Still The One

Twenty-Five

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
It’s always ourselves we find in the sea.
– E.E. Cummings

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Twenty-Five
One year ago – March 9, 2017

Lifting my head up as gently as I could, I was shifting my pillow to its other side, feeling the much cooler fabric against the back of my neck. But even that petty amount of energy was killer for my body. I was foolishly weak, and could barely move without tenderly wincing.

My dresser that was once simple and uncluttered was now littered with glasses of water and multifarious brands of medicines – huge, unpleasant pills and thick, vulgar syrups. The trash beside my bed was overflowing with tissues. My nose was unattractively stuffy and congested, and from viewing the mirror of my vanity across the room, it was considerably red. Each time I attempted to readjust my head’s placement on my pillow, I would become especially dizzy.

Through the visible space of my door’s opening, I saw Niall walking by. He ambled into the room, whistling a tune. “Alice, you’re awake.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. My sight was soon swelled with stars. “What time is it?”

“About five in the evenin’ now,” he replied. I groaned, understanding that I had been napping for several hours. If I had to spend the rest of my day lying in bed, I would scream.

I shivered terribly, clutching my blanket closer. A surge of cold immersed over my body. But my face was on fire. Niall stepped towards me, pressing his hand to my forehead. It felt nice; it was cool against my flaming skin. He frowned. “Aw, Alice. You’re burnin’ up. I’ll go get ya’ an icepack and some more blankets.”

Another pang of chills impacted me, causing my body to tremble. His face was abruptly compressed with tense guilt, and his crystal eyes looked down at me in worry. He pressed a kiss to my head. “Mwah! I’ll be back.”

I shivered again as he walked away, feeling the chilled wind of him passing by. I wasn’t sure how it had initially happened, but I’d gotten the flu. It was now my fourth day of being emphatically sick, and I wasn’t feeling any better.

The boys had been taking turns coming over and taking tremendous care of me. I usually resisted, refusing to let them spend so much inordinate time on me. I wasn’t worth all of the anguish and discontented attention. But no one so much as tried to comply with my requests. They all had insisted, or rather, Harry did.

He had been back in my life, for good this time. Once more, I loved how close we were. I loved coming home from an extensive day at work, to find him lounging on my couch, waiting for me with a large, heart-stopping grin. I loved that my place inexplicably felt more like home when he was around. I loved opening the fridge to find that he restocked the shelves for me, or, for us. I loved that the scent of his body wash lingered on my blankets. It was exactly as it was before, those first few months of our relationship. And I was falling for him all over again.

I had missed him so much. He decided to make up for lost time by being with me at any moment attainable. I wasn’t one to complain. Each day was wonderful, and I didn’t think it’d be possible, but I loved him even more.