Imperfectpictures

6/1/2019

Episode Thirty-Three: Sickness

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Warning: this episode contains descriptions of violence and racism. Reader discretion is advised. Intended for a mature audience only. (18+)

Episode Thirty-Three: Sickness

We had made plans to rent a car and go exploring that Monday since we hardly got out of bed Sunday, but as soon as I woke up, I knew Edward was sick. I was awakened by him shivering violently in his sleep despite being in a warm pair of pajamas in a warm room under two blankets and a sheet. It was just before the sunrise, the cloudy gray sky was only faintly lit.

I sat up in the bed beside Edward, who was clutching the blankets to his body. When I placed my hand on his forehead, I could feel the cold sweat beaded on his fiery hot brow. He groaned in his sleep, kicking his leg. He just missed me.

“Aid-” I began but stopped myself. That would have been a bad mistake to make. “Edward. Love. Wake up, please.” I rubbed his cheek gently. His eyes slowly opened, looking up at me pitiful. “Sweetie, you have a fever. You're sick.”

“I believe you,” he chattered through his teeth.

“We need to get you to a doctor. I'm going to make you an appointment for as soon as I can at a clinic and then I'll run to the Duane Reed next door to get you something for the fever for now.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. “I have an insurance card in my wallet. Take some of the cash for the medicine.”

“Alright,” I answered. “You've obviously got a fever and chills. What else is going on?”

“I ache all over.”

“How's your stomach?” I questioned him.

“Fine. My head hurts. So does my throat,” he coughed loudly. “Ew, god. So much snot.” He covered his face with his hands and coughed again. I gave him the box of the terrible cheap hotel tissues to use.

I got his insurance card from his wallet and took it to look up where the closest place we could go to was. I called it as soon as it opened at seven.

“Hello. Dr. Peter's office. How may I help you?”

“Hi. I'm calling on behalf of a new patient who needs to make an appointment for as soon as possible today,” I said in my best secretary voice.

“Alright. Let's see. We have a time open at ten this morning and one at two-fifteen.”

“Ten would be perfect,” I said quickly.

"Great." I could hear her typing over the phone. Edward began to cough again, so I went to get him a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. "What's the patient's name?"

“Edward Anthony Cullen.”

“Okay, male or female and age, please?” She asked next. I could tell she just automatically asked it every time, even if she could figure out the answer.

“Twenty five and male.”

“Date of birth?”

“Um,” I drew out as I thought of the number. “November 23rd, 1993.” It made me feel so old to say the numbers out loud. I turned away from him so he couldn’t see the face I made to myself.

"Alright. Is he sick, or is this a wellness checkup?" She asked next.

“He's sick. I'd say probably a cold or the flu. He has a moderate fever. One hundred one, at least,” I explained.

“I have Mr. Cullen down for ten o'clock today. There is a sick waiting room entrance that he'll need to use. He'll need to bring his insurance card, his ID, and some form of payment if it is required. Can he be reached back at this number if needed?”

“Yes, he can.”

“That's it then. Please come in fifteen minutes early to fill out your paperwork,” she told me before we hung up. I put the card back in his wallet then went to change into clean clothes.

“Did you take cash?” He asked as I got the key card from the bedside table.

“I can get your aspirin,” I assured him a bit sarcastically, in a rush to go get him something for his miserable condition.

“Just take the damn money, woman. I'm going to need more than aspirin,” he snapped.

“Oo, someone is a cranky bitch when they're sick,” I replied calmly. I took two hundred dollar bills from his wallet and showed him, one in each hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, bringing the blanket around his head.

I bought aspirin and ibuprofen, Benadryl, Sudafed, Robitussin, and Vicks vapor rub as well as cough drops in a couple of flavors and better tissues. I also got him Sprite, ginger ale, and Gatorade. I purchased a thermometer since we didn't have one as well.

When I came back, he was asleep. I woke him up long enough to take his temperature, which hit just under 102 and to give him three ibuprofen. He was back to sleep before I went to take a shower. When I retook his temperature right before we left, it had only gone down to 101.

Edward had an angry pout on his face the entire taxi ride there and the wait in the office. It wasn't the flu or a sinus infection, but merely a cold that there was nothing he could do about. All he could do was drug himself and asleep.

"Can I take you to the apartment so I can make you soup?" I asked him on the ride back to the hotel, his arms crossed over his chest because he was cold. "You can sleep in my bed, and I'll take care of you."

