JB: Sorry that you felt cheated. It felt like it was better putting up that than nothing though. Cause then you woulda been waiting until now for a new chapt. And honest reviews are perfectly okay with me.
Esuedros: I don't think I'll be leaving this story behind for a new one. Minus oneshots, this will be the last Cadley fic that I write. Thank you so much for reviewing!
Nameless: Well, my impatient child, here you go! Finally an update so you will stop bugging me! -giggles- ILU. And now instead of Stats...I should be doing Civ. Gr. But I read over 100 pages today...so I think it's all good.
Eva: Thank you so much for reviewing!
Amazon: No, it's definitely my fault we haven't talked lately. School has devoured my life. The only free time I get...I seemed to be whisked away by someone. Glad you liked Remy's POV!
Melissa: I think I liked Cam's pov better...but maybe that's just 'cause I wrote it first. Now I have this Blue's Clues image if you jumping into my story. xD
YDPP: Eh...I doubt she'll be emotionally scarred for the rest of her life. I mean...it's not like she killed the guy and it was out of defense.
Lessthan13: Rabidnarphobia? Omw...Rabidnarphobia would so be my word of the day if PlushPanda didn't already invent Plush-dar for me. Maybe I need two words of the day!
Writing: Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it!
Shan: Stats is totally overrated...especially that test today. My prof looks like a garden gnome...so now...if I daydream about SF in class, I daydream about Kutner crushing him. xD
Ilessthree: I'm glad you liked it! Yes, I will be making you wait forever. Lol.
Ilive: Stats is evil. See above garden gnome reply to Shan. Ha. Thanks for reviewing!
Lessthan13: I can deal with this pattern. It makes me look more popular. -wink- Glad you liked the kiss. I had fun writing it...from both POVs. I had to wait 24 chapts to be able to write the perfect kiss. It was a killer wait for me too. Lol.
Ina: Bad day? -frown- I hope things are going better for you!
More: Thanks for the suggestion!
Don: You had a Rabidnar-marathon? Awesome. xD Thank you so much for reviewing!
Meva: Well, I think we all despise rape. It's an awful thing. But...awful things often make for gripping stories, imo. Glad you decided to read it. Thanks for reviewing!
Charmed: I'm glad you like it. I can't promise a lack of 'scenes' to come tho. Cause well...there will be more kissing and eventually things will be focused for awhile on Cam feeling comfortable enough with Remy to take it beyond that. Glad you like it...and that you like Batman. =]
I hope I didn't miss anyone. It's pretty late and I'm getting ready to collapse.
Sorry it took so long to update! I'm been swamped between school work, attempting to have a social life, and now I'm involved with Wilde For World (Feel free to message me or look at my profile if you wanna know more about that! It's amazing!)
Anyway...a lot of the general ideas in this chapt (especially toward the end) come from my RP with PlushPanda (who is awesome to cowrite with!!!). I'd ramble more about that, but she might lovingly beat me up. xD But anyway...we co-thought a bunch of little things I added in.
Remy's pov won out...so here's another one from her perspective.
Remy's POV:
You wait for her to state she's decided to leave. It becomes apparent in your mind that you've somehow managed to fuck up again and chase her away. It's probably because your tough-guy look has completely crumpled. Sure, you shot a guy for her, but that was then and this is now. Silent sobs rack your body, leaving you feeling emotionally naked with all of your feelings on complete display.
It feels like she's playing with your heart. She kissed you and then told you she was leaving. You can't believe all the walls you built up over the years were stripped down so quickly to the point where you actually pleaded with her to stay. Doesn't she see that you want her? Maybe you just don't have enough of yourself left to give to someone like Cameron. The worst part is, even though you want her to stay, you really just need her to be with whoever makes her happy.
