“I’m not in love,” I defend.
“Not yet.”
My glare has returned, however it does nothing to diminish Katie’s hopeful smile.
Pondering her remark, the words slowly begin to sink into my mind. It has only been a couple of weeks since I met Nick, yet he’s managed to get emotionally closer than I’ve allowed any other man in the last six years. Even though I’am aware I should be moving forward with my life, it’s hard to do when your past refuses to let you live normally.
My heart feels heavy and my eyes are full of unshed tears as I ask, “Can we not mention this again?”
Katie releases a disappointed sigh before she embraces me in a tight hug. “I can’t make any promises, but I’m not letting you have any regrets for something that isn’t your fault.”
Katie has known from the start what happened with Josh. A week after moving in together I had my first nightmare. I’d practically scared the pants off of Katie when she heard me screaming from my room, demanding someone to get off me. She was about to call 911, believing there was someone attacking me. But when she walked into my room to try to fight off the intruder, she didn’t find anyone. She was completely confused until she realized I was simply dreaming, which sort of forced me to tell her.
I usually wake up after a couple of minutes, but every single one still feels as real as the incident. As if it were happening all over again. In the dream, no matter how much I ran or fought him, it still happened all over again. Every agonizing touch repeated from beginning to end.
Since the first night, Katie understood why I had difficulties trusting men. She’d instantly suggested therapy, which only lasted a couple of sessions. The nightmares were bad enough and having to endure the nightmare while I was wide-awake made it worse. While in therapy, the nightmares started occurring more often and it felt useless, so I stopped going. I wanted to forget, not remember, and I found discussing the situation would only do that.
Unfortunately, it was also the reason why Katie didn’t bring any of her dates home with her anymore. The first time she did, the noises coming through the wall threw me into a spiral of emotions. I had to leave the apartment, ending up at the local twenty-four hour diner all night, drinking coffee and counting the hours until I could go home. When I walked into the apartment the next morning, Katie was frantic with worry since she didn’t find me in bed at 3:00 A.M. After explaining what happened, Katie immediately insisted she wouldn’t bring anyone home anymore. I felt awful over her decision and I kept telling her she didn’t have to do that. I would eventually learn to deal with it. She didn’t change her mind, though. She claimed it helped prevent her from being the bitch and kicking the guy out when she was done with him, it was easier for her. All she had to do now was leave when she chose to. No strings attached.
Katie had suggested I try dating, hoping if I found myself a decent guy I would be able to put the memory behind me. I tried. It ended up turning out to be a total disaster.
In the back of my mind, all I could do was judge them by thinking that all they wanted to do was take me home to bed me. It felt strange to even let them hold my hand. Kissing them was harder. It rarely happened and if they got lucky, it was simply a peck on the cheek. After a couple of tries, I gave up.
Nick makes me wonder if I am ready for a new beginning. He had a way of making me catch my breath, something that had yet to ever occur with any past dates. Was he the one to help me push the memory of Josh away?
It’s a question I may be left asking myself if Nick is insulted by my earlier behaviors and chooses to never speak to me again. Only time will give me the answer.
Waking up the next day with the fever gone, I feel as if I’ve been run over by a train, but I’m able to get up and make an effort to get ready for work, not wanting to miss another day. Remembering how much of an inconvenience it was to Sarah and I when the rest of them were out sick, I didn’t want to burden my co-workers with the same problem.
Even with the illness slowing me down, I manage to make it out of the door only three minutes late. Katie is surprisingly not nagging me, leaving me hopeful that today might me a good day.
Halfway through the morning, I enter the office to find Katie on the phone having a casual conversation. “Yeah, she came in today,” she says into the receiver. Her response doesn’t alarm me quite yet, until I hear her reply. “No, she’s not mad at you. I swear.” She glances in my direction.
I take a seat at my desk, staring at her with alarm.
“Great, I’ll see you on Monday, then,” she says before hanging up the phone.
Suspicion is slowly traveling throughout my mind. Somehow my conscience is alerting me to the fact that the person on the other end of the phone may have been Nick.
Leaning back into my chair, I now glare at her. “Who was that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and unsuspicious.
“It was Nick,” she casually answers, adding a shrug of her shoulder while shuffling the paperwork in front of her, acting as if she’s tidying up her already organized desk.
She’s definitely hiding something.
“And why would you need to tell him that I was fine?” I irritably drag out the question.
“He wanted to know if you were mad at him about yesterday.” Her face cringes with her response, as if she knows I’m about to blow. Why the heck would he ask Katie? Why couldn’t he just call me and ask me himself?
Chicken shit.
Rolling my eyes and shaking my head, I turn to face my computer, needing the distraction. I still feel like crap, so I’ll blame my sour attitude on my illness.
“You said last night you weren’t mad at him,” I hear her say. “He would have asked anyway at his next appointment.”
Without looking at her, I ask, “Does he usually ask about me during his appointments?”
From my peripheral vision, I watch her eyes light up. “Of course, every single one.”
“In the future I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me out of your conversations,” I resentfully let out.
I don’t know what I’m more pissed about, the fact that I was stupid enough to fall for either of their traps, or that they’re discussing me without my knowledge.