"Soup?" He said in a tiny voice. "That would be nice. I'm not really hungry right now, but I should eat something soon. But we can just order. You don't have to cook for me if you don't want to."

“Homemade soup is better for you when you're sick. And we've been eating nothing but take out the past few days. We should eat some real food,” I told him softly. He quietly agreed, still pouting.

“I am so angry right now,” he complained, still shaking from his fever. I had given him a dose of aspirin to alternate with the other fever reducer. “We had plans.”

“It's okay. We all get sick,” I tried to reassure him.

"But... I don't want to waste this time with you. I don't have all that much, and then I'm not going to see you again for ages," he said as he breathed through his mouth, his nose completely stuffed.

“It's like three weeks,” I replied.

“Ages,” he whined.

“You're so dramatic, Eddie. Look, I'll baby you for a couple of days. I'll feed you eight kinds of soup and then you'll feel better because you're twenty-five and healthy. You youngins bounce back from this kind of shit pretty quickly. It was bound to happen. You've been working all the time. You've been traveling,” I said to him, a little tired and sad myself.

He leaned his face against the cold window. “I guess so. I can barely keep my head up right now.”

“I know,” I frowned slightly. “Let's go get some stuff and then we'll go back to my place. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agreed weakly.

Within the hour, I had him tucked into my bed with three blankets and the heater on him. He was wearing two pairs of socks, a pair of long underwear with sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a hoodie.

I went to the markets around my house to pick up the things I would need to cook him something to eat whenever he was ready for it. I got the items to make at least four different kinds of soup for the simple fact that I couldn't decide what I wanted to make.

Before he had laid down, Edward had a mixture of sinus medications that made him sleep for four solid hours without moving even an inch. In that time I cooked chicken, made both chicken and vegetable broth in the pressure cooker, started chicken and vegetable soup in the crockpot and pea soup on the stove. I found that I couldn't sit down or relax. I had to keep checking on him. Or, I had to cook or clean. When he woke up, it was only to briefly go to the bathroom.

He was still asleep when Alice came home that evening. We had been texting all day, so she knew what was going on. She pulled me away from the sink and sat me down in the kitchen with a bowl of weed.

“There is chicken and veggie soup with rice and pea soup in the fridge. And, I made brownies,” I informed her, taking a long drag from her little black vape.

“I see that. Have you eaten?”

I blew out as I shook my head. “No. I'm not hungry.”

She nodded her head thoughtfully. “After we smoke that we'll both eat. Has Edward eaten anything?”

“Nothing all day.” I worried my lip with my teeth.

“We should make him eat and get some liquids, too,” she said in her best motherly voice.

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” I agreed.

“He'll be fine,” she assured me, taking the vape from me.

“I know.”

“He is,” she repeated.

“I know,” I said again, more firmly. “He's healthy. It's just a cold.”

"It's okay to be worried. These are valid feelings. But you're going to take excellent care of him. You already are." She was not giving up.

“Thanks, Doc,” I said sarcastically.

“Anyone could empathize why you're scared right now, Bells.” She touched my hand. It jerked without my permission.

“Oh, you mean because my very healthy husband dropped dead buying us breakfast? And now the fact is, the man I am probably falling in love with has a cold has brought on a panic attack,” I said quickly, heat crawling up my neck as the words spilled out of my mouth.

I was definitely having another panic attack.

“Are you falling in love with him?” She questioned me, pulling my attention away from that for only a second.

"I don't know, but I'm obviously freaking out right now," I said in a dry voice before rubbing my forehead. "Maybe it's just because he's the first since Aiden."

“Maybe.” She was being a therapist right then. “What do you think?

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this. For him. For this relationship. What if I can't handle it? I don't want to hurt him, but I'm too broken for this," I told her in a panic. "I should just let him go."

"If you're falling in love with him, why would you want to end it? He clearly has strong feelings for you, intensely so. What benefit is there to it?" Alice was so calm.

"I don't want to end it, but he deserves-"

“No. He gets to decide that. It's not about him, it's about what you think you deserve. This is your anxiety. I don't think you'd be reacting this way if you didn't care deeply for him. Look, I think you need to go talk to someone who isn't me. Like, seriously. It’s becoming a problem. The money, now this.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Set me up with someone you trust,” I answered her quietly. She squeezed my hand and gave me a smile. I trusted her when she said when.

