you got the same eyes as your father, and you carry the same kind of tempter too

Chapter 4 - Anemone

Julian wasn't the most affectionate person. He barely liked being touched, Robyn not-withstanding. She'd wormed her way into his life like a parasite and had grown so attached to him that he could do nothing but allow her to latch onto his arm and sneak into his bed. He quietly basked in her warmth and tightened his hold on her hand, flustered when she didn't comment but smiled.

His mother had not been affectionate with him, and he was perfectly fine with that. Maybe a pat on the shoulder if she was truly proud of him, a light hand stroking his hair once when he was a child. He wasn't a sickly or attention-needing child, mostly used to taking care of himself, taking his own temperature if needed and changing his sheets. He'd never quite been accustomed to living with others, or how dependent others were. He didn't understand needing to be touched or hugged, not until Robyn had hugged him tight when he left the house and he'd followed her warmth when she leaned back.

That being said, Julian was definitely not used to how people were when sick. The fluids, the mess, the whimpering piles of flesh and fabrics, the sounds of retching and liquids hitting water, all of which only served for the hair on his arms to rise and his own stomach lurching.

So there he sat, staring at his best friend vomiting into their toilet, hands uselessly hanging at his sides. Part of him wanted to pat her hair and say "there, there", but the biggest part of him was ready to turn heel and run off into the street. Instead, he grabbed a scrunchie she'd left on the kitchen table and handed it to her, watching as she gathered the immense mane she had into some kind of manageable bun. He came back with a water bottle as well, setting it down beside her as she spit into the bowl a few times, sniffling and panting.

"You okay?" he finally asked, when she'd flushed everything down and rinsed her mouth about a dozen times. She leaned back onto the sink, skin unusually pale and green. "Do you want me to draw you a bath?"

"No, but thanks. Ugh, I feel much better now, but I don't know what happened."

"Hm, I told you not to eat that weird hot-dog they sold at the market."

"Fuck you, it was delicious. And not the weirdest thing I've ever eaten."

"Maybe your stomach is finally giving up on you."

"Ha, ha."

He didn't offer her a hand to stand up, and she didn't ask for one either. "I don't know, I've just been feeling weird lately. Like, off."

He leaned against the doorframe. "The flu?"

"Doesn't feel like it."

"Maybe it's the stress."

"That's all you, baby."

He scoffed, turning his head to look at the abandoned breakfast at the kitchen table. He could salvage most of it, but Robyn's plate, which she'd half-spit out immediately, was a goner. He'd try to see if he could make a smoothie, something easier to swallow.

"I think I'm gonna go back to bed," Robyn groaned as she got up. "Like I said, I feel fine now, but I want to rest just in case."

"Yeah, alright."

—--------------------------------

She sat down on the examination table, swinging her legs back and forth. When she'd told Clarisse about her bouts of sickness and the one time she'd fainted at work, the girl had scrambled and somehow managed to get a doctor's appointment which would be mostly free of charge. The man owed her a favor, she'd said. Now Robyn could owe her the favor. She hadn't fought about it, simply asking Julian to drive her to the clinic. She hadn't asked him to follow her inside, nor to the office, but he'd done so anyway. He sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, answering emails on his phone and ignoring the kicks Robyn gave him.