by Tillie Cole
Mentally kicking my own arse, you know, as my leg wouldn’t move in reality, I groaned and shut my eyes. When I opened them again, my mirage was before me, so real that I wanted to stretch out my hand to touch it, to eradicate the teasing vision.
Like a scene in a dramatic war film, the ambient sounds muted and everything occurred at a snail’s pace, a slow motion Spielberg-esque director’s cut of the end of my life. In a dramatic twist, I was suddenly scooped up from my impending carpeted doom by a pair of hulking arms and placed on my soft, warm bed, my eyes trying to fight the pull of blissful sleep.
I felt wetness on my lips, water running down my sandpapered throat, soothing it like a balm. A pillar of incredible strength held my head as the liquid began to take effect and my vision began to snap back into focus. My surroundings began to stitch themselves back together.
“Tash? Speak to me. Are you okay?” the voice urged.
My still-unresponsive body was guided gently back against a propped-up pillow, and my knight in shining armour moved into the spotlight above me. I knew he was real before I even opened my eyes. I could smell him, and even in my current state I couldn’t help but want the damn man!
“Tudor? Are you really here? If you are, why are you here?” I whispered. After last night I thought I would never see him again.
He sat on the side of the bed next to me, the mattress dipping low due to his huge frame. I rolled my head in his direction and pulled a small, appreciative smile. Despite what we had been through lately, I was bloody glad to see him.
He leaned over my body, placing his arms on either side of my chest; he took his left hand and began softly stroking my hair. I naturally leaned into his touch. He was searching my eyes, checking me over, his brow heavily creased in worry.
"Tate called. I only got his message thirty minutes ago. Tink has been trying to call you non-stop and you haven’t answered all day. He was frantic, and seeing as though you only really know me here in Calgary – at least only I know where you live – he asked if I could come by and check on you.”
He moved in closer and shook his head. “I don’t think he was too happy about it, but he claimed I was his only option. Bee also mentioned that you didn’t turn up for school today.”
Oh My God! School!
I tried to sit up but only managed a painful little flop. Tudor placed a hand on my arm. “Don't worry, Tink called your school explaining you were ill. He tried to catch you there, and made your excuses when they mentioned you didn't show. He assumed you were under the weather and told me where you kept the spare key, and here I am…”
He placed his palm over my forehead to check my temperature, my neck for swollen glands and finally the pulse on my wrist which kicked into a galloping sprint as his rough and calloused hands roamed over my too-hot skin.
“I almost had a heart attack when I came in and saw you passed out on the floor. I think I’ve just aged thirty years. Jesus, how long were you down there?” He leaned in and brushed his lips against my forehead, swallowing hard. “To think I was at home this whole time unaware, while you were here like that.”
He bent forward, putting his hands on his head, elbows on knees. "You were in trouble and no-one was here to help. You must have been so scared."
I couldn’t help it, I let out a small giggle. Tudor whipped his head back, eyes wide – obviously not the response he was expecting.
“I thought you were a mirage. I knew I was in a bad way, I kind of expected the worst after waiting so long on the floor, and when I saw you I thought I was hallucinating.”
He still didn’t budge. No Tudor-smirk.
“Don’t feel bad, Tude, this just happens sometimes. I don’t know how long I’ve been on the floor; I’ve been… a little out of it. I can say, though, that despite everything that has happened between us, I've never been so glad to see your ugly mug!" I tried to crack a smile.
He raised his head, staring straight forward, his voice tinged with sadness. “Tink said you have a condition, one that’s personal. What’s wrong with you, Tash? He wouldn’t tell me any more than that, said it was up to you. But I'm freakin’ terrified, what I‘ve just walked into was like a fucking horror film.”
He tilted his head to his right, assessing me, clearly disturbed by my little episode.
I shrugged. “I just have some hormone problems, an imbalance; a syndrome. I was really poorly when I was younger and that had already left me very weak and physically worn down, and a couple of years later, this bloody hormone condition developed too. The specialists don't think the two are related – it seems I'm just a magnet for bloody health problems! If I get too stressed or run down it can send my capricious hormones all crazy and I get real tired and achy, fever-like symptoms,” I paused to bite my lip – I hated talking about this. “I have medicine, in the bathroom cabinet but I couldn’t get to it.”
He nodded slowly, still looking slightly shaken by my confession, and then headed straight to the en-suite.
“What am I looking for?” he shouted back at me, mid-stride.
“Just bring all the bottles off the second shelf,” I instructed weakly. Tudor walked into the bathroom, and I tried to move myself into a more comfortable position.
He came back out holding five different bottles. When he lifted his head to talk to me and caught me wincing, he rushed over to help.
“What’s wrong, are you in pain?” he fussed, pulling the deep frown marks back on his forehead, his hands hovering over my body not daring to touch.
“I just tried to change position – it didn’t exactly go as planned,” I smiled timidly, trying to breathe through my nose at the griping ache in my stomach.
Tudor dropped the bottles on the bed and began pacing. “I fucking hate this, Tash. I can’t stand that you’re in this much pain. Do we need to go to the hospital?"