"I - I have t-to…" You motion toward the living room as you try to stop crying long enough to form words. You're not even sure what you have to do first. Your couch is stained with blood and you just want to get it out of your apartment as soon as possible. Then again, the police are coming and you should get dressed. Your arm is also engulfed in so much pain that you're sure an entire bottle of painkillers couldn't even make it feel better. Lifting your good hand to hide your face, you turn and attempt to escape but she puts her arms out to stop you. You're trapped against the wall again and you lean back against it, slowly sliding so you're sitting on the floor. Keeping your hand over your face, you subtly glance up at Cameron.
"I th-thought you wanted me to g-go," Cameron whispers, dropping one hand to her side and making the other a fist in front of her mouth. "Remy, I…" Her voice trails ago and she sobs quietly a few times against her hand. Shaking her head, she kneels down in front of you in between your legs. "Look at me," she pleads, gently prying your hand away from your face. "Are you okay?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" you choke, letting your hand fall to your side. You carefully rest your injured arm on your lap, trying to keep it from being jostled too much. You don't know what to say to her. There's so much the two of you need to talk about that you don't even know where to start. Sniffling quietly, you stare at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. As you wait for her to answer on whether or not she's okay, you slowly stroke your arm just where the cloth ends with the tips of your fingers.
"Let me look, Rem," she says quietly and carefully slides a hand under your wrist. "I'll be gentle," she promises, slowly starting to unwrap it.
You watch until she starts to uncover a bruise in the shape of Joe's hand and then you can't look anymore. Heaving a sigh, you close your eyes and lean your head back against the wall. The two of you should have never even taken the day off. This might not have happened if you had both been at work. You feel her finish unwrapping your wrist, but she doesn't do anything to it after that. For several seconds, you think she's just examining it without touching it, but the looking goes on for far too long. "What?" you ask quietly, slowly opening your eyes.
"Wha-?" Cameron can't seem to form words. "I…Do you realize how dangerous this is?!" she whispers in a strained voice.
When you look at her, her eyes are wide in horror and her mouth is slightly agape. You quickly glance down at your arm, staring in mortification as you finally remember the cuts you carved into yourself. The '13' looks particularly red and swollen, making you sure it'll probably scar like that. You suddenly realize why you put the '13' there to begin with; to avoid moments like this. You pull your arm back to hide it, but you know it's too late.
"Remy, what did you do?" she whispers, shaking her head. She grabs your arm by the elbow and pulls it back toward herself, slowly tracing one of the cuts with her finger. "My God, Remy, why did you-"
"I need a drink," you cut her off with the first thing that comes to mind. You had been wrong when a few minutes ago you didn't think you could feel anymore ashamed of yourself. It suddenly slips your mind that the police will be back. You just need to drink whatever liquor you own and get away from everything for a moment. When you attempt to stand, Cameron grabs the back of your nightgown and yanks you back down to the floor. "Are you trying to sprain my tailbone too?" you snap, narrowing your eyes at her. "Let go."
"A drink is the last thing you need," she says quietly, keeping a tight grip on the back of your nightgown. She doesn't seem angry like you expect her to be. It's nearly impossible to read her emotions, but she definitely doesn't seem mad at you. "Why didn't you talk to me?" Tears are coursing her cheeks and she tries to look you in the eye, unashamed that she's crying.
"Let go," you repeat, though you don't know the point anymore. She's already figured out your strength is usually just one big mask. How were you supposed to talk to her with everything going on? Though who were you kidding? You would've never talked to her about it anyway. You furiously rub at your eyes and try to escape her firm grip on you. "Cameron, let me up," you hiss through your teeth, reaching behind you to pry her hand off your nightgown. Her grip is too tight but you attempt to get up anyway.
"Stop it," Cameron warns you. She sits down fully and pulls you sideways against her, intertwining your legs with one of hers. She lets go of your nightgown but before you can attempt to escape her, she wraps her arms around you. "Is that really what you want, Rem?" she whispers, pressing her lips against your ear. "Because you're not putting up a very good fight."