“'Ello,” Edward quietly wheezed through a stuffed up nose as he came shuffling into the kitchen. “Can I have that soup now?”

“Of course.” I hopped from the chair. “Come sit down. Do you want some hot tea to go with it?”

“Yes, please.” He leaned his head against the wall after he plopped down in the chair. There were deep purple circles under his eyes with his lips were visibly dry.

I started the kettle. “What kind would you like? I have chicken broth, vegetable broth, chicken and vegetable with rice and pea soup.”

Alice offered him the vape. He took a long hit but coughed it out. “Ugh. Um. The pea soup, I guess.”

“I want the pea soup as well,” Alice chimed in.

“I put the oil pens in your purse,” Edward informed me. “Alice, if you'd like one...” She got up without a word to go investigate these pens he was talking about. “We probably shouldn't share because of germs,” he said to me.

“You're really unlikely to get sick from mouth to mouth contact,” I told him mindlessly as I hustled about the kitchen.

“Really?”

“Generally cold germs are spread through hand to hand contact then touching your nose or eyes. Especially your eyes. So we could share a fork or a cup and probably be fine. Anyway, if I’m going to get sick from you, it’s too late now.” I brought him a glass of water. “Drink that first. You're dehydrated from all the medicine. Alice, get my chapstick from my purse for him,” I called to her.

“Does that mean you can still kiss me?” He looked so drugged, his smile strained.

I stirred the soup. "Mm, I could, but I'm going to say not right now because you're covered in sweat."

“I could use a shower,” he admitted with a pained swallow then cough.

“Can you stand up that long?”

“I kind of doubt it.” He leaned the back of his head against the wall after he finished his glass of water.

"After you eat I'll draw you a bath. Then I'll get you some more medicine and put some vapor rub on your chest to make you more comfortable. And I'll wash those clothes for you tonight," I stammered out as I heated up the bright green soup on the stove. The water kettle whistled, and I hurried to pour it into the pot.

I brought him some green tea with honey and lemon. He took my waist into his hands and leaned his forehead against my stomach. Gently I ran my fingers through his moist hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Edward still had a fever. I could feel it burning my palms.

“It's definitely time for more medicine,” I said softly. He looked up at me with the sweetest sad eyes.

“Thank you for being so wonderful to me. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“You would have gotten NyQuil, gone to sleep, and ordered soup when you were ready for it,” I replied, stroking his cheek. “Do you want bacon and sour cream on your soup?”

“I do,” Alice answered as she came back with a couple of disposable weed oil pens. She put one on the table while trying the other. She gave him the chapstick. “How did you get these through the airport?”

"I took a private flight, so you don't go into the airport. You go directly to the plane," he mumbled while he tried to rub the stinging Carmex into his lips with his finger. "No bag checking."

“You took a private plane?” I asked in surprise.

“It was cheaper.”

“I don't know if I believe you.”

“You would be surprised,” he coughed, turning his head into his elbow to keep from spreading germs. “Next time I come if there is anything you want, let me know,” he offered us both.

“Thank you!” Al said brightly. “Oh, my gosh. Edibles. Please.”

“I think I can arrange something. Get you some of those disgusting little gummy bears. Or, one of those sodas,” Edward mused out loud.

“What a time to be alive,” Alice said as she let out a long drag of the pen. She blew the smoke out in a long billow.

My bathtub was too small for two people to sit comfortably, especially at his size, so I sat beside it on my knees. I had put Epsom salt in the water to help with his aches. I massaged the soap all over his body with my loofah and washed his hair with a cup. I used the portable heater to make sure the room was nice and warm for him.

His temperature was still at 102 when I took it before he got into the water. I gave him another round of pain relievers after he managed a bowl of soup and a mug of tea. He leaned his head against the cool porcelain rim, looking at me. Fevers were rare with colds, so he was suffering extra hard.

“I'm glad you agreed to talk to someone about your anxiety. I've been worried,” he said quietly. Edward didn’t look at me as he said it.

I licked my dry lips before I answered, “heard that, did you?”

“Yeah, as I was coming in. I wasn't eavesdropping purposefully.” His eyes flicked towards me guiltily.

“It's okay. I'm sorry that I worried you,” was all I could say.

“You didn't worry me. It did. The anxiety.”