I see her open her mouth to say something, but quickly closes it the moment she’s paged over the intercom. It saves me from an argument that I know would have occurred had she continued to pursue the conversation.
Katie stands to depart the office, leaving me relieved that she’s gone. It allows me to release the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Now ignoring my computer, my mind returns to my conversation with Katie, realizing she’s at it again. She’s trying to find another potential candidate for me to date. When is she ever going to understand that not every girl is cut out for happily ever after, especially with someone like Nick? He’s clearly pointed out his lifestyle and I was not intending to be another notch on his bedpost. Sighing to myself, I get back to work, pushing all the thoughts from my mind and forcing myself to focus on my job. I have so much to catch up on because of my absence yesterday.
Three hours later, I’m finishing up with another patient and returning to my office when I begin to sneeze. At first, I don’t make anything of it, until it continues in a rapid procession. By this point, I look around in search of any blooming flowers; they are the only reason why I would be uncontrollably sneezing. There aren’t any bouquets in view so I’m confident my sneezing bout will soon end.
I proceed to my office, knowing I have Benadryl in my desk to help with my allergies, the source of my condition stares back at me. My office looks like the showroom of a local flower shop. There are flowers in every corner and crevice you can place a vase, and in every type of assortment you can think of. My eyes go wide as I suck in a shocked breath. It only makes it worse. Stumbling back to try to escape, I collide with the file cabinet standing in my office. A large bouquet of flowers falls upon me, the pollen of the sunflowers dropping onto my face feeling as if nails are tra
veling down my lungs, constricting my every breath. Tossing the arrangement vase and all to the floor, it lands with a loud crash as the glass shatters.
I’m still uncontrollably sneezing, shuddering from head to toe with an ache following every sneeze. My stomach is tense, my throat feeling as if sandpaper is grating against the walls of my windpipe with every sneeze I let out.
My office phone starts ringing, and I debate whether I should let it go to voicemail or not. The decision to answer outweighs the need to escape as I remember I’m expecting an important phone call from my boss. Forcing myself to take the steps to my desk, the sneezing subsides for a moment, leaving me to think I’d be able to handle the call. “Hello,” I manage to get out in between a sneeze and an intake of breath before I sneeze again. “This is Tay—Tay—Taylor,” I barely get out the last of my name before sneezing again into the phone.
I can’t even imagine how unprofessional it must have sounded on the other end. However, there’s no controlling it and the sneezing starts all over again. By the grace of God, Katie walks into the room, taking the receiver from me. It allows me to grab some tissue from her desk to blow my nose, but instead I sneeze into it. My stomach is cramping to the point that I just drop to my knees, wrapping my arms around my waist, as if it would help relieve the pain. Of course, it doesn’t.
I can hear Katie talking into the phone, her voice full of worry. Looking up, she’s staring down at me with concerned eyes. “Yeah, she got them, but she’s deadly allergic to flowers,” she says into the phone, still looking at me as I sneeze over and over again while clutching my stomach. I can’t even move because I don’t have the strength or balance to get up. The pollen from the flowers is everywhere, and there’s no escaping it.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she growls into the phone. I know for sure it’s not our boss on the other end of the line by the way she’s talking to the person. There’s no way she would speak to him like that, at least if she valued her job. “Yes, I mentioned it, you dumbass! During our first visit, remember?” I hear her say in between my sneezing. “Fine, but if you kill her, it’s on your ass!” she yells before slamming the phone down and rushing over to me.
I’m on the ground on my hands and knees, trying to crawl out of the office because I have no strength left, but I’m desperate to get away from all the flowers. That alone makes me try. Katie helps me stand up then leads me down the hallway in a rush to get as far away from our office as possible. I can barely hear her barking orders at someone to donate all the flowers to the labor and delivery ward at the hospital before she informs them that she’s taking me to the allergy department.
My sneezing slowly subsides, but is soon replaced with an uncontrollable itch as we make our way towards the other side of the building.
What feels like hours later, but was really only minutes, we walk into the allergy department. They take one look at me and lead us immediately into a room. One advantage of working in a specialty building is that you have connections everywhere, and today those connections were going to practically save my life. The doctor takes in my labored breathing then orders the nurse to immediately give me an antihistamine injection. Once she does that, within minutes, I’m able to breathe again. As I’m lying on the exam table trying to comprehend what happened, Katie is at my bedside rubbing my arms, trying to calm my nerves. I remember most of the conversation she had on the phone and realize that she knows who sent me the flowers. She was pretty pissed at them for doing so.
“Who sent all those flowers?” I rasp out in between the slow breaths I’m taking. Katie bites her bottom lip and I roll my eyes.
I’m not going to like this answer.
“I’m so sorry, Taylor,” she guiltily replies, looking down at her hands that she’s nervously wringing. “It was Nick.”
Letting out a groan, trying to calm my breathing. I stare at the white ceiling above me, pondering why he would do such a thing.
“Was he trying to kill me?” I unintentionally ask the question aloud.
