Harry:
I had about every burner going as I flipped crepes, scrambled eggs, sautéed a berry preserve, and diced up some fresh fruit for Tiffany. I looked at the feast I was preparing and wondered if I should have opted for a quiche. Food was the only thing I could offer her. David had his music. Erik had his art. This was how I showed Tiff how I felt about her. Through heaping mounds of sugar and carbs. Damn my Italian side.
I started placing the fruit on plates when Tiffany’s scream made me jump out of my skin. Dropping a spoonful of melon on the floor, I ran to the bathroom and tried to get in, but the door was locked. “Tiff!”
“I fell.” She was sobbing. “My knee…” I could hear her agony in her words and had this desire to break the door down, but for all I knew she was right behind it and I’d only hurt her more. “Can you reach the knob to unlock the door?”
Silence. Then another painful scream. “Okay… okay… don’t move…” Dashing to the kitchen, I tore through the drawer that had miscellaneous items nestled inside until I found an ice pick. Forcing the thin rod into the lock, I broke the handle in the process, but it was a cheap lock and so it sprang open rather easily. Pushing the door carefully, afraid Tiffany was right behind it, I looked inside. She was lying next to the tub, wearing only a towel, holding her bad knee, tears streaming down her face.
She looked up at me, the pain written all over her face. “I can’t move. It hurts too much.”
Kneeling down beside her, I wanted to touch her to show her some sign of comfort but was afraid of hurting her more. It wasn’t like she was cut and bleeding. The pain was invisible to me and that was worrisome. “It’s okay,” I said more to myself than to her. “Let me lift you up.” I reached out to her, but she flinched.
“No. I’m too scared. I’ve never felt pain this bad before.”
Pain or not, I had to get her off the floor. “Put your arms around my neck, and I can lift you up.”
She shook her head. “If I do that, my towel will fall off.” She sobbed.
I tried not to smile. “Baby, I already saw you naked last night and this morning… I peeked.”
Tiffany shook her head with vigor. “But, I was sexy then.” She started crying all over again, half choking on tears. “Now I’m a pathetic mess, and I won’t look as good.”
God, could I be any more crazy about her? In unbearable pain and still she wanted to look good for me. I kissed the top of her head gently then peeled off my T-shirt from the last time the Yanks won the World Series. “Here. Let’s put this on you. It’s my favorite, so I must love you.”
She looked up at me through her glazed eyes. “You love me?” Her words were all hiccupy from her tears.
Crap. Did I say that out loud? No going back now. “Tiff, isn’t it obvious?” I smiled, realizing I could finally say all the words I had kept well-guarded. It was refreshing. “I’ve been hopelessly in love with you for months. I tried to fight it, but—”
“I love you, too,” she said softly, and even through her pain, the corners of her lips picked up into a smile.
I had to kiss her. I cupped the side of her face as I tilted my head and kissed those lips that were wet from tears. I should have told her sooner. I shouldn't have waited until she was lying helpless on a bathroom floor. I should have told her before I slept with her. But at least now she knew. There was no question. We had established it last night, but this only reaffirmed our devotion. I was hers. She was mine.
I ended our kiss slowly, then turned my attention to the problem at hand. “Let’s get you in this shirt, then I’ll carry you to the couch, okay?”
“Okay,” she conceded, taking the shirt out of my hand and pulling it over her head. It was a shirt I had since high school, and I liked it so much because aside from being super comfortable, it was mine before I messed up everything. Seeing her in it, I had hope for that guy from the city once more. She pushed the towel away and carefully wound her arms around my neck as I slipped my arms under her legs. She flinched a bit but remained calm.
“I’ll go slow,” I said to reassure her. She nodded, her eyes looking like turquoise pools from her tears.
She sobbed as I stood up, but I knew I had to keep going. Once I was standing, she seemed to breathe easier. She held on tighter, resting her head in the crook of my neck and shoulder, and I knew she was trying to deal with the shooting pain. I set her on the couch so she could prop her bad leg up on the coffee table. The shirt fell mid-thigh on her, but she kept one hand on the bottom of it in an adorable attempt to be modest. “I’ll get ice, and then we’ll figure out if we should go to the hospital or not.”
But before I could get her ice or revaluate her injury, the fire alarm went off. I turned to the stove to see smoke rising from all of my pans. My heart sank.
“What’s that?” she asked in alarm.
“Umm… breakfast.”
She looked at me sympathetically, knowing when it came to cooking I most likely went a tad overboard. I hit the button on the alarm to silence it, then jogged over to the pans, pulling them off the stove and tossing everything into the sink. The apartment was going to stink like burnt eggs for days. I couldn’t think about that now. Instead, I grabbed a Ziplock bag and filled it with ice. Wrapping it in a dish towel, I went back into the living room and gently placed it on her knee. She took in a breath, whether from the cold or the pain I wasn’t sure.
“I can go out and get you Advil. I actually don’t have any in the house… part of my program.” It was embarrassing to admit I couldn’t even take an aspirin.
But she shook her head regardless. “Harry, I think I need to go to the doctor. I’m really hurting.” The pain was worse than she was letting on, and I could tell she was trying to be brave.
“Sure.” I nodded emphatically. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Umm…” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. It was pink from her rising blush. “I need underwear.”