I know you'll help us when you're feeling better and we realize that it might not be for a long, long time,
but we're willing to wait on you.
We believe in everything that you can do, if you could only lay down your mind.
I want you to try to help yourself.
…
The thing about Cal is, when he isn't being an aggravating and overbearing ass, he can be the most genuine and caring man. Maybe not to everyone, but to the people he cares about. So when he knocked at my door at 11 at night, with a bottle of red wine and 2 glasses and a smile plastered on his face, I wasn't entirely surprised.
"I didn't know we were having a sleepover, Cal." I said, with raised eyebrows and a smirk. I stepped to the side so he could come in. I'd be a fool not to notice him look me up and down as he walked past me. What he saw, was the ever so professional Doctor Gillian Foster in pink pyjama shorts and a black tank top. I'd also have to be deaf not to hear him mutter 'aye, aye.' I rolled my eyes and followed him into the living room. I watched him as he threw himself onto my couch, placing the wine and the glasses on the floor. I sat down next to him, tucking my legs beneath me. "So what's the occasion?"
He looked at me, and turned his body so that he was facing me completely. "How are you, Gill?" he asked, suddenly any sense of humour that boiled within him in the last 5 minutes was completely gone. He looked concerned, head tilted to the side, studying me. I felt my throat burn a little, and my eyes felt sore. Quietly, I responded. "Well can't you see it on my face?"
"Yes, but I want to hear it from you." He never took his eyes off me. "Cal, she died. One of my patients, one of my friends, she died. I feel awful; I feel…I feel like I can't breathe." My lip trembled. "I feel-"He grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes. No more than one tear trickled down my cheek. He used his other hand to wipe it away, gently. "Gill, when my mother died, I felt absolutely shockin'. I know that there's no remedy, no cure for the sadness that you'll feel. But forgive me for this next cliché, as time really does heal everything. You won't ever forget 'bout her, but you'll move on, and you'll learn to smile again. Might take days, might take weeks, or might take months. Just don't ever feel alone, okay." He looked around my living room and noticed the mess, in my usually tidy home. "I'll help you, but I want you to try to help yourself, too.
I nodded. To be honest I had no idea what he meant, and I don't really think he did either, but his words comforted me. I could tell my eyes had probably reached that red stage. And my cheeks were more than likely flushed. Cal let go of my hand and put his arm around me, and pulled me so that I was lying with my head on his shoulder. I curled up my feet and closed my eyes.
When I woke up the next morning, around 6am, I was still laying against him on the couch, still in my pyjamas, him still in his jeans, wine untouched. I turned my head to take him in. His eyes still closed, asleep. I smiled, closing mine too. I could feel my eyes getting heavy again, and sleep was about to bring me back into its world, when I felt soft lips against my cheek, only for a second. I never had a best friend til' I met Cal.