“No, Tay. He was trying to apologize, but he says he forgot that I mentioned you were allergic to flowers in our conversations.” Her body cringes when she answers. I know she’s also blaming herself for the flowers, and as cruel as it sounds, I do too. She shouldn’t have been discussing my personal life with Nick.
Taking in another deep breath, trying to fill my lungs with pollen free air, I throw my arm over my eyes and try to push away the new nightmare that is going to now haunt my dreams: attack of the blooming flowers!
When the doctor comes in some time later to check on me, she writes me an excuse for work in hopes that they’ll let me go home. When I look over to the clock on the wall to take in the time, I see it’s practically the end of the day, so I don’t see how it would be a problem. When I’m given permission by the allergist to return to my own department, my boss is already expecting me. He immediately came rushing over after another employee had called him to tell him I was dying on my office floor—an overreaction to the situation. Taking one look at the state I’m in, he sends me home. Even though it is only two hours early, I wasn’t going to complain. The sooner I get to leave this nightmare that is today, the better, even if it means taking the L home.
Unfortunately, during the walk to the L, I receive many awkward glances from strangers. It was making me wonder just how bad I appeared.
As soon as I step onto the train, I go straight over to a mirrored wall to take in my reflection, instantly regretting doing so. My eyes are slightly puffy and every inch of skin is still faintly covered with blotchy red spots, a reminder of my reaction.
Taking a deep breath, I know I have to allow time for it to eventually go away; I tell myself there’s nothing I can do at this point but be patient. Thankfully, I’m alone on my train and hope it remains that way the entire ride home. Within the hour, I’m exiting the L and on my way to my apartment. I’ve never felt more relieved in my life, until I see Nick sitting in the hallway, leaning against my door. His knees are drawn up with his feet flat on the floor so he can support his extended arms as he stares at the smartphone in his hand. As if he’s heard my footsteps, his head jerks in my direction, his eyes immediately growing sympathetic when he takes me in. Just as rapidly, he stands to meet me half-way.
“What are you doing here, Nick?” I ask, already digging into my purse for my keys. Finding them, I’m about to insert the key into the doorknob when Nick stops me, requesting I face him as he speaks.
“I was heading to your office, but Katie told me you were gone when I called to check on you. I came here instead,” he explains. “I was worried something really bad might have happened to you when I realized you were allergic to flowers.” His apologetic gaze stares back at me before his hand reaches up and caresses my cheek.
“I’m so sorry, Taylor,” he tenderly whispers. “I never meant for this to happen. I swear. I completely forgot that Katie told me about the flowers. Lately she’s been throwing so many hints at me about you that it started to all blend together.”
I remain silent, returning to my resentful reaction as he reminds me they were discussing me without my knowledge.
“Most girls want flowers sent to them when they’re upset, but as much as I kept racking my brain trying to remember which flower she mentioned were your favorite, I couldn’t recall. So I had the florist send you a little of everything,” he says, shamefully sighing. “Now I know why she never mentioned a favorite flower. I really am sorry, Taylor. Please tell me how to make it up to you.” His pleading eyes are bearing down at me, begging me to forgive him.
“Just don’t send me flowers again,” I murmur around the lump lodged in my throat.
His eyes light up.
“Promise,” he says then pauses, allowing the silence to surround us.
“Is it okay if I stay until Katie gets here? She asked me to make sure you don’t have another reaction.”
“Is Katie asking, or are you using it as an excuse to stay
?” I ask, remembering how manipulative he can be.
Smirking, his hand goes to the back of his neck to massage it. “To be honest, I used her as an excuse. But she did say she’d be home soon and I’d really like to spend some time with you until she gets here,” he pleads.
“Fine.” I surrender to the guilt he’s making me feel in return.
Taking a deep breath before I turn the knob, Nick patiently waits until I allow him entrance before stepping into my apartment. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he looks around the room apprehensively.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I warily ask, trying to break the awkwardness between us.
“I’m fine.”
With my throat still feeling parched, I make my way over to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. Returning to the living room shortly after, Nick is already seated in the middle of the only couch in the room. His eyes find mine, regret still evident in his gaze. It helps calm my anxiety of being alone with him.
My heart starts to beat erratically, my nerves slowly being replaced by a sense of giddiness. The room is draped in silence, making every beat of my heart echo in my ears. My breath hitches when he reaches over and takes my hand with his and gently begins to caress it with his fingertips. A jolt of sparks travel through my blood from his touch.
“Do you need anything? Maybe some allergy medicine?”
Swallowing the lump currently sitting in the center of my throat, I say, “I’m fine. They gave me an antihistamine injection at work, so I think I’m set for the next couple of hours.”
My mouth still feels as if it’s stuffed full of cotton balls, reminding me of the glass of water sitting in my hand. Taking a gulp, I keep my eyes on Nick.
“I really am sorry about today, Taylor.”
“You can stop apologizing, Nick. You didn’t do it on purpose,” I say before taking another sip of water, not knowing what else to convey to him. Looking down at our joined hands, I’m lost by the sight of our connection. “Since I already know you don’t like flowers, what is it you do like?” he asks, breaking my trance.
Clarity Page 8