"Because I'm tired." Your voice is supposed to go up a few octaves but instead comes out in a mumble. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you squeeze your eyes shut. You sniffle and drop your hand back down to your lap then open your eyes and turn your head to look at her. You just shot someone! You have no idea what you want or what you deserve. You want to tell her that but it seems selfish to focus on your own problems when she's worse off than you are.
There's a knock on the door and you both jump, Cameron more so than you. Her grip on you tightens and she immediately hides her face against your shoulder, shaking with silent sobs.
"We have to get up," you inform her, slowly rubbing circles between her shoulder blades with your good hand. It's illogical, but you're afraid it's going to be Joe at the door and you're sure she's feeling the same way. "I can't move until you do." You glance toward the living room, not quite ready to face the police. You'd rather spend the rest of the day in the hall with Cameron.
She disentangles your legs but waits a moment before unwrapping her arms from around you. Her chin quivers as she lifts her head and wipes at her eyes with shaky hands. Her nose is running and her face is red and splotchy from crying and you're sure you look nearly identical. Another hard knock on the door causes her to jump again.
"It's okay," you whisper. You feel like a hypocrite trying to comfort her while your heart feels like it's about to beat right out of your chest. "It's just the police." Rubbing at your own face, she slowly get to your feet. "Come on," you try to convince her, reaching your good hand down to help her up.
Cameron glances up at you then takes your hand and lets you pull her to her feet. She laces her fingers with yours and follows you to the door. You're a few feet away from it when she notices the couch cushion and comes to a halt, staring silently at the blood.
"I haven't had a chance to get rid of it yet," you explain, unable to look without feeling sick to your stomach. As a doctor, the sight of blood is the last thing that should bother you, but seeing it on your couch and knowing what it's from revolts you. You let go of her hand and walk to the door, peering through the peephole at the man in uniform. Gathering your courage, you slowly turn the knob and pull the door open. It makes a screeching noise and sounds ready to fall off the hinges, most likely from being crashed into and then flung open by the police.
"Officer Manzano," the man introduces himself immediately, grabbing his badge from the pocket of his shirt and flipping it open to prove his identity to you. "I'm here to take your statement."
You step to the side and let him in then close the door behind him. Glancing at Cameron, you realize she's still distracted by the blood. "Allison," you say quietly, taking a few steps toward her.
Cameron flinches and looks down at the floor. She rubs at her arm then quickly crosses her arms tightly across her chest and glances up at Officer Manzano. "I'll talk first," she offers, seeming to be attempting to distract herself.
Officer Manzano grabs a small notebook and pen from his pocket then nods his head at her.
-----
It takes a little over two hours for everything to be said and clarified. You feel like you repeated the same things twenty times and keeping your patience wasn't easy. Officer Manzano ended up sitting on your recliner and even though it was unprofessional, Cameron was slouched against your side. You have an arm wrapped around her by the time you feel you've stated all the facts, afraid she'll fall over if you let go. She looks like she can barely keep her eyes open.
"I would advise you both to contact your lawyers," the officer states as he finally gets to his feet. "Make sure you're in contact with someone who can defend you if he pleads non-guilty and charges you with assault."
You stare at him blankly for a moment, not comprehending his words. "Charges us for assault?" you ask disbelievingly, shaking your head slowly.
"You did shoot him in the shoulder," Manzano reminds you. "It looks like you have nothing to worry about though. I'll be in touch. In the mean time, take care of yourselves." He nods at the two of you then makes his way to the door.
"Thank you." You try to sound sincere but you're too drained to put much emotion in your voice. Your eyes follow him out the door until he shuts it behind him then you glance down at Cameron. "You need to go to bed." You're not sure what time it even is, but that doesn't matter. You're both exhausted. "I'll be there soon, okay?"
She's still for a moment then slowly nods her head. "I'm going to get some water first." She straightens herself up and rubs at her eyes then heads toward the kitchen.
Your main goal before turning in for the night is getting your couch out of your apartment. It doesn't feel like enough to just dispose of the pillow. You watch Cameron disappear into the kitchen then walk to the door and open it. Assuming no one cut a hole through the wall to put the couch in your apartment to begin with, you figure it should fit out the door.
