I press my fingers against her forehead. She’s burning up.
“Hey,” I say quietly, trying to rouse her. “Hey, Adams.”
She doesn’t budge. My heartrate kicks up and I nudge her again, this time touching her warm cheeks. “Gwendolyn, hey, wake up.” She exhales and I do, too. “Listen, wake up, you hear me? Gwen…”
She sighs and shifts, eyes barely opening. “Bates?” she mumbles, voice a harsh rasp. “What are you…”
“I think you’re sick,” I tell her as she pulls her knees up to her chest. “Can you sit up?”
“No. My head is killing me.” She keeps her eyes closed. “Just leave me alone, I’ll be better in a while.”
I shake my head and lean forward, scooping her up into my arms. I carry her to the bed, laying her in the middle. Her legs flail about, seeking the covers, but her shoes keep getting hung up on the blanket.
“Hey,” I sit next to her and pull her foot in my lap, unlacing her shoe. “I’m going to call the nurse. Did you take any medicine or anything?”
“No.” She cracks an eye for only a split second, immediately cringing down into the bed.
I take off one shoe, then the other. She pushes at her knee socks and I roll them down. “Do you need anything else?” I try to think of what my mother—or let’s face it, my nanny—would do in a situation like this. “Ice? A drink?”
There’s a long pause where I’m almost sure she’s fallen back to sleep. Then she tilts her head. “Can you get my pajamas? This skirt is so itchy.”
“Sure,” I say, ruffling the back of my hair. “Where are they?”
She points across the room to the dresser. I take a guess, open the top drawer, and am greeted by lacy bras and panties, one a soft shade of blue. My mind wanders, thinking about what she’d look like wearing them, until she coughs, and I snap back to the present.
“No, on the top of the dresser. The shorts and shirt?”
I shut the drawer, grab the clothes, and bring them back over. It looks like a massive struggle when she gets her hand underneath her body and heaves herself somewhat upright. Her hair is a mess, a total nest, and her cheeks are deeply flushed. She looks gorgeous in the oddest way—vulnerable, her tough exterior completely stripped by the illness and exhaustion.
“Here you go,” I say, handing her the clothes. “I’ll go call the nurse while you change.”
She nods and fumbles with the buttons on her shirt, but quickly gives up, falling back on the pillow. “Fuck my entire life.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Every time I move, I feel like there’s a woodpecker stabbing at the back of my eye, trying to drill a hole into my head.” She holds the shirt straight up in the air. “A little help?”
I shift my feet, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “You... uh, want me to help you dress?”
“It’s not like you haven’t seen
it already.”
Well, she’s got a point there. I step closer to the bed, and sit on the edge, taking the clothing back. Gwendolyn lifts herself up again, her uniform shirt wrinkled and twisted at the waist. I reach over and unbutton the top button and make my way down, revealing an ivory bra that closely matches the tone of her skin. Her eyes are closed, as though just opening them is painful. I quickly remove the shirt and direct, “Lift your arms up.” She does and I slowly lower the T-shirt over her head, tugging it over the swell of her tits, down her torso. “Okay,” I breathe. Okay. I can totally do this. I can be the kind of guy who cares for a sick girl. Sure. “Lie back,” I instruct. She does as I say, and I proceed to take her skirt off, tugging at the zipper on the side and shimmying it over her hips. It takes a minute, but I get her shorts on, and get her under the covers.
“Now, I’m going to call the nurse.”
One of her hands shoots out, nudging blindly at my thigh. “Thank you.”
I bite my lip, looking around. “Do you need anything else?”
She opens her eyes. “Thank you for checking on me.”
I crouch down, fingers reaching out to graze her warm cheek. I almost tell her that pure paranoia drove me to it, but I don’t. It’s not true, anyway. Seeing her in here all alone, passed out on the bed, I’m glad I pushed through. “You’re welcome.”
I stand and pull out my phone, calling the main office to get linked through to the infirmary. When I look back, she’s already asleep, covers pulled close under her chin. I wait by the door, not leaving until the nurse arrives, then slip down the back staircase. In that moment, I don’t care who finds me here, but I know that she would, so I leave quickly, making sure that no one knows I was ever there.
21