What Do You Mean By Spaghetti Noodle? - TBH Short Story 3

What Do You Mean By Spaghetti Noodle?

 Jessie

I got up the next morning, back sore from the couch where I had been curled up. I tossed the throw blanket to the side and rubbed my eyes as I made my way to the coffee machine. The chill of night had left the tile cold, and I shuddered once it made contact with my feet. "Blanket..." I mumbled, but was too lazy to go back and retrieve it from the couch. Instead, I trudged over to the coffee maker, eager to get some caffeine in me.

As I began the brew, I leaned back against the refrigerator. The icy stainless steel sent another tremble up my spine, but my grogginess kept me in place. I had slept surprisingly well considering what happened last night. That came as a surprise, since my anxiety seemed to get the best of me quite easily. I wasn't sure how I felt about Charlie being forced to stay with me last night. I was happy he was here, but the fact that he had no choice wasn't much of a compliment. He couldn't exactly go home with such a suspicious injury after all, and it would be extremely unwise to call attention to the fact that he'd been shot. Still, I felt calmer with someone around. I always had. Being alone these last three years had been rough on me.

The beep of the coffee machine jolted me out of whatever thoughts I had been spiraling over. I turned around and opened the fridge with a soft yawn, grabbing for the almond milk. I mindlessly fixed myself an at-home latte; I was picky when it came to my coffee. After a sip, I deduced that the taste was acceptable, and made my way back across the apartment to the bedroom door.

It was odd to knock in my own house, but I thought it polite. I got no answer, and decided to open the door slowly. "Charlie?" I peeked in, and he was sprawled out on the bed. My face twisted into a scowl. Sleeping on his stomach wasn't any good for his injured leg. I placed a hand on his blanketed shoulder, and he gave me a small groan.

"Fuck..." He complained, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Good morning to you too." A tiny smirk pulled at the edge of my lips.

"Do you have any more of that Vicodin?" He was still face-down.

"No, you're gonna take Advil and be happy with it. Vicodin isn't good for you." I made myself a seat beside him and took a sip of my coffee. I placed a firm hand on his back, and noticed he was still wearing my shirt. I felt a bit of heat creep up my face, but did my best to shake it off. "Flip over. Put your leg back up." I made myself busy with ordering him around.

Charlie didn't move at first. I opened my mouth to lecture him, but he raised a hand into the air and slapped it back down on the bed in a motion poised to pull himself up. With a dramatic teenager groan, he flopped onto his side, then onto his back. "Can you help me sit up?" He grumbled as he attempted the act himself.

"Uh, yeah." I grabbed him under the arms and easily moved him up into a sitting position. He fixed the pillows behind himself, and flopped back. It seemed like he hadn't slept as well as I had. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper, shades of purple, yellow and blue making him look almost like a vampire. His pale skin helped with that feat as well. He seemed so drained of color, I began to worry about his health.

"You haven't eaten since you lost all that blood. Can I make you breakfast? We have to start rebuilding your strength."

"I'm not hungry..." he mumbled.

"You're already so pale. You sure you're okay?" I idly scratched my neck as I slurped down my caffeine, beginning to check him over for any injuries I'd failed to treat the night before. My eyes saw nothing new, so I set my cup down on the glass table beside the bed and moved to touch his shoulder. He avoided my fingers with a huff.

"Don't touch me." His voice was firm, and slightly annoyed. I recoiled my hand.

"Just checking for-"

"I'm fine. Don't touch me." He cut me off, and this time his voice cracked.

Had I scared him? I knew I could be overbearing, but I was surprised he thought I had any ulterior motives. I thought he knew me well enough to be sure I wouldn't push myself on him, especially after last time. He blew me off after I kissed him that night at the grocery store. We hadn't said a word about it since, and Charlie seemed to be pretending it had never happened. I assumed that meant he was uninterested, and I wasn't going to press him. I told myself I wasn't too hurt over the ordeal, mostly because I knew he was still coming to terms with his sexuality, while I was already firm in knowing exactly what I liked.