The Bad Boy's Decision

Chapter 23: babysitting (part 2)

After waking up the next morning to excruciating backache with Aidan, as suspected, not remembering a thing, I finally manage to feel semi normal again, once ingesting a bunch of painkillers and engulfing my entire body into a boiling hot bubble bath which, I'm afraid to say, is more than what can be said for Aidan. Having asked why we fell asleep on the sofa to begin with and whether or not he said anything to embarrass himself, I decided to cut him some slack and lied my way through explaining. "Nothing to be embarrassed about," I'd said, "but you couldn't quite make it to the bedroom and because you trapped me beneath your body, I had no choice but to stay with you."

There really was no point in telling him what had actually happened and I'd rather keep the whole indirectly proposing to me while drunk under wraps. He'd be mortified to learn of the truth, not to mention incredibly apologetic. Besides, I would quite like to forget about it myself. I'll be the first to admit I often dream about being future Mrs Richards and if last night has taught me anything, it's that I simply cannot be. Sophie has already claimed that title, or at least will do in a matter of months.
Luckily, he accepted my vague response and proceeded to lose interest once all attention turned to the matter of his headache, followed by what he described as being 'a hangover from hell'. He's currently not feeling too good and is getting well equated with my toilet bowl as a result.

"You okay, baby?" I ask, hesitantly entering the bathroom to check on him.

He's been in here for over twenty minutes now and the dreadful sounds of him emptying his stomach on repeat has me itching to nurse him better. I hate seeing him so helpless. Self inflicted or not, I worry about him.

"Fine, nothing I don't deserve." he replies, looking much better with a bit of colour to his cheeks.

Carefully, I place the glass of water I made for him down beside his weak body and crouch down to his level, rubbing him on the back as I go.

"Thanks for looking after me." he whispers, removing his head from the toilet to take cautious sips of the water.

He winces in pain as he attempts to swallow the liquid, the motion proving too much for his fragile stomach. "I'm never drinking again." he groans, watching me crush two pills into dust for him.

"I've heard that one before." I smile, stirring my mixture into his water. "Drink this slowly." I instruct, offering his cheek a small caress when he obliges, no questions asked.

He manages to drink the entire thing without bringing it back up, which is progress in itself and happy in the knowledge that he's able to control such bodily movements, I suggest making him something to eat.

"You ready to face some toast? It'll make you feel better and you need to line your stomach." I state, smiling at his attempt to kiss me. "Uhh, not before you brush your teeth." I scorn, pushing his face away on a tremendous giggle.

He offers me an immediate eye roll but proceeds to lift his heavy body up off of the bathroom floor, making a point to flush the chain and grab his toothbrush on the way. He then gets to work, loading the damn thing with enough toothpaste to supply the entire Californian state and I leave him to it, entering my kitchen to make him some toast instead.

Minutes later he returns looking fresh, well fresher, with teeth brushed and face washed. His shirt is still creased beyond the point of no return and while his trousers appear to have gotten lost somewhere between us waking up to now, he still looks marvellous in his black boxers. "Kiss me now." he demands, rather impatiently pulling at my waist and capturing my lips with his own, making me taste mint.