I rubbed the sponge against his shoulder. “Well, I'm sorry it worried you. I'm realizing that I might not be very good at handling this on my own and that I don't have to. I'm just now realizing it because I am terrible at taking my own advice, obviously.”

“I'll do whatever I can to help. Just tell me,” he almost said in a begging way. I leaned forward and kissed his lips very lightly, briefly. “Thank you for taking such good care of me,” he said after I pulled away.

I stroked the side of his face. “It's just because I like you so much.”

He smiled sleepily, “I know.”

It took another two days for his fever to break. He slept almost the whole next day, waking up only for toast and more medicine and then again for soup and even more medication. I slept on the couch so he could have the whole bed and spent most of my time sitting on it across from him, editing on my computer and keeping an eye on his condition.

The second day he was awake for longer stints, eating more, and watching Netflix with me on my laptop.

The third day I was awoken by Edward gently touching my face. He was fresh out of the shower, and he was wearing clean clothes. He looked better though not completely well. His nose was red, and his lips were a little cracked from mouth breathing.

I sat up slowly, yawning widely. It was about eight in the morning. “Would you like the bed for a while? I'm sorry.”

“I normally sleep on the couch,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. “How are you feeling?”

"My temperature is normal again. I woke up hungry, so I got some toast and got washed up. I think I've finally slept enough," he told me hopefully.

“That's good. Would you like to go back to the hotel today? It'll be more comfortable for you there,” I offered with another yawn. I wasn’t ready to be awake yet.

“Yeah. That would be good. Do you want to go to lunch? We've been cooped up for days now.” He obviously felt guilty about it. It wasn’t his fault in the least though.

“That would be nice. We can go around noon. That would give me time to wash a load of clothes and get ready. Are you craving anything?” I asked, picking at the crusty things in my eyes. Edward had more energy than I did at that moment.

“Mexican, maybe? Or, something like that,” he said cheerfully.

“Oh. Hm,” I tried to think where I liked for that. One thing came to mind. “Have you ever had Venezuelan?”

“No, I can't say that I have,” he said softly.

“Great. I have the perfect place.” I heard feet shuffle from behind my shut door. In a normal quiet tone, I said, “Mary Alice, do you want arepas, too?”

“Yes, please,” she said sleepily as she gathered her keys to go into work early. “I'll meet you there for lunch. Text me when you get there.”

Edward chuckled, coming to sit beside me on the couch. "It's her favorite, and it's right beside the office." I leaned into his shoulder, still too sleepy to function. "I missed you."

“You were in all of my dreams,” he said to me warmly.

“Were they good?” I asked as I wove my arms around his. I was always stuffed up when I first woke up, sniffling deeply.

“Most of them were. I had a few nightmares, but I don't think you can have that much medicine in your system and dream normal things. A lot of them were in color.” He wove his fingers in between my own.

“Are your dreams normally black and white?” I asked curiously.

“No... They're normally more muted? Subtle? I just remember a lot of bold colors. Blues and reds. Too much cough syrup.” He shook his head. “I just remember a lot of the feelings in them, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” I assured him.

I put all my blankets into the wash and put fresh sheets on my bed before running to take my own shower. For the first time in a few days, I put on makeup, did my hair, and put on cute clothes. I needed to feel more myself, and I wasn't sure how else to do that.

It was warmer that day, almost in the fifties. Edward had the energy, so we walked the twenty-minute route to Astoria for the Arepa Cafe. We walked the bridge over the subway yard with the beautiful view of Manhattan just beyond. Edward stopped to admire it for a moment, weaving his fingers through the chainlink fencing. It was a beautiful blue day, only a few scattered clouds with the slightest breeze.

I took out my camera from my big purse and quickly snapped his picture.

“But, I look terrible right now,” he complained when he realized.

"You're beautiful, and I want to remember this feeling," I answered him. He smiled a little as he glanced back towards the skyline. I took his picture again.

“You're the beautiful one in this relationship.” He held out his hand to me. “Especially right now.”

I texted Alice when we arrived at the restaurant. It would take her a few minutes to join us, but I already knew what she wanted so I could order for her. Edward looked over the menu, asking me questions about everything. He knew nothing about the food.

He finally gave up. “It all sounds good. Pick something for me. I'm overwhelmed.”