"Remy, why were the police here?!" Rebecca exclaims, walking quickly down the hall toward your door. "I got home and there was a cop car out front!"
Scowling, you turn your back to her. The only person you want to be around right now is Cameron. Thinking if you ignore Rebecca, she might go away, you walk over to your couch and flip the cushion so the blood is no longer visible. "You might want to move," you comment, glancing back to see her stand in your doorway. Unable to push the couch with both arms, you put all your strength into pushing it with your side and shoulder. It slides a few inches and leaves you quickly exhausted and out of breath. "Mother-fucking son of a bitch," you hiss under your breath.
Rebecca stares at you in silence then lets herself in your apartment and walks over to and the couch. "Move over," she says, nodding at you.
You step to the side so she has room to help. You lean sideways against the couch again and she leans forward to push it with her hands. The two of you manage to turn it relatively easily then slide it to the door. "I'm taking it out for the garbage man," you comment as you slide it into the hall, letting her know it isn't just going to be sitting outside your door.
"If that's what you want," she answers simply, giving you a wary glance. "Are you okay?"
You don't answer, tired of talking. Grunting quietly, you push all your weight against the couch, nearly falling when it moves. It's hard to imagine yourself feeling so weak that Rebecca is stronger than you and easily pushing the couch toward the exit. Your chest starts to feel tight from the overexertion and once you get the couch outside, you stop and let her push it to the curb.
The blasts of cold air that hit you are painful against the bare skin on your arms and legs. You curl your toes against the frozen ground, realizing you don't even have shoes on. Squeezing your eyes shut, you lean forward with you good hand on one of your knees and try to catch your breath. As soon as you start wheezing, you straighten up and drag yourself back inside, leaving Rebecca to deal with the couch.
Cameron is just coming out of the kitchen when you walk in. "Remy, what's wrong?" she asks immediately, shutting the door behind you and sliding an arm around you as she follows you on your hasty walk back to the bedroom. Her eyes widen slightly when you start coughing.
You don't have the willpower to ask her to just leave you alone right now. The coughing worsens and you turn your head away from her, afraid you'll be restricting air to your lungs if you cover your mouth. "I'm okay," you assure her even though you're gasping for air by the time you reach the doorway of your room. You walk inside then slowly sit down onto the bed and lean forward.
"Remy, no, you're not," she says in a serious tone, placing one hand on your arm and the other on your lower back. Her hand starts rubbing small circles on your lower back. "You sound like you're having an asthma attack." She rubs her hand up and down your arm, the friction warming you up a bit.
"I am," you mumbled between gasps. Your inhaler is in the nightstand right next to your bed but you can't move to retrieve it. Tears begin to sting your eyes due to how much your coughing and you attempt to lean forward further but Cameron catches you by the shoulder and forces you to sit up straight.
"Do you have an inhaler?" she asks calmly, moving her hand from your arm to your chest. She lets her hand rest where she can feel your racing heart. You expect your mind to travel to her hand going a bit lower, but the only thing you can think about it trying to get oxygen.
"Nightstand," you choke out, squeezing your eyes shut as sudden, sharp pains begin to tear at your lungs with every struggled inhalation. "Fuck," you whisper, rocking yourself slowly to stay calm. You feel Cameron leave your side and hear her start rustling through your nightstand, even though the sound of your wheezing nearly drowns out that of her going through your things. She grabs your good hand and places the inhaler in it, quickly curling your fingers around it so you don't drop it.
You shake the piece of plastic then gratefully bring it to your mouth and let the medicine fill your restricted airway as you press down on the pump. It barely helps the first time and after a few moments you're forced to use it again. Cameron returns to your side and begins rubbing your back between your shoulder blades. The medicine slowly begins to take effect and your breathing slows, but instead of putting the inhaler back, you lower your hand to your lap and keep a tight hold on it.