He dropped to his knees in front of me. "I’ll go with you this time, I swear. Anything for you, just ask. Shall I get the Jeep?”
I shook my head as much as I could manage. “Tudor, honestly I’m used to this. I don’t need the hospital but… thank you for offering to take me.”
It must have been hard for him to offer, from what Tink had said.
He turned away for a second, inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. He turned back around seeming more together. “How can I make you feel better, feel more comfortable?”
“Could you just help move me on my side, facing the door?”
He nodded and moved to place his arms under my body and with a gentleness you would not expect from such a big guy, he slowly rolled me over, placing his hand under my cheek for support.
He walked to the other side of the bed, and I sighed inwardly to myself. This was exactly the position we were in only a few weeks ago and here he was, once again, sitting on ‘his side’ of the bed. So much had happened between us in such a short space of time, and I still wasn’t sure where we stood. I still had feelings for him though, I just couldn't help it.
Damn muscles and tattoos!
“Okay, which of these do you need?” he asked, interrupting my inner monologue, holding the bottles in his hands and looking adorably confused whilst trying to make sense of the labels. His lips were pursed in concentration with his dimples showing proudly on his unshaven cheeks. Heart-stoppingly-gorgeous.
He glanced up, eyes narrowing at my blatant ogling.
“Erm, one from the blue cap and one from the red right now, the others are for later.” I said nervously looking away.
He twisted the caps open, grabbed the glass of water from the bedside table, and lifted me up to help me take them before settling beside me on the bed and running his finger up and down my exposed arm.
I realised I was still in my Lycra tank (with no bra – bugger!) and shorts that I had worn for bed. Usually this would be my worst nightmare, but right then I couldn't even bring myself to care. Much, anyway.
“What now, Tash? What happens next?” He was so worried.
“I wait for
the pills to kick in, and in a couple of days all should be fine.”
“We will wait for the meds to work you mean," he affirmed.
I groaned. “Tudor–"
“No, Tash, I’m staying, don’t push me on this. You cannot be on your own. I’m here and staying put. No arguments.”
Ha, I couldn’t be bothered to anyway.
When I woke a couple of hours later, it was to Tudor studying my face, incredibly serious and full of gloom, only inches from me. In my exhaustion, the intensity of this didn’t fully register, and I yawned, realising it was really late. It must have been nearing midnight.
“You said earlier that you can get ill like this when you are stressed, yes?”
His question caught me off guard. “Mmm-hmm,” I replied, blinking the last remnants of sleep from my eyes, trying to stop myself from falling back into a much-needed slumber.
“Why are you stressed? And don’t lie to me” he demanded, shifting closer, holding my hand, tightly.
“Erm… gosh... it’s just been crazy lately. The concussion didn’t really help and … erm… just other things I guess,” I couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Other things being me?” he questioned, then clenched his jaw to the point that I thought it would break.
I remained silent.
“I said don’t lie, Tash. Tell me straight, try to focus for me.”
“Fine. I guess worrying about our… issues has definitely not helped. Or over-working at school, but nor would getting smashed on amaretto either!" I weakly tried to joke. It wasn’t working.
Tudor gasped and covered his face with both hands, letting out a frustrated deep groan; I managed to move my hands up to try to pull his away. The medication was starting to kick in, thank God, and the beginnings of muscle motion were returning. When he felt my touch he didn’t resist, but let me slide his hands down, and it was then that I saw his eyes glistening with hurt.
“Tudor, please. This is not your fault. I have been dealing with this for a long time, most of my life in fact. These… episodes happen every now and again. You have not made me like this, you are not responsible.”
He moaned. “But I haven’t helped have I? I’ve made your life hell for the last couple of months, due to my own fuck-ups, my own problems, none of it your fault! And last night… Jesus, what I did to you last night, making you feel like nothing... again! What have I done?"
He dropped his head and his shoulders slumped. "No wonder Tink hates me, he probably saw this coming. That's why he's been so hostile, so protective.” He shook his head in defeat. “He knew I was no good for you and would make you ill. He could see I'd screw it all up. No doubt he will blame me for this too. Well, I deserve to be held accountable.”
“Tudor, stop. I can't listen to you berate yourself. And I need to call Tink, tell him I'm okay. I’ll explain how you helped, he'll be fine."
“I texted him earlier from your phone. I said you would ring him when you had woken up.”
I nodded in thanks.
“Listen, Tudor, believe me when I say this, it isn’t your fault. Despite all that has happened between us, all of the drama, the... misunderstandings, I can’t deny that you always turn up when I need help, and for that I am truly grateful.” I managed to reach my hand out and touch his. “I really appreciate that you came to help me today. I am not, however, enjoying your self-flagellation.”
He was boring holes into the floor. “Can we just forget everything I’ve done to fuck up and start again? Please? I promise this time I’ll be different, we’ll be different. I won't lead you on and I promise you won't be victim to my personal demons. I’ll be a good friend, without all the other things getting in our way. I want you in my life. I just want to let you know that my telling you 'you were nothing' and a 'mistake' has haunted me. I-I don’t know what I was doing, what I was thinking.”