“Pulled pork arepa with fried plantains, black beans, and cheese,” I pointed out what Alice and I were going to order. “Garlic rice for a side? Let's start with some yucca fries and some mini fried empanadas since we have to wait for Alice's slow ass.”

He chuckled, “that sounds perfect.”

“Do you want a Jarrito or maybe fresh juice? I think they have passionfruit and a strawberry one.” I flipped the menus over to the drink section. “Oh, and dragonfruit. That's new.”

“What are you getting?”

I always got the same thing. “A fruit punch Jarrito and a cafe con leche with raw sugar for dessert.”

“Same but the mandarin flavor, instead.” He gave the menu back to me.

“Why don't you go sit down and get us a table by the window? I'll order for us.” He tried to take out his wallet. “No, I got it.” He wasn't going to argue with me after being so snappy the other day.

“When I feel completely better I'm going to take you out somewhere really nice,” he promised me, kissing my cheek lightly as he went to go plop down in a chair. His energy was already starting to wain.

"Hola!" I said to the cashier who knew me from coming in so much with Alice. He was a young man, the owner's son. He was in his late teens and hadn't grown into his big ears yet or out of his acne and braces. He was a sweet boy and was always very polite to me. He loved that both Alice and I could hold a solid conversation with him in Spanish, so we always ordered that way.

He commented to me in Spanish that he hadn't seen me in a while and only my white friend. The last time I had been in he wasn't there because it was at night. He was almost always opening the store, and his brother closed. We made pleasant small talk while he took my order.

“Fucking learn to speak English,” a male voice said from behind me. I turned to see a white man about average height with a bushy gray beard grown just to hide his three extra chins.

“Excuse me?” The words left my mouth before my brain knew I said to them. They echoed in my ears.

“I said you need to learn to speak English, you stupid spics. You're in America now,” he said boldly to a five-foot-tall woman and a teenager. “Why don't you go back to your fucking country?”

Something clicked in my brain loudly, like a gunshot going off.

“First of all, it says Si, Habla Espanol on the goddamn sign, so you came in here hoping to be all butthurt, you racist piece of shit. Second, you're willing to shove the food down your gob, but we should go back to our country? Sure, okay. I was born in Texas, and it's lovely this time of year, bitch,” I said evenly without raising my voice or showing any emotion at all. I turned back to the cashier to finish my order.

“Sir, you need to leave,” the young man said in a thick New York accent.

“The fuck I do. Let me speak to your manager,” he shouted back at the boy.

“It's his mom. So, good luck with that,” I mumbled. I put a few twenties on the counter. “Keep the change for the tip jar, sugar.” It was a fifteen dollar tip. “Just leave. You're embarrassing yourself.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, you ugly wetback,” he shouted down to me. “Yeah, I bet you were fucking born in Texas. Did your mama shit you out on the border?”

“Really fucking classy, my friend,” I retorted. “Been wanting to use that one for a while now?”

Edward was suddenly right in front of me, standing in between the man and me. He was at least six inches taller and twice as broad in the chest. I would have hated to be at the end of his death glare. I had never seen him angry before.

“Oi, mate,” he said in a thick Australian accent. “The only immigrant in this room right now is me. So, if you have a problem with them, why don't you take it up with me?”

“I don't have a problem with you,” the man snapped back. “This is none of your fucking business.”

"Why? Because I'm white? Or is it because I'm a male?" He said in a rough voice. "And though my partner is more than capable of destroying you on her own, I find people harassing someone I love very much my business, wanker."

"You speak English," the older man growled as if it was apparent. "If they spoke English, it wouldn't be a problem."

“What bullshit, you racist twat,” Edward replied with venom.

For whatever reason, this was what made the man break. He began to lurch forward clumsily to take a punch at Edward, but I pushed him out of the way just in time so that the man instead hit the glass case with the desserts displayed in it. It cracked it loudly. With all my might, I kicked him in the groin, making him double over in pain. Without hesitation or thought I kicked him in the face just as hard, maybe harder, knocking him clean out so that he fell forward onto the floor with a hard slap onto the concrete floor.

“I told you she could destroy you,” Edward mumbled, balling up his fists at his side as he looked down at the man. He was ready if he got up again.

This was when Alice decided to walk in with two police officers coming in right behind her. The owners, cooks, and everyone else had heard what was going on up front and someone had already called the cops. There were lots of people around us, watching.

