The Boy That Stole My Heart

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

     In our home, there is a certain way in which bad news is delivered. Usually it's by my mom and mostly about me but the things that never change include the house being quiet other than the hum of the refrigerator, no TV or music, no laughing or talking. The deliverer has a special seat at the table, facing the front door, all the lights out other than the track lights that run along the ceiling, illuminating them with superior dramatic effect. This is never intended but somehow remains true and bad news is always delivered in this fashion.
     This is how I sat now, waiting for my parents who had just pulled in the drive almost simultaneously which was usually unheard of but both had left work early today and had special romantic plans to go out to a new fancy Italian restaurant tonight. Things had been going so well between us lately, our fractured family finally healing itself.  I hated that I had been the cause of so much pain and turmoil to the people I loved but I wasn't that person anymore thanks to Logan. He had healed me and in turn, healed all of us.
     The door opened and my parents' smiles disappeared instantly. Mom's usually stoic face in this kind of situation was betrayed by a hint of hurt and disappointment as she tossed her blazer onto the back of the couch and came into the kitchen, my father next to her, forming a united front.
     "Oh, Ellister, what happened?" She asked, but before I could speak, she continued. "You've been fighting again."
     "What?" I asked, and she reached out to touch my swollen cheek. "Oh! No. I got that because.... I did something stupid. Logan felt he needed to make a point I think."
     "Logan!?"
     "He's in the hospital mom," I told her, explaining before she could flip out. "It's just an ear infection! But his fever was high and they are worried that his immunity might be compromised. He's on an antibiotic drip and will have to stay the night because they want to keep an eye on him."
     My parents sat in silence for a moment before my father spoke. "Okay, get ready. We'll drive up there."
    
     The hospital had that pungent antiseptic smell that I was strangely comfortable with thanks to the vast experience I had gained with Lysol in the last couple months. I had learned to associate the smell with clean... With safe, even if Logan complained that I really was overdoing it.
     We ran into his moms in the break room and if they were surprised to see me then they didn't show it. They gave me the room number and told me to go ahead, talking with my father about what was going on and I noted several words to Google later.
     I didn't knock, pushing the door open and popping my head into the room to find Logan dressed in a paper gown, scowling at the TV.  His eyes widened at the sight of me.
     "What are you doing here? I thought I told you I would be home tomorrow?" He said with a bit of attitude. He could play strong all he wanted but I could see the relief in his eyes.
     "You did but you never told me not to come," I said, ruffling his hair. "Plus I brought you something."
     For a moment he just looked at what I was holding before reaching out to take it and his eyes teared up a bit. "Mr Mittens."
     "Yeah, I didn't care but he was pretty adement on coming to visit you."
     Logan snorted. "He smells like lemons."
     I blushed. Perhaps he was right and I was using too much Lysol.
     "I don't know why you bothered coming though. Visiting hours are over in like fifteen minutes."
     I smiled softly. I had an answer for that. My father had some pretty big feet. The nurses came every once in a while to check on Logan, but other than that, we weren't bothered. His moms, despite the hesitation of leaving their child, seemed to sense that they weren't what he needed and agreed to head home for the night and be back in the morning. My parents agreed.
      For the most part it wasn't bad. He was sick, we both knew it, but we didn't talk about it. "are you okay?" "I'm fine." It's done. Dropped. He didn't need another mom worrying over him. He needed a friend to treat him like the boy that he was. That's not to say I didn't worry.... I just didn't treat him like a daisy.
     "Scoot over asshole," I said pushing him, none too gently, and squeezing into the hospital bed next to him.
     He pushed back but let me have my way, finally scooting, complaining the entire time. "You're supposed to stay on the couch. You're SQUISHING ME!"
     We lay tangled together, shifting this way and that in an attempt to get comfortable before ending up in a position that was extremely intimate, cuddled together with him laying his head on my chest and my arm around him.
     "This is gay," he whined
     "Give me the remote."
     "I'm watching that! It's about black holes!"
     We ended up watching an old Godzilla marathon on Syfy, giggling and joking quietly. Two months ago I couldn't even stand the thought of someone touching me and now I couldn't get close enough to him, snuggling even closer if it was possible. When his fingertips brushed mine, he pulled them back but I grabbed his hand, holding it tightly, lacing our fingers together.
     "This is gay," he said again.
     "I don't care," I told him. "You scared me and this is what you get."
     I felt him look at me, feeling the truth in my words even through my joking demeanor. "I'm sorry."
     I put my arm over his waist, pulling him close as he slept. He grumbled softly but when I touched his hand, his fingers opened, allowing me to hold it. I pressed my face into the back of his hair, breathing deeply, intoxicated by his smell. The back of his gown was open and I was very VERY aware of his warm, naked rear pressed against me. Embarrassingly enough, this is how our parents found us the next morning and we dressed quickly, him shooting me a flushed pink cheeked smile as Linda went downstairs to sign his discharge papers.