Fever

by Carnal, MJ

  “You need a haircut,” I tell him, ruffling his hair softly.

  He closes his eyes. “I know,” he says with a slight moan. “Can I lay my head on your lap so you can do that to me?”

  I smile, knowing how much he likes it when I play with his soft curls. “Sure.”

  He scoots his body away, laying his head on my lap. “That feels so good. I’m so tired, Bee. So tired,” he whispers.

  Looking down at his face, I can tell that he is. He looks terrible and I hate it. “Go to sleep for a while.” I grab his arm and look at the time on his watch. “We still have an hour.”

  He nods, closing his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding about Gia,” he murmurs, his words drifting off.

  I let out a laugh. “I know you weren’t. You weren’t kidding about Tonya either,” I say playfully, reminding him of one of the many, many reasons we couldn’t work the first time.

  His eyes snap open. “I’m a fuck-up,” he says regretfully.

  I shake my head slowly, still smiling. “You’re not a fuck-up, sweetie,” I say quietly, knowing he needs to hear this from somebody, very much like I do sometimes. Shea and I were both neglected growing up and continuously reminded about what fuck-ups we were. “You just love the ladies,” I joke.

  Shea chuckles quietly, his eyes looking on the greener side. “Nope, I love you … I just like to mess around with the ladies.”

  I smack his arm. “Well, thank you for the reminder.”

  He laughs for a second before his face turns serious as he looks up at me. “But one day I’ll be ready, you know?”

  I avert my eyes from the sadness in his, but find myself looking at Nick, who’s looking directly at me. “Then one day you’ll make one girl a very lucky lady,” I say, still looking at Nick, who’s now staring at my mouth, reading my lips.

  Nick purses his lips to stifle a smile, but I can tell it’s there. I can see it in his eyes. Shea lets out a breath and shifts on my legs.

  “Keep playing with my hair,” he says sleepily. So I do.

  ***

  A dreadful feeling begins to slowly consume me at the sight of the Golden Gate bridge outside of my window. Suddenly, I’m second-guessing my decision to come here. It’s been eight years. Eight freaking years. Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? Who the fuck said that anyway? Clearly a genius. Long buried sorrow begins to creep up inside me, rattling my heart, making my breath come in more rapidly. I don’t know if I can hide the amount of emotions that are slowly flooding me. Shea has been asleep on my lap for the past hour, so he’s oblivious to the fact that we’re here. If he doesn’t wake up on his own soon, I’m sure the nervous bouncing of my leg will do the trick.

  “You okay?” Nick asks, tearing his earphones from his head. His eyes are darting between my eyes and the fingernail I’m relentlessly chewing on.

  Dropping my hand from my mouth, I shake my head vigorously as I feel the panic building inside of me. Years ago I would’ve lied. I would have said I was perfectly fine. I would have hidden from my panic, run away from the pain, and fallen into an oblivion of narcotics. I can’t do that now, though. I won’t. So I cave and admit to the last person that I want to see me crumble, that I’m not okay. I see no other choice other than waking up Shea, and he’s already saved me enough times from the same nightmare. And although this time I want to save myself, I realize I may need some help through this moment to get there.

  Nick doesn’t ask anything else. He unbuckles his seatbelt, puts his computer to the side and crosses over to sit beside me.

  “Do you think you can move him off of your lap without waking him?” Nick whispers, nodding toward Shea’s sleeping form.

  The flight attendant steps out of the pilot’s cabin and looks at us, but doesn’t say anything, she just smiles making sure we’re fine.

  “He may want to sit up, we’re landing soon,” she suggests before going back into the cabin.

  I pick up Shea’s head and scoot from under him, moving closer to Nick as I place Shea’s head on the seat. He doesn’t even flinch, just stays dead asleep, the way I expect him to. He’s never been a light sleeper. The moment I take my hands out from under his face, I start to shake uncontrollably. I’ve only done this twice before.