"Do you want some hot tea or something warm?" Cameron asks. She stops rubbing you back and kneels on the bed then props up some of the pillows. She sounds calm and composed, but when you look back at her you notice her hands are shaking slightly.
"No," you answer in a hoarse voice then clear your throat. The inhaler might get lost if you fall asleep with it in your hand so you reluctantly reach over and place it on your nightstand where you'll be able to grab it if you need it. Your chest is still a bit tight and you let your hand rest up near your throat as you focus on breathing slowly. "Are you okay?"
"As okay as I can be," she answers, pulling the blankets back. "Maybe you should change into something warmer."
"Right." You're freezing from being outside, but you're unsure if your shaking is from cold or the medicine making your quivery. Knees weak as you get to your feet, you steady yourself with a hand on the bed for a moment before walking over to your closet. "We need to buy a new couch," you comment as you open the door, trying to make small talk to calm your nerves. "Do you want to go looking after work tomorrow?" You begin to wonder if either of you will even be able to get yourselves up in the morning to go to work tomorrow. Picking out clothes has never been something that takes you a particularly long time, but you find yourself staring blankly into your closet.
"If you want to," she answers. "It's probably bad for us to keep ourselves locked up at home."
You nod in agreement and finally grab a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants from your clothes. It's not like home is any safer than anywhere else now. You pull your nightgown up over your head and toss it on the floor, keeping your back to Cameron. "We can drag Kutner with us," you suggest, figuring that might make both of you feel safer. "I don't think Taub will want to go furniture shopping." You pull the sweatshirt over your head then put your pants on and turn to face her.
"Neither will Kutner," she answers, rubbing at her eyes. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "But he likes you, so he'll go."
"You're not going to let that go, are you?" you ask, breathing a quiet laugh of amusement then trying not to cringe at the discomfort in your chest. "It doesn't matter if he likes me," you inform her as you walk over to the bed and sit down beside her. "Because," you explain, pulling her closer to you with your good arm, "I like you."
"Mm." Cameron snuggles into your embrace, letting her head rest on your shoulder. She looks exhausted enough to fall asleep right there and then. "I think we've already established that I like you back," she mumbles.
"Have we?" you reply, burying your face against her hair before realizing you can't breathe that way and being forced to pull back. "Whatever feelings you have for Wilson are making me insecure," you tease, managing a slight smirk.
"Don't be a smartass," she grumbles, shooting you a scolding look. She reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ear then lowers herself down against the pillows. "Are you okay enough to lie down?"
You nod once then slowly lower yourself down beside her. It's a bit harder to breathe, but you try not to let on that you're struggling. You watch as Cameron closes her eyes then let your eyes fall shut also.
-----
"You wanna play Russian Roulette, Allison?!" Joe yells as he pushes the gun hard against Cameron's forehead.
You stand a few feet away and stare helplessly as Cameron repeatedly cries the word 'no' and struggles to get away. Somehow you need to get the gun away from him, but you're terrified he'll shoot her if you approach him.
"Shut the fuck up!" Joe yells at her, his nails digging into her arm. "Shut up before I pull the fucking trigger!"
The terror you have is overwhelming and staying calm is nearly impossible. "Cameron," you say slowly, trying to keep your voice controlled and not let on top what you're feeling. "Listen to him before he pulls the damn trigger."
She looks completely horrified; even worse than how she looked the night she had been brought into the hospital after he raped her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clamps her hands over her mouth as if she needs them there to keep her from yelling. Sobs wrack her body and she suddenly grips the front of the shirt she's wearing and tugs it up over her mouth and nose. At first you're confused by the motion, but you quickly realize she's trying to get comfort out of something even as little as your scent. You fight the urge to rush over to her and wrap her protectively in your arms, because that could get both of you killed.
Joe glances back and forth between the two of you then smirks and pulls the trigger. There's a loud bang and all you see is blood before everything goes black.
