take having him look at me with pity, like he finally sees just how broken I really am.
He makes me breakfast that morning, and he does an incredible job of skating around the important subjects. There’s been a couple of times, I’ve caught him looking at me, concern etched in those crystal blue eyes of his, and I’ve thought he would ask me what’s on his mind. It’s clear he has a lot on his mind, yet he doesn’t even try to ask them, which is good because I don’t want to lie to him.
“How are you feeling today?” he asks, in between spoonfuls of Coco Pops.
“Fine,” I mutter, as I too take some small spoonfuls from my bowl. I can’t bring myself to say anything more, I’m too busy rehearsing my speech in my head.