  “Hey,” Nick says, his voice concerned, but I refuse to look at him. When he wraps his arms around me, squeezing me into him so that I’m swaddled into him. “Breathe, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers against my hair.

  I make an attempt to nod as I breathe him in and let his scent bathe over my frenzy, immediately feeling a sense of calm wash over me. Despite feeling lighter, old memories begin to play out in my head and I begin to sob quietly against his chest. It’s been eight years, but I can still feel the wind on my face when I close my eyes.

  It was chilly that day, more so than usual. I shivered, wrapping my arms tightly around my middle and held on the metal railing. Closing my eyes as a gust of wind hit my face, my hair swooshed wildly as my heart continued to beat erratically against my chest. When my eyes were closed, I could feel the world spinning around me, and the floor giving out beneath me. I just wanted to curl up into a ball and die. I wished I never existed, just like she did.

  I blinked my eyes open, sniffling back tears as my chest began to heave in broken, whimpered sobs. Tilting my head, I looked at the sign beside me. I hadn’t seen it there before, it must have moved. I squinted my eyes, my head feeling heavy and lazy as I tried to read the hazy letters before me.

  There is hope.

  Hope.

  The word lingered in my mind for a moment, so foreign and out of place there that I couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped my lips. Tearing my gaze from it, I looked back out, focusing on the city, on the buildings that seemed so small from where I was standing. The world looked endless from the larger than life bridge, making me feel even smaller and more worthless than I had before I came here. I started to cry again, thinking of him, wishing we could trade places.

  At the sound of blaring horns, I clumsily let go of the rail and ducked behind a large column. The ocean was a dark shade of blue, mirroring the gloomy sky above it. I reached out in front of me, making slow waves with my hands, scissoring the fog that was clouding my vision.

  I shuffled my feet forward again, leaning into the rail and taking a deep shaky breath. More drops of tears escaped my eyes, quickly followed by an entire dam as I thought of my brother, the only person who would miss me. The only one who would care that I was gone, but even that would pass. A sense of guilt flowed through me as I thought of the way he took care of me when we were young. The way he held my hand when our parents had arguments at the dinner table, and the way he assured me that I was fine just the way I was.

  Bending forward, I placed my weight on my forearms and buried my face in my hands as sobs raked through me. A myriad of memories played in my head, none of them good, none of them giving me hope for a brighter tomorrow. They all led to the same conclusion: I would never be good enough for anyone.

  Something cupped my shoulder, jolting me out of my thoughts and I jerked up, turning my body. My eyes felt heavy as I wiped them with the sleeve of the oversized hooded sweater I was wearing. I looked at him then, saw his dark eyes and had to blink twice more to clear my vision. My chest was rising and falling rapidly, my mind running a mile a minute even though I felt like my head was submerged under water.

  “What?” I tried to ask, but the ocean waves and cars around us swallowed my question.

  His mouth moved, formulating a response I couldn’t make out.

  We stood there staring at each other, him trying to figure me out and me trying to convince myself that he wasn’t real, that he wasn’t there. I had taken an obscene amount of drugs, mixing them together and creating the perfect concoction to numb myself with.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice somewhat snapping me out of my reverie.

  “You’re real?” I breathed in a half question, half statement that he didn’t reply.<
br />
  He tilted his head to examine me, making some of his hair fall into his eyes. He brushed it back with his hand and hid it under the beanie that covered his head. My eyes squinted as they searched his face, trying to catalog every inch of it. My mind wandered again to the breaking point that brought me here to begin with and my shoulders slumped, the reminder stabbing at my heart.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, repeating his question. His voice sounded anxious, alarmed and my mouth parted in wonder. Did he care?

  I swallowed back my sadness and took a shaky breath. “What are you doing?” I countered quietly, though my voice sounded like a shriek in my ears, making me cringe.

  His eyebrows knit as he looked at me, his eyes reaching into me, trying to take something, everything. But there was nothing left to take. There was nothing left of me. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Looking for you.” That’s what I wanted him to say, anyway. Either way, the sound of those three words, imaginary or not, made hope ignite within me.