You snap awake with a gasp, opening your eyes and scrambling into a sitting position. It takes a moment before you realize you're in your bedroom. The fear engulfing you fades slightly but your chest is tight again and you fumble around on the nightstand until you find your inhaler. Bringing it to your lips, you glance over at the clock and press down on the pump as you inhale as deeply as possible. You're not sure what time you went to bed, but it's nearly one in the morning. Coughing, you exhale and put the inhaler back then look over at Cameron.
Cameron looks like she's sleeping relatively peacefully for once. She moved a few inches away from you sometime while you were both sleeping and is stretched out on her stomach with one hand up near her face and the other sprawled out to the side.
Letting out a slow breath, you wipe some of the cold sweat from your forehead then reach over to wake her. Your quivering hand hovers a few inches above her shoulder but you decide to just let her sleep. She looks completely relaxed and you don't have the heart to wake her up. Now is a good time to break into your stash of alcohol anyway.
Trying not to move the bed too much, you scoot over to the side then get to your feet and sneak out of the room. All of the lights are still on because you had neglected to turn them off before you went to bed. It makes you feel safer to be able to see everything around you without having to flip a switch and be in fear of surprise.
Walking into the kitchen, you groan upon seeing a puddle on the floor and Batman hiding under the table with his tail between his legs. It's not like you can be angry at him or blame him though since it's your fault no one took him out before you went to bed. Not in the mood for cleaning, you grab a wad of paper towels and drop them on the ground then turn your back to the dog and open the cupboard you usually keep the liquor in.
"What the fuck?" you mumble to the bare cupboard and narrow your eyes. There were definitely bottles of alcohol in there last time you checked. What kind, you weren't sure, but there had definitely been liquor in the cupboard. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you turn and come to a halt as you notice the empty bottles near the sink. Fortunately, you're too tired to be as pissed off as you should be or you might storm down the hall and start yelling at Cameron. She was the only way this could have happened.
Silently fuming, you sulk to the refrigerator and open it then pull out a jug of water. It makes a loud thump as you half toss it on the kitchen table and Batman scurries into the living room. Not bothering to comfort the damn dog, you open the freezer for ice cubes. Instead of grabbing ice cubes though, you find yourself pulling out a full gallon of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. It's not even close to alcohol, but it's at least better than water. Abandoning the water on the table, you grab a spoon from your silverware drawer then make your way into the living room and collapse onto your recliner.
"Life fucking sucks," you inform Batman as he leaps up onto the chair with you. "You're lucky you're a dog." You pull the lid off the ice cream and toss it on the coffee table then dig your spoon into it and work on devouring it. Realization that cold is one of the worst things for asthma tugs at the back of your mind, but you keep eating, possibly trying to make yourself feel worse as a punishment for breaking down in front of Cameron.
-----
Unlike alcohol, ice cream leaves you still feeling empty. Halfway through the gallon, you're starting to get nauseas and cold, but you're desperate to feel full and comforted. Breathing has become a slight challenge again and you're making a quiet wheezing noise every time you inhale. Batman started to beg after your first few bites and he's becoming hard to resist. With a frustrated sigh, you dip your finger into the ice cream then let him lick it off.
"Remy, what are you doing?" Cameron scolds, walking into the living room. She squints at you in a half asleep manner and tilts her head to the side.
"Eating," you answer, grabbing your spoon again and shoving more ice cream in your mouth to avoid talking. You glance up at her and take in her disheveled appearance, wishing you felt well enough to fully enjoy how adorable she looks.
"Did the two of you eat all of that?" she answers, shaking her head and walking over. "You're going to make yourself sick." She crosses her arms impatiently and attempts to stare you down.
"Vodka would do the same," you mumble, scooping up another spoonful. After a moment of just staring at it, you lift your arm and hold the spoon up near her mouth.
She seems to watch the uneven rise and fall of your chest for a second then narrows her eyes at you. "Do you want to be rushed to the hospital?" she asks, trying to sound angry but failing. "Go put the ice cream away."
