I am sick. I am so sick it's like I've got the bubonic plague. Smart-ass Holly insists that my symptoms do not match that of the plague and that I probably am "simply afflicted by the common cold" but I think she spews utter bullshit. So, to keep the record straight, I have contracted the Black Death. My voice sounds like I am a zombie speaking for the first time after being dead since the time of Alexander the Great. My body feels as if I laid on the Indy-500 track and let all the cars roll over me for 500 miles on an oval-shaped track. My head feels as if it has been placed in a medieval torture device. My throat feels like a peacock has shoved it's entire feathery plume down it—so I can't stop coughing. Holly tells me I'm being "melodramatic" I tell her she's being an "asshole". Needless to say, things are pretty much back to the way they were.

I woke up this morning with her arm flung across my chest. After her little drunken ladder climb into my loft and the answer I wish I could take back she had stayed, too worried about climbing back down, and she fell asleep in my bed. If I were to be honest with myself, I had to admit waking up next to her was delightful. Too bad I woke up next to her as sick as I am. Sickness translates to crankiness, naturally. So that's where we were now. I was blaming her for brining the Black Death home in the form of an ugly blonde. She was telling me I was being immature while rushing around and acting as my nurse. I can't really figure out why she was bothering to take care of me with as rude as I've been to her this morning—yet she was. She has spent the morning bringing me tissues, getting the dehumidifier set up, bringing me Vitamin Water for the electrolytes and throat soothing tea for the sore throat. Only a few minutes ago she was rubbing Vick's Vaporub on my chest and explaining to me that it was a topical analgesic that would help suppress my cough. I nodded along as if this was new information for me because my mind and body was caught on the fact that Holly's hand was a mere inch or two from my breasts. The cream she was spreading across my chest was cold—but her hand was burning a blazing path across my skin. I had let out an exasperated sigh that stopped Holly's hand in its track. I clambered to find a suitable response to the question in her eyes.

"Holly" I whined, "This is going to stain my t-shirt."

It was weak, and I knew it.

"No, it's non-greasy. See, says so right here on the bottle."

She held the bottle out to me with her finger pointing at the text.

"Yeah, well, your hand is greasy…so when it mixes with the cream it will make it icky and gross…and I really like this shirt."

"Very mature, Gail."

"Thank you."

I smiled at her triumphantly. She finished rubbing the cream across my chest and in the small area between my upper lip and nose and hopped down. She was making me soup in the microwave (which she called the "science oven")now, and humming along with the tune in her head.

"Hey, shouldn't it be me who is taking care of you. After all, you did appear to be quite drunk last night. I bet the hangover is killer."

I said this to her my voice thick and full of razors.

"I'm fine, Gail."

She mumbled the response out quietly and I instantly felt bad for my harshness. If only I was brave enough to ask her what caused her to go out and drink in the first place—it was so unlike her. If only I told her that I kissed her because I couldn't imagine doing anything else. If only I told her I kissed her because I wanted that girl to know that Holly was special to someone. She was more than a fling—she was more than a one-night stand. She was better than all of that and she was certainly better than that girl could ever dream of being. If only I was brave enough to tell her I said "yes" because I was angry with her even though I didn't have any right to be. After all, I never bothered to tell her my feelings about it. Didn't that negate my right to be angry with her for wanting something I never told her I was interested in giving her? If only the walls I'd spent my entire life constructing allowed me to show some of this vulnerability to Holly. Unfortunately the walls were triggered to engage at full defense when I experienced disappointment and anger and right now I was experiencing both. So I silence my emotions and quipped with my snark. She made me some sort of noodle soup. And by noodle soup I meant tiny little noodles in a yellow broth.

"Why are you giving me noodles that look like little sperm swimming in urine?"

"First of all, that's gross. Secondly, the acidity of urine would kill real sperm. Thirdly, it's Lipton's extra noodle soup. It's what I eat when I feel sick or sad. I don't know. I thought it would cheer you up and make you feel a bit better. Clearly I was wrong. I can't cure asshole."

And I was….I was an asshole. I wish I was brave enough to show Holly that there isn't a "messy cold storage shed" where my heart should be. That I could have feelings and that I did have feelings. I had feelings for her. I wish I could show her the pull she had on me. Instead I simply stared down at the soup and mumbled out what I am sure seemed like an entirely ungrateful thank you.

I scarfed down Holly's sickness and sadness remedy and had to admit to myself that I did feel a bit better. I handed the bowl down to her and she did what she always yelled at me for not doing, she washed it immediately and put it on the drying rack. She crossed the room and climbed up the ladder to my bed and sat at the foot. She pulled her knees up to her chest and bowed her head. She looked as if she was in wild contemplation...and she was gorgeous. I could stare at her for hours and never become bored. Her hair was cascading softly down her shoulders and brushing across her knees. She had her hands clasped around her knees as if she were clinging to them as a flotation device in rough seas. She exhaled a small sigh and looked over in my direction. Her eyes were burrowing deep into mine as if she were searching for my soul to see if I actually had one. She scrunched her eyebrows and bit her lip as if she believed that the next words out of her mouth needed to be perfect because if they weren't they would end the world. Outwardly, I waited patiently. Inwardly, I waited ill at ease. When she finally spoke my heart began a thundering beat so hard and loud I was sure it would launch from my chest.

"I don't usually drink. I don't know. I had a bad day and I handled it poorly."

I waited silently, hoping she would elaborate on her day, but she didn't. Were we not even close enough that she felt she could tell me about such things?

"Look, you saved me from making a mistake I definitely would have regretted last night and I owe you one, roomie."

That one word stung. "Roomie". Evidently I was truly wrong. She obviously didn't have feelings for me at all. I plaster a fake smile on my face before I reply,

"Well, it would have been really awkward for me. I mean, I would have been forced to listen to that drunken sexscapade. Then I would have had to listen to you scramble to get her out of your bed this morning, and it would have woken me up. So I was really just saving myself the trouble. I don't want you to think I was doing it for you, that would be absurd and so unlike me."

"Well, you are very selfish."

"I am, you can go and sleep with as many ugly girls as you want…just not in our room where I have to hear it."

"Can I, now?"

There was a smile tugging at the right corner of her lips and I could tell she didn't believe me.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. Of course, really, there isn't enough alcohol in the world to get me into bed with the girl you came home with last night, but hey, I'm not you. Clearly my standards are a little higher."

"Oh, yeah?"

She was clearly amused now and I couldn't really figure out why.

"Yeah, I only kiss and have sex with models. And I would only date millionaire models."

"Is that so?"

Her grin widened.

"Absolutely." I deadpanned back at her.

"You kissed me."

Her lips were in a full-blown ear-to-ear smile now. Her nose crinkled a bit at the bridge. She looked fucking adorable.

Shit. My brain was scrambling to come up with a response. Clearly telling her that her sloppy drunk kiss sent a flash of color in front of my eyes and shivers throughout my body was not the way to go.

"Like…like I said. I had to get rid of that girl somehow and she was clinging to you like you were a lifeboat on the Titanic."

"Right, you said as much last night. The girl was really the only reason?"

Come on, Gail. All you need is ten seconds of outrageous courage. I willed strength to flow and straighten my spine. I willed the walls to crumble in my mind. I willed the gusto to return to my voice. I willed insane courage to make me whole. Plus, if it all blew up in my face I can blame the cold medicine for making me loopy. Come on, I just needed ten seconds.

1….

"No. Not the only reason."

2….