Coffee

Part Fifty-Three: Understanding Illogical Thoughts

Having drained the tub and found night shorts and a tank to vent my burning insides, I weakly make my way to the stairs. Head pounding and feeling dizzy, I try to descend them, but find I'm stuck halfway. Sitting down, I hold onto the bannister with one hand and brace my head with the other. Why does my head hurt so bad?

Pulling myself up, I get halfway rose, when my legs give out and I slide to the bottom of the stairs, my arse hitting every step as I go.

"Helen?!" The dogs are immediately up and in my face sniffing to see if I'm alright. Running in, Max Finds me on the wooden floor, head resting on the bottom step as I hold onto my bottom that is now probably bruised. "What are you doing?"

Kneeling beside me, he checks me over and seem to be fine.

"Are you hurt at all? What happened?" Eyes closed for a few moments, I just feel like an idiot. It's illogical. I know I should rest and take it easy: but I keep going so I can talk to Max. To see him. To clear the ever fogging air between us. "Helen?"

Opening my eyes, I never meant for them to be watery. I never meant to care this much about someone. But now that I have and are losing them, I can't stop thinking about how my life will never be as bright and beautiful without him.

"What's wrong, Helen? Talk to me, please." Reaching out, I tug at his shirt sleeve. I want him close. That's all I want. To hold him. To feel his heat. He leans forward and I just put both arms around his neck and tuck my face into his chest. At first, he's hesitant. Just waiting for something else to happen. Sighing, he pulls me closer to his chest, bracing my back with his flat broad hands and he just sits there. "It's okay."

"It's not though..." I cry into his neck.

"We'll get up back up in bed and resting. Get you something to eat so you can rest and..."

"I'm sorry."

"Helen, don't be. I know you want to be strong even when you're not feeling good, but..."

"I'm sorry I hurt you...I'm sorry I pushed you away all the time. I don't know what's wrong with me..."

"Nothing's wrong with you." Squeezing me tightly around my waist, he makes me feel like I used too and yet, I don't know if it'll last. "Asides from you having a high fever and refusing to sit...down..."

Light bulb.

He understands now. He understands how frustrating and worrisome it is when he doesn't sit and take it easy.

"Come on. Let's get you to the couch." Setting me down, he more or less forces me out of his lap as he stands up. Pulling on my arms, he gets me up and leads me to the couch. "Soup is almost done."

"I'm not hungry." Give him some of his own medicine."

"Well, you're going to eat it anyway." Wow. Bossy much.

"You're mean."

"Yes, well, I'm just trying to get you feeling better." He once more sees the irony in all this but dispels it from his mind. Leaving me there on the chaise, he comes back with the soup and tries to hand it to me. I refuse to take it, but he sits down and tries to spoon feed me himself. "Helen, why are you being so difficult when I just want to help you? If you want to get better you should listen to...me... I see..."

Setting the soup down on the coffee table, he sighs and rests against the back of the couch.

"This is why you can't be my doctor..." His eyes shift downward and he shakes his head, signing. "It's frustrating when you're not listened too."

"It's also hard when you love your patient and can't stay unbiased." His eyes shoot up and catch my tired gaze.

"Helen..."