The Difference

Chapter 37

Troy is cleaning up our dishes and I feel helpless sitting there trying to not let on how much I'm in pain sitting back in the kitchen chair. I'm typing slower than ever as Troy drapes a dish towel over his shoulder like any good dish washer would, looking up every so often to admire his delicacy with every glass. He washes my old coffee mug with Aladdin and Jasmine on it, letting out a laugh.

"Yours?" he teases.

"Of course," I admit, biting my lip, trying to stay serious. 

"He kind of looks like me, don't you think?" Troy holds the mug next to his face and matches his facial expression as if someone were here to cast him as Aladdin. 

"Maybe a little," I say.

"Who's cuter?" he challenges, setting the mug down in front of me, resting his elbows on the counter and leaning closer.

I say nothing, trying to focus on my assignment instead. 

"What are you doing anyways?" he asks, moving around the counter to look at my screen. I have a few short paragraphs written of my short story for my creative writing class. I read them in my head and begin too feel self-conscious, trying to reach to pull the screen away. This quick movement backfires, as I find myself doubled over in pain from half of my body and embarrassment in the other half that's still healthy. 

Troy instantly drops to his knees to meet my face. 

"What happened?" he questions, looking up at me. There's a familiarity between us that doesn't make me pull back as his hands lie gently on my lap. He blinks quickly and searches my eyes for some kind of answer or understanding. He looks so desperate to be here and to help me and it is the most adorable yet terrifying feeling ever, knowing I still have this power over him. It's easier for me to drown myself in the school work and the fact that I'm moving to New York in a month, but it's different for him. He's moving to a foreign kingdom to go be a ruler and marry someone he doesn't love, and somehow, this small moment where he feels like he can make a difference, lies in my hands. So, I let him have it.

"I just need to get in a comfier seat," I say, bracing myself to sit back up. His hand instantly interlocks with mine, and his other one slides along my back. He gives it a quick rub for reassurance and we slowly make our way to the couch. Troy moves the peonies closer to where I'm sitting before retrieving my blanket from my room (and thankfully saying nothing about the mess left there). 

He also grabs my laptop from the lonely kitchen counter and rests it on his lap, taking a seat next to me. His thigh touches mine as he asks me, "what are you gonna write about?"

"I don't know," I say, nervously. 

"Well, maybe if you get some inspiration, you can tell me what to type and I'l do it for you," he offers.

"You'd do that?" I question.

"It's no problem," he says humbly. His eyes focus on mine for a second and he clears his throat. "You could just write about us," he offers.

"No," I say sharply.

"Why not?" 

"Why would I do that?"

"It's a good story," he defends himself, and us, I suppose.

"You're so lame," I joke.

"What's lame is you not taking your medication," he says seriously. I stop, not knowing why I suddenly feel like I'm in trouble.

"I get it, it's hard to worry about everything all at once, but your main priority should be getting better soon, not stressing yourself out with hours and hours of homework. Your body needs rest," he demands. He holds his hand out to reveal 2 pills. "Here."

"Where did you get these?" I question.

"It doesn't take a scientist to see you breathe and feel pain. I found these on your nightstand," he admits. "Please take them," he pleads. I roll my eyes at his request but obey anyway as he hands me my green tea from earlier.

"So, about the story," he starts.

"It can't be super truthful. It has to be somewhat creative, too," I argue.

He backspaces what I had previously written and gives me the cue to start talking.

"It all started in a mansion. A luxurious mansion I had lived close to my entire life, yet had never set foot in. When my best friend said she needed my help planning a ball, I couldn't turn her down, though. So we walked through the tall ivory walls not knowing what impact being here would have on us-"

"You sound like a narrator," he teases.

"I kind of am. Type faster," I shoot back.

He gives me a warning glare and soon after breaks into a fit of laughter. 

"Then I saw him," I start.

"That's it? That's all I get?" he intervenes. I stare off to the table where the beautiful flowers are posted, continuing. "His eyes met mine and I knew I was in for a world of trouble. The sound of his voice testing me, trying to deem me trustworthy of his secretive glare. He spoke as if I were the only person meant to hear him, the only person he wanted to hear him. We were mere strangers, but we had this connection; Jung - the connection between two people that can't be severed, even when love turns to hate. It was from my favorite Jenny Han series. When he finally came into the light and those piercing blue eyes saw me, really saw me, it was then I knew that my world would be changed for good after meeting him," I finish, taking a sip of tea. I'm starting to get tired and I try to fight it, but Troy catches on immediately. My eyes are shutting and I'm not too sure if I'm dreaming or if he is actually shedding a tear right now in my living room, on my couch, talking about the past with me. 

Then again, stranger things have happened. 

I wake up hours later, feeling better than I have in a while. I can't really pinpoint when I fell asleep, somewhere between 10 and 11 I presume. The clock says 7:30 am, now. As my body starts to wake up, I feel a strange pressure on my lap. I look down and there he is, Troy, literally sleeping in my lap. I let myself smile for a second as I breathe in, enjoying the simplicity of this moment. His hair is falling in front of his eye and with one gentle swipe, I am able to give him his sight back. I think about pulling my hand away, but instead, let it rest in his hair for a moment. His eyes open slowly and he looks up at me, grinning. 

Then, we both come back to reality.

"Shit," he mutters, hopping off the couch in one fluid movement. He grabs his dress shirt from the table in the kitchen and swiftly throws it on over his gray under shirt I haven't even seen since just now. I also notice the house is spotless.

"What?" I say, not even knowing where to start.

"I cleaned up last night because I couldn't sleep. I got way too hot and took off my work shirt, and then once I finally got tired, I passed out on the couch. Sorry about that," he says, awkwardly leaning against the kitchen counter as if he rightfully needs to distance himself.

"Don't be sorry. I really appreciate it," I smile, seeing the old side of him I once fell in love with. Disheveled, messy hair Troy will always be more of my kind of guy than the one the cameras see.

"So, what's on the agenda today?" he asks.

"I have to bathe," I say, not realizing how that probably sounds.

"Oh?" he says, uncertainty on his face. "How do you-" he trails off, trying to hide his smirk.

"Troy Aspen Thomas," I say, confidently. He looks up, alert. "I do not need help taking a bath." I wait for his reaction and he doesn't disappoint, barreling over in laughter. 

"Suit yourself" he retreats, as I get up and lock myself inside. Flirting with Troy feels so normal to me, I almost forget he is engaged to someone he doesn't talk to or see on a daily basis. Part of me pities him when I realize this. The other part of me tries to remind myself I'm moving in a month and will never see him again. Not even the warmth of the bath water comforts me after that.