blurry. I can only see her silhouette, a dark blot on the blue-tinged room. The blue is coming from the window. Curtain drawn. The city lights. I remember those cold lights.
I look down at my chest. Only one IV working right now.
“Is there anything I can do?” she whispers.
“I’ve gotta get up.”
She nods. “I brought you a bunch of longue clothes but they’re in the dryer right now. Our nurse is going to bring them. Until then, I got you this.”
Our nurse...
She slides down off the bed and gets back up with something. I can’t see it.
I blink. It’s a robe.
I push toward the bed’s edge with sore arms.
“Here—” She’s standing by the bed. “Slide down and you can hold onto me.”
I get down, and my legs and hips ache so much I feel tears burn my eyes. I can’t believe I’m back here. My throat is so full, I can barely breathe. Cleo’s arm comes around me.
She kisses me. She wraps her hand around the IV pole. She walks me to the bathroom, pointing out a giant, blow-up palm tree.
“There’s more of that type stuff coming to decorate your room. Hope you don’t mind.” Her voice is static.
She pushes the bathroom door open. Light spills out. I look down at myself. These scrubs. They came untied... are sagging. Fuck.
She leaves me and I stare at the sink. The toilet.
Memories...
I piss, then try to squeeze one out. I think of Cleo, and I get a halfie, even though I’m numb as hell. Okay.
I look in the mirror. That’s a big mistake. My face is bruised. My lips are dry. My eyes look desperate and strung out.
I put on the robe. I don’t know how it got in here. Did Cleo hand it to me? I’m shaking. The longer I stand up... the more things hurt.
I open the door, fast because I’m scared that she’ll be gone. She’s right there. We go to the bed. I lie down across it, on my side. My legs hang off. The robe is soft. It covers me. Good.
Cleo climbs up on the mattress, leans over me. She holds up... some kind of towel? I watch a smile light up her face. She looks... proud. Her hand is on my face again. “You can’t get a bath yet, not for a little while longer, because of your central line. But I don’t think you’ve had one since the wreck. I thought it might feel good.”
I BLINK, AND CLEO DRAGS a warm cloth over my calves, and... it does feel good. I clench my fist, because I want to touch her.
Someone knocks, and Cleo leaves. Fuck. The water dries cool on my skin. My dick stirs.
She comes back into my plane of vision with an armful of... clothes. From the laundry. “I bought some things before I left Atlanta, then I ordered some other stuff from a 24-hour delivery service.” She’s smiling. I think I should smile, but I’m too tired.
She sets the clothes beside me and strokes my knee. It’s too much. I scurry off the bed before I realize that’s crazy. Then I look around, searching out an excuse for it. But I can’t think straight. I turn back toward the bed and right my IV lines.
Damnit...
She acts like she doesn’t notice I just freaked out. She lays a pair of boxer-briefs and long, dark gray pants over the bed’s rail. I manage the underwear, but my hips hurt. I feel my heartbeat in the bones. My hands can’t seem to hold onto the pants.
I get back on the bed and turn away from her. I cover my face with my arm.
“I can help you get your pants on,” she says in a voice that sounds like sunny clouds. “You helped me out of mine so many times, it’s only fair, right?”
“I don’t need them,” I rasp.
“Okay then. No pants. I’m going to untie this robe if that’s okay. Get your chest bare. If you don’t mind?”
I grunt, because that towel’s on my thigh—and I can feel my dick throb, somewhere...
She washes my hips and belly, gently. I can’t feel myself like normal, but I can pay attention to the rhythm of her movement. And it’s slow. I’m not embarrassed. I would be—if not for this.
My balls... They feel... full. I’m surprised to find I want to touch them.
I want her to touch them.
Can I ask her? Would she jack me off like this? Or is it too fucked up?
She drags the towel over