  “Jogging,” he said, moving closer to me.

  My eyes fell over his body and I noticed he was dressed in sweats and a thin black sweater. He took another step closer, making my head swim in the mix of his sweet yet musky scent.

  “Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

  I tried to keep my eyes open, tried to widen them, tried to really look at him as he spoke.

  “Huh?” I asked dumbly.

  “Talk about it,” he repeated, my eyes followed his hand that signaled at the bridge, the ocean, the city of San Francisco below us.

  My breath hitched and I shook my head rapidly in response, suddenly feeling horrified. I felt a strong pain in my stomach that made me clutch on to it and my breathing became faster than normal, my heart beating more rapidly, making me feel like I was swallowing it. My eyes widened, really widened and I looked at him, pleading something. I don’t know what I wanted him to do, leave me there to die or get me help, but it was the last thing I remember before I started seizing.

  “Hey,” Nick whispers, rubbing my arms as if he’s trying to ignite warmth in my body.

  I gulp once, twice, then a third time before opening my mouth to take a deep breath. “I can’t go back there. I can’t go back there.” My whisper trembles along with my body as he rocks me in his arms.

  “What is it?” he asks, concerned, looking over my shoulder and out the window. “The bridge?”

  My teeth clatter as I try to form a response but before I can say anything, Nick scoops me up in his arms and tucks my face into the crook of his neck as he strides over to the bedroom. He shuts the door behind us, not bothering to explain himself to the flight attendant that suggested we take a seat. He sits down on the bed, bringing me down with him, and lays down sideways so that we’re facing each other. I keep my eyes closed while he pushes my hair away from my tear-streaked face before running his fingertips over my tears and wiping them away.

  “Brooklyn” he says, his raspy voice sounding like a plea that I can’t deny. I open my eyes to look at him and see the sad look in his eyes. “What happened on that bridge?”

  I close my eyes again as new tears form. “I can’t,” I whisper.

  The speaker in the room scratches and I blink my eyes open.

  The pilot speaks, interrupting us, “I have to fly around for twenty more minutes, but please take a seat shortly. It can get bumpy.”

  Nick’s worried eyes are still probing me. “Please,” he says.

  I shake my head, begging him not to make me talk about it, but I know that if he insists I will. “Please,” I counter, brokenly.

  He nods and I can see the pain in his eyes. “Come home with me,” he whispers.

  I frown, wiping my face and the bridge of my nose. “What do you mean?”

  “When we land, don’t stay in the hotel, come home with me,” he says, pushing himself up into a sitting position and bringing me up with him. He makes me feel like a rag doll, the way he carries me around and pulls me up like I weigh nothing.

  “Where do you live?” I ask, following him back into the sitting area.

  He chuckles; turning around suddenly and making me walk into his chest. I apologize dumbly, but he just looks down at me and gives me a lopsided smile. “I live out of a suitcase, but I have a place here. I have a guest room you can stay in,” he says, playfully tugging my hair.

  I breathe in and close my eyes at his scent hitting my nostrils. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll go. But Shea’s going to be pissed,” I warn with a raised eyebrow.

  He raises one back at me, no longer looking amused. “Does Shea have ownership over you?”

  I scoff. “No! This isn’t the medieval times, you know?”

  Nick nods and pulls me into a hug, dipping his head to my ear. “I like the medieval times, though.”

  A smile tugs at my mouth, despite trying to be a hard ass. “Whatever,” I mutter. Nick laughs and grabs my arm to steady me when the plane goes into a cloud, causing friction.

  “Let’s sit down,” he suggests, holding on to my arm as he leads me to the seat.

  “So, San Francisco … you have to have a house in freaking San Francisco, of all places,” I joke.

  He tilts his head to look at me as he puts on his seat belt and tugs on the longer part of his hair. “I grew up here,” he says.

  “Oh,” I respond, nodding. “Cool.”