“He tried to sucker punch him!” The young man shouted from behind the counter, pointing down at the now groaning and bleeding man. “And he called me a spic. I'm not even Mexican! Dumb fucker. I'm Colombian! We have security cameras.”

“Honey, are you alright?” Edward put his hand on my shoulder. I looked up with him with wide eyes. I could barely hear him.

One of the cops was trying to get the man to sit up while the other walked over to me. She was a petite black woman with a shaved head and beautiful metallic purple lipstick. "What's going on here?"

"He," Edward pointed at the man, "got mad because she was ordering in Spanish. They asked him to leave, and he became belligerent. He tried to attack me because I called him a racist. But, my girlfriend," he looked at me because I still hadn't said anything yet, "pushed me out the way right in time. And she kicked him. Once in the groin and in the face. It was self-defense. It just happened. Literally.”

“Ma'am? Is that right?” She asked.

"I-" I opened my mouth to speak. My throat felt weird, and I sounded distance "I think I broke my foot."

“Eddie, she's in shock,” Alice said as she came around the cop to hold my hand. “I'm her sister,” she told the woman. “Bells, honey. Let's sit down.”

“I can feel some blood in my boot,” I said calmly, looking directly into the stranger's face but not really seeing it. I realized it was because there were tears in my eyes. I blinked them away quickly. All I could still see was her purple lips. I felt like an odd thing to focus on at the moment, but I very much liked the shade.

"Okay, there is an ambulance on the way, and it will be here shortly," I heard the cop say. Then I could only hear the blood rush in my ears. My head was very light, and I felt kind of disconnected from everything. My body buzzed as I floated in my spot.

Edward lifted me up carefully and moved me to a chair, putting my right foot upon another. The man was fully awake by then and screaming at the cops. The other officer who had already handcuffed him, a tall thin white man in his early twenties. He looked horrified at the slurs coming out of man's mouth. Or maybe at his breath. It could have been either. All I could do was stare, my hands in my lap limply.

"Take her boot off." Alice put her coat around me. Edward obliged, kneeling beside me so he could unzip it. I was wearing two pairs of socks, and there was already blood seeped through both layers at the toe. When Edward pulled my sock off, my big toenail fell right off.

“Oh, Jesus.” She covered her mouth and gagged. Alice was bad with blood, which is why she didn't become a surgeon.

Edward was unfazed, quickly getting napkins to wipe up the mess. "Can I get some ice for her?" He called out to anyone who would listen. Or, someone. I wasn't sure. I felt very cold, though and wrapped the jacket around me tighter. I had begun to shiver.

It turned out that I fractured the top of my foot, broke my two biggest toes, and popped the nail off with the sheer force of the kick despite having two pairs of socks for padding. It probably would have been worse if I hadn't been wearing them. They decided to give me a mild sedative and painkiller while they worked on my foot and we talked to the police to provide our statement. The restaurant was going to press charges, and he was being charged with assault. He was also being charged with drug possession since he had a crap ton of meth in his pockets. Go figure.

“What a fine week this has been,” Edward complained as he stroked my hair from his chair beside the hospital bed. “I'm sorry. I should have protected you.”

“Obviously I don't need protecting,” I said in a quiet even voice. I couldn't put emotion into it if I tried.

“Obviously, my little fighter. Is there anything more beautiful than a ballet dancer kicking a racist in the balls?" He joked before he became more serious. "Christ, Bella. He could have really hurt you, though."

“I'm fine,” I said emotionlessly. It was the most at peace I had been in days. There was nothing in my brain. Not a single thought.

“We're literally in the hospital right now,” he answered me, annoyed.

"I'm sedated. Everything is fine." I patted his hand. He smirked at me. "I'm hungry, though. Think we could go to the cafeteria or do I have to stay here?"

He laughed, “where are you going on that foot? You've not gotten your cast yet.”

I shrugged. “I'll hop onto your back and ride you there. It'll be fine.”

He relaxed a little and giggled, wiping his watery eyes. Edward still didn't feel very well himself. His poor sinuses.

"It'll be fun. You could put me on your shoulders, but I'd hit every hanging sign and door frame on the way there."

“I know that's right,” he agreed with a chuckle, closing his hand around mine and bringing it up to his lips for a gentle kiss.

Thankfully the Arepa Cafe sent over a ton of food to the hospital not long afterward just for us.

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