You Must Fall In Love

Chapter Twenty-One

Are you okay?" asked the person behind the curtains.

Christine breathed deep, heaving and retching. She was wet all through, and her stomach hurt, and she felt like the Hot Pockets were going to come back out. She shook her head, swallowing desperately, then tried to speak and threw up.

It was all over the sheets. It was all over her.

"I'll take that as a no, then. Give me a minute."

Christine sat for what felt like an hour, marinating, too disgusted to lie back down but too unhappy to get up. Her head felt like it had been shoved down her gullet. Her eyes were about to pop out of their sockets, slide through her ears and beat her brains out.

What was that dream? Why did it seem so real?

Why did her heart feel like it was curdling?

"Alright, coming through. Don't move."

She didn't even realize who it was until a dark hand pulled the curtains back from the bed.

"R...Rob?" she blinked, swallowing her bile. "Why are you here? No, don't..."

Rob pushed up his spectacles with one hand. The other had two latex kitchen-gloves in it, and in the crook of his arm was a bright red basin, a pack of wet wipes, a can of Febreze and a large empty rubbish bag.

He even had a plastic apron on.

"It's Saturday," he said. "Are you going to sit there and stew, or can I do something about it?"

Christine didn't have time to consider her options, so she gave a pained nod. She would be bright red, if she wasn't so green.

"Right," said Rob, putting the bowl on the dresser, snapping the gloves on, and getting to work with the tissues. Christine sat there, hands stiff by her sides, trying not to sniff his wine-cellar scent, or pay too much attention to the crook of his neck, or look down his shirt. She could feel his gloved hands through the cold wipes, strong and firm, as they ran across her collarbone, along her stomach, back up her...

No. He was wiping up her puke. It was gross.

But why was he doing it, anyway? Why was he here?

"Where's... where's Jen?" she asked, turning her face away from him.

Not the question she meant to ask, but the least awkward. It sure beat have you done this before?

"Shopping," said Rob, folding the last wipe, tearing off his apron, and rolling off both gloves, then throwing the lot into the rubbish bag. The curtain closed. "She was going to wake you, but you were fast asleep, and she didn't want to disturb you after everything that happened yesterday. So she asked me to do something about it instead."

The smell was still there, despite the cleaning. She still felt horrible and wet and her skin was still trying to turn itself inside out, but it was tempered somewhat by the sound of spuming Febreze. He was walking in circles around her bed. His silhouette was so refined, even though his arm was raised and the can made him look like some sort of Lady Liberty.

"Wake me up?" she asked.

"No," he said. "She wanted me to watch you."

At first, this was so creepy that Christine almost threw the sheets over her head. Fortunately, she realized what an apocalyptic idea that was, and so she threw her legs over the side of the bed instead and poked her head out the curtains.

"Why you?"

Rob came back around, then capped the sacred aerosol.

"You tell me," he said. "Do you even know the other two?"

"No," said Christine. "But it's not like you and I are best friends, either."

"We've argued thrice," said Rob, completely straight-faced. "It's half a start."

"Sure it is," said Christine, putting her hands on her chin. "Well, it's not like I know about these things, anyway."

The smell of fake lavender was finally smothering the smell of digested cheese. It was a blessing and a half, or was that a quarter? She'd never had a head for numbers.

She didn't even know what half a start at friendship was.

"You should go wash up," said Rob. "Kang can give this place a proper cleaning."

"What? No, I can do it myself."

For one, she didn't want to impose any more on Kang, but she also didn't want anyone else finding out about her accident. She wasn't a kid.

To her surprise, instead of pressing for further explanation, Rob nodded and picked up the trashbag.

"Then I'll get you the supplies instead. Are you going to wash your hands before you get your clothes?"

His lip was quirking again, just a fraction. Christine opened her mouth in outrage, but quickly reversed it when she remembered just what he had done for her.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Thanks."

"So they do say that where you're from," said Rob, smirking fully. "Say it again, why don't you?"

"No thanks," said Christine, slipping out of the bed and trudging out the door. "My gratitude is a one-time thing."

"Well, then for your sake, I hope your gastric distress is a one-time thing, too. There's another trashbag there for the soiled stuff."

She didn't have a response to that, so she turned around, snatched the bag and headed towards the bathroom at top speed, knowing full well that she was incandescent red.