"You know you want some," you answer, continuing to hold the spoon in front of her mouth.
"I'm allergic to peanut butter," she states, staring at the ice cream.
"You're a liar," you accuse. "You eat peanut butter with Wilson for lunch all the time now."
When she narrows her eyes at you again, you arch a brow and shrug your shoulders, still offering her the ice cream.
"I'm putting it away," she states before leaning forward and eating the ice cream. Licking chocolate off her lips, she grabs the spoon and carton from you then takes a few bites as she carries it back out to the kitchen.
"Figures," you murmur, glancing over at Batman. You sink back against the chair cushion and let your head lull to the side, waiting for her to come back and lecture you about eating so much ice cream.
Cameron comes back in the room carrying a glass of water, a clean spoon, and a bottle of Nyquil.
"You don't feel well?" you ask, furrowing your brows as you study the Nyquil bottle.
"I feel fine," she answers, putting the water on the table before uncapping the bottle. "You don't have any sleeping pills in your medicine cabinet."
"You were in my medicine cabinet?" you ask a bit too quickly, immediately looking up at her. You curse not thinking before you reacted and look away from her again, waiting for the lecture on Ecstasy too.
"Yes," she replies. "Multiple times." She crouches in front of you and pours the Nyquil on the tablespoon and holds it close to your mouth. "Open."
You stare at her, shocked she didn't bring of the pills. As curious as you are, you're not going to risk letting her know about them if she somehow didn't see them. "I'm fine without sleep. I don't need Nyquil," you inform her, wrinkling your nose at the medicine. "It's gross."
"You're tired," Cameron argues, frowning at you. "You'll sleep the rest of the night if you take it. I'm not letting you sit out here and eat us out of house and home. Open."
"I ate too much," you tell her, trying to sound pathetic. "I'll throw up if I put anymore in my stomach." You glance at her with a pitiful look but she doesn't seem to be backing down.
"Then I'll get you a bucket. Take the medicine," she demands, keeping her voice firm but soft. She holds the spoon to your lips and arches a brow in the same manner you did when you were trying to feed her ice cream.
Scowling, you lean forward and swallow the medicine from the spoon then scrunch up your face in disgust.
Cameron carefully pulls the spoon from your mouth and puts it on the table with the medicine. She picks up Batman and kisses his head then places him on the ground and sits on the chair beside you. Leaning forward, she grabs the glass of water then hands it to you.
"Why are you even awake?" you ask then rub your tongue against the roof of your mouth in attempts to get rid of the disgusting taste. The glass feels warm and you just hold it for a few seconds before you take a few sips of the water, scrunching up your face in disgust when you realize it's hot. It helps with the wheezing and tightness in your chest though, so you drink it slowly.
"I got scared," she answers, leaning to the side and reclining the chair. "I started dreaming and you weren't there when I woke up."
"Sorry." You glance away from her in guilt. You think about telling her you got scared too but the words never leave your mouth. Covering your mouth with your arm, you cough a few times then lean forward and place the empty glass back on the table before lying down beside her.
"Don't worry about it." She turns sideways and props her head up with one hand then uses the other to remove stray strands of hair from in front of your face. The two of you fall into silence as she plays with your hair until you get drowsy enough that your eyelids begin to droop.
"Do I get to kiss you goodnight?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. Her hand stops grooming your hair and she traces her fingers down the side of your face to your jaw before pulling it away.
"I taste like Nyquil now," you murmur in a groggy voice, turning your head slightly to face her. You're shocked that she wants to kiss you again. The first time you semi-understand now. You were both upset. But to kiss you again means whatever relationship you've formed definitely means something.
She hovers over you and tenderly presses her lips to yours, eliciting a quiet humming noise from you. She pulls back and rests her head on your shoulder. Her arms wrap tightly around you and she intertwines your legs.
Your breath catches in your throat, this time from the kiss, but you're too tired to put much thought into it. Letting your eyes fall closed, you drape your injured arm over her in a loose embrace and fall back to sleep.