He picked up a piece of my hair and began rolling it between his fingers. “As fucked up as it sounds, last night was probably one of the most amazing nights of my life, being with you like that, touching you, having you that close. I like you, Tash. More than like, but I'm dealing with some heavy things, things you can't know about and I'm struggling with balancing doing what’s right and what I want. It's selfish and wrong of me, but I have to have you in my life now that I've met you. I want you, even if it can only be as a friend, if you'll agree? You just make things… better for me. I don't know how else to explain it. If I can explain it." He looked at me full of hope, hope that I would forgive him, that his explanation would help us move on, even if it wasn’t a full disclosure into the reason for his frequent episodes of emotional whiplash.
One thing was for sure, I knew I couldn’t stop liking him, he’d wormed his way into my heart. Hell, he’d wormed in, set up shop and colonised! I didn't know if his feelings towards me made me happy or whether I was annoyed. I needed more time to process all of this. But if he was being genuine and was trying to turn over a new leaf, who was I to deny him?
Be open to every opportunity, Tash!
“Of course, Tude, no bother. I want you as a friend even if there can't be anything more. I understand what it's like to work through personal shit.”
He cracked his smirk, dimples out.
“What?” I asked.
“You’ve called me Tude, twice now,” he told me, his face all bashful.
“I have?” I have??? That’s bloody embarrassing.
He shifted closer, smiling and tucking his hands under his cheek. “Mmm-hmm…I like it. I’ve never had a nickname before.”
My heart fluttered. “Well, ‘I'm glad to be of service’...”
He grew all serious again. “Can I ask a personal question?”
“I’m not telling you how old I was when I lost my virginity, or my bra size, you pig!” I scolded.
“What? No, I wasn’t–" he spluttered.
“Gotcha!” I laughed as loud as I could manage; it sounded like a pathetic croak.
He slow-clapped. “Good one, Sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” I asked, baffled.
He shrugged. “If I get a nickname so do you.”
“But Sunshine? Why Sunshine?”
He fidgeted, clearly embarrassed. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he said enigmatically, playfully tapping the end of my nose.
“Okay! How very cryptic of you, as always. Now, fire away with your personal question. I’m intrigued.”
He continued, fidgeting with his hands. I reached out and stilled his fingers, nodding my head in encouragement.
He coughed. “Erm…Well, you said you were ill before, something before this hormone problem you have now.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
He adjusted his position, leaning on his elbow, running his hand back and forth on the bed sheet. “Well, I was wondering… what was wrong, you know… before? When you were young. You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” he asked, looking very guilty for doing so.
“I don’t mind telling you. It’s just I don’t necessarily advertise it as it was years ago, and it’s in my past. I don't even mention my current condition to anyone outside of my family. It's not who I am, I am not defined by my illness, so why tell anyone about it?”
He reached out to hold my hand, he must have thought I needed some support.
I sighed heavily. “I had Leukemia when I was a kid. It was bad, and the doctors weren’t sure that I would make it. Anyway, after a lot of treatment I did make it through – full remission, no relapses. I just got stuck with this bloody hormone problem a few years later, but other than that I’m all good. My parents never really got over it, are a bit clingy, but I try to live each day with a positive attitude. The way I see it, I’m alive when many of my friends – you know, other kids I met in various hospital wards – are not. I cherish every breath I take out of respect for them. No use living in the past, I’m all for a brighter tomorrow.”
He stilled, and I realised he hadn't moved for most of the big rev
eal.
“Tude, you okay?”
He coughed again, hunching his defined traps – you know, those gorgeous chunks of muscle between the neck and shoulder, and on Tudor they were so big they met his freakin’ earlobes!
“Shit!” he whispered, interrupting my salivation over his fine physique. He was shaking, his hand was still entwined with mine in an awkward, backwards clasp, and it was trembling. He shifted back around and was staring at me, now seeing me differently.
This is why I don’t tell anyone.
“Tude, it’s fine. I’m fine.” I hate the pity, even if it comes from a good place.
“Fuck, Tash. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought maybe measles or something equally on that scale, but not… cancer. And this hormone thing, what happens with that? How serious is it? Can it harm you? Is it life-threatening too?”
He was panicking; I could see it in his expression and in the tone of his voice.
I began stroking his arm, something my mam used to do to calm me down. “No, don’t panic. My hormones are just a bit erratic. I had surgery years ago to help and it did for the most part. The medication evens the imbalance out, but sometimes if I’m stressed or get ill they can make me feel like this – my immune system is not very strong. Oh, and it means I will always be a little bit chubby,” I winked.
He scowled. “You’re not chubby.”
“Yeah. Okay, Tude,” I spluttered, starting to pull away.
He leaned down and cupped my chin, halting my movements. “I mean it, Sunshine, you’re not chubby… you’re... beautiful.”
There goes my temperature again.
“Tudor, it’s fine. I know I’m not a rhino, actually, saying that, I was once referred to as an elephant… but look, you know, being used to the Hollywood circles, that I’m a chub, and I'm okay with that. I’ve made my peace with it. I'd take the gift of life over a bikini-ready body any day.”
