The Photographer (Ignazio Boschetto Fanfiction)

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

          In the morning, I felt pretty much the same, if not a little less hot, and I turned my head and saw Ignazio asleep on the ground, lying on his back with his arm draped over his eyes. I smiled, and lay there gazing at him for a long while, until the door opened and Barbara quietly entered.

          She smiled when she saw me awake and Ignazio asleep, and she tiptoed over to the bed. She sat quietly beside me and wordlessly took my temperature, reporting that it was a little lower.         Then she told me I had to eat breakfast, and she left and made me what she said what unbuttered toast. She got me some more pillows and I sat up and slowly ate was actually just bread. When I was finished and Barbara came in to take away the plate, Ignazio stirred and opened his eyes when she walked past and watched her close the door. Then he looked up at me and saw me looking back, and I smiled at him.

          He looked at the clock and then rubbed his face, obviously still tired.

          “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”

          “Come here?” I asked, and he got up and took away the extra pillows and made me lie down. He sat beside me on the bed, and I took his arm and got him to lie down beside me, weakly stroking his thick hair.

          “Go back to sleep, Ignazio,” I whispered, “It’s okay.”

          Having not slept in a bed in two days, he found it hard to argue, and soon he was asleep and I was dozing beside him.

*****

          I did as I was supposed to, dozing most of the day and eating when Barbara brought me food. I was hot and weak and tired, and I enjoyed Ignazio’s constant presence beside me.

          I was listless and uncomfortable, and as I endured the illness, he held my hand and stroked my hair and talked with me softly or told me stories about former concerts.

          Generally, I was quiet and somber, and I liked it best when he sang to me, which he did often throughout the endless day.

          In the evening, the listlessness lessoned somewhat and I grew fed up with just lying there on top of the covers and doing nothing.

          “Ignazio, can you bring me my laptop?”

          I was lying in my usual position, on my back with my face turned upwards toward the ceiling, my eyes closed with weariness. He was sitting beside me, looking out the window at the darkening sky, and he was quiet for a moment.

          “No, Tamzin.”

          “I have some work to do.”

          “No.”

          “Ignazio!”

          I opened my eyes and shot him as fierce of a glare as I could muster, but it quickly faded. I lifted my head from the pillow and looked pleadingly at him, and he placed a hand cautiously on my arm as if to stop me if I tried to get up.

          “No work. You need to rest.”

          “But there’s so much to do! Ignazio, you’ve told me how important I am to Il Volo, haven’t you? Then I need to work! It doesn’t matter if I’m sick; I have a job to do! I have pictures to post and people to respond to, and I need to see the response on your birthday video, and…and…”