  “Does that make me less cool, Valley Girl?” he jokes, poking me in the ribs, making me laugh.

  “No, not really.”

  “I’m going to wake Shea up and then I’m going to tell him you’re going home with me. Unless you want to tell him something else?” he asks.

  It’s merely a suggestion, but I know he’s testing me, and even though I’m nervous to tell Shea, I don’t want to not go home with Nick.

  “Why can’t you just stay at the hotel?” I ask, trying to figure out a way around this, even though it’s childish and Shea is not my father.

  Nick shakes his head in dismay and lets out a breath as he looks away. When he looks at me again, he doesn’t look very pleased. “Do you want me to?” he asks, despite the look on his face.

  I chew on my lip. “I think it would be better. I mean, everyone will be there,” I add with a shrug.

  “Yeah,” he says, raising his eyebrows as if that’s exactly what he wants to get away from. “I’ll stay there if you want, even though my house is literally ten minutes away.”

  I purse my lips, trying to contain my happiness. “You would do that? Stay ten minutes from your house for me?”

  Nick’s eyes bounce all over my face and when he looks into my eyes, his blue eyes are tranquil and soft. “I would if you want me to.”

  “Thanks,” I say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it, thanking him for so much more than that.

  He flips his hand over and threads our fingers together, making my heart flop around in my chest. I shoot him a surprised look, and notice that he’s looking at our joined hands. “You’re welcome,” he responds, his voice barely a whisper.

  ***

  “How’d you end up over there?” Shea croaks, groggily wiping his hands over his face.

  I smile, untangling my hand from Nick’s. “You looked comfortable. Didn’t want to wake you.”

  Shea blinks a couple of times, focusing his eyes on me “What happened?” He gets up from his seat and crouches down in front of me. “You were crying. What happened?” He narrows his eyes at Nick for a moment before leaning up and wrapping his arms around me. “Let’s go,” he says, straightening up and standing me up with him. The doors of the jet have been open for a couple of minutes, but we’re waiting for the luggage and our car to drive up.

  “I’m fine,” I respond, shrugging out of his hold, though he doesn’t let me go completely. “I’m good now.” I inch a little further away, feeling self-conscious about the attention he’s paying me and needing to put space between us.

  Shea’s eyes move from my face to Nick’
s in a glare. “What the fuck happened?”

  “Not my place to say, bro,” Nick responds quietly.

  Sighing, I back away from Shea completely and pick up my things. “I freaked out when the city came into view,” I offer, adjusting my purse on my shoulder.

  “Fuck,” Shea mutters behind me. “I’m so sorry, Bee.” He wraps his arms around me from behind and tucks his face into my neck. “You should’ve woken me up.” His voice is remorseful, but the thing about remorse is that it’s one of those feelings that you can only selfishly welcome when you need it, and I don’t need it now.

  “It’s fine. Nick helped me not go into full-on panic mode,” I say with a nonchalant chuckle, feeling Shea’s arms stiffen around me.

  “Hmm,” Shea says against me, dropping his arms. “Thanks, man,” he says to Nick.

  Nick doesn’t say anything, but his loud exhale brings my attention to him. When I turn around with a frown, I see that he’s watching me as if he wants to say something. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head dejectedly and grabs his bag and walks out of the plane.

  “What was that about?” Shea asks, suddenly all perceptive and shit. It makes me want to slap him.

  “I dunno,” I respond, shrugging as I switch my phone on.

  We walk down the steps, grab our bags and head to the tinted black SUV that’s picking us up. One of Shea’s usual bodyguards, Darius, is waiting for us beside it.

  “Brooklyn!” Darius greets with a wide smile. Darius is about six feet five inches tall and two hundred and something pounds of hamburgers. I would love to say muscle, but I’ve never seen any on him. He’s on the heavier side and has an intimidating look with his bald head and his black wraparound glasses. He looks like Laurence Fishburne in The Matrix, but fat.

  “Hey, Darius,” I respond, walking up to him to bump his fist with mine.