14. Olga

Olga

I was dying. There was no other explanation for how bad I felt. I was dimly aware of Michael coming in to ask me about work, then making me sit up to take some Tylenol and drink a glass of water. After that I fell into a fitful sleep, full of fever dreams. The next time Michael came into my room I was shivering so hard my teeth were chattering.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice soft and kind. “You’ve been sleeping for a while.”

“Can’t. Warm. Up.” I moaned.

“Let me get you another blanket,” he said. “Where do you keep them?”

“Closet.” I was shaking so bad I could hardly talk.

Michael returned with a blanket, pulling it over the blanket and comforter I already had on top of me. I registered the weight of it, but it didn’t seem to add any warmth.

“How about I make you some hot tea?” he suggested. “That might help.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t really want tea, but I could tell Michael wanted to be helpful. I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes again, there was a cup of tea on the table and a warm body behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see Michael spooning me, his large body wrapped around mine, one thick arm banded across my waist.

“What are you doing?” I croaked, noticing that he was sleeping on top of the blankets.

“You asked me to hold you to help you warm up,” he reminded me, his voice sounding kind of weird.

As soon as he said it, I remembered. My head was on his biceps and my ass was nestled against his hips. I hoped I hadn’t said anything else embarrassing in my fevered state, like the fact that I regularly fantasized about having sex with him.

“You’re going to get sick too,” I said, trying to pull away from him, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

His arm tightened, keeping my body pressed against his. I didn’t hate it.

“Don’t worry about me, baby. Just feel better.”

I glowed under the affectionate name that I was pretty sure he didn’t mean to say. It made me wonder if Michael was feeling even a little bit of the attraction for me that I was feeling for him.

Not right now of course. I was too miserable to think about anything other than how miserable I felt. But the longer I lived here, the more obsessed with him I seemed to become.

Every time we were close, it was all I could do to resist grabbing his head and bringing him in close for a kiss. Sometimes I caught myself staring at him like the lovesick schoolgirl I was so many years ago. We were friends, and roommates. I knew it was wrong, but I was having feelings for him that were decidedly not friendly.

Maybe I was just suggestible or something. My parents and sister teasing me about us being in love must be messing with my head. I was sure Michael didn’t see me like that. Pretty sure, anyway.

Then again, a few nights ago when I was in the kitchen with him treating his scratched ankle, there was a moment where I was on my knees next to him and he gave me a look that made me think he was going to kiss me. Then he’d pushed to his feet and practically ran out of the kitchen, leaving me feeling both confused and horny.

“Thanks for warming me up,” I said, grateful that the shivering had stopped and I was feeling the tiniest bit better. “I really need to pee. And brush my teeth.”

“Are you up to eating some soup?” he asked. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“What time is it?” I frowned.

“A little after nine p.m.”

A glance towards the window confirmed that it was nighttime. How was it that I’d slept all day, and I still was feeling pretty terrible? I wasn’t particularly hungry, truth be told, but Michael was right, I should eat at least a little something.

“Yeah, soup would be good,” I agreed. “If it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. Do you want me to bring it in here, or would you like to go out and eat it on the couch?”

“Couch,” I said quickly.

Sick or not, if I spent too much more time snuggled in bed next to Michael I was going to grab him and kiss him or start wiggling my ass against the hard length of him I felt against my ass.

“Okay, I’ll see you out there.”

He scooted out of the bed, and I sat up slowly, not sure if it was because I was feeling shaky or because I was already feeling the loss of Michael’s warmth. I made my way to the bathroom and peed, then I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and pulled my tangled hair into a bun. I desperately needed a shower, but there was no way I had the energy to support that kind of effort.

“How are you feeling?” Michael asked as I shuffled out into the main living area, holding onto the walls for support.

“Like death,” I said honestly.

I plopped down on the couch, exhausted just from the walk across the apartment, and Michael was beside me immediately, handing me a bottle of water and more Tylenol. I gave him a grateful smile as I took it from him.

“Are you still cold?”

“Yeah,” I sniffled, feeling miserable.

He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping it around me.

“If this doesn’t work, let me know and I’ll find another blanket,” he instructed. “Take your Tylenol so we can keep your fever down, and I’ll get your soup.”

“You’re a good friend, Michael,” I said, giving him an earnest look. I had the urge to cry.

“It’s the least I can do after I brought germs home and infected you.”

“Well, we’ve had quite a few people sick at my office too, so it might not have been you,” I explained. “I just hope that you don’t get sick too.”

“Don’t worry, I have a strong constitution, and I’m popping echinacea and vitamin C like it’s my job.”

“Oh! Your job!” I remembered. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“No, it’s Friday.” He gave me a crooked smile. “You’ve been kind of out of it.”

Nutella leapt up on the couch, curling up in my lap, and I leaned back to rest my head against the back of the seat. Michael’s eyes seemed to warm, but maybe it was all part of my fever dream.

I must have dozed off again for a few minutes because the next thing I knew he was sitting next to me on the couch and encouraging me to wake up and eat some soup. He’d dug out a lap table from somewhere, and once I got settled, he handed me a large mug of soup and a sleeve of saltine crackers.

“Here’s some tea to go with it,” he said, handing me a steaming cup of liquid. “It’s a wellness formula.”

I took a sip and grimaced. “Yeah it tastes like a wellness formula,” I said. “Or that moisture that pools at the bottom of the trash can.”

Michael chuckled. “Come on now, drink your tea and eat your soup like a good girl, and then we can watch a movie or something.”

For some reason him calling me a good girl warmed my center. I had a flash of him calling me a good girl in a completely different context.

“Can we watch Labyrinth ?” I asked in a plaintive voice.

Michael was not a fan of that movie, but I found it comforting.

“Sure,” he said easily.

Damn, he really was the perfect man.

“I’m just kidding,” I said. “Let’s watch Iron Man .”

I took a taste of my soup and paused. I’d been expecting chicken, but this soup had tofu in it and a flavor I couldn’t identify.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Spicy Thai soup,” he said. “I ordered it while you were sleeping. Studies have shown it’s more effective at killing viruses than chicken noodle soup.”

“Really?” I asked, taking another taste. “It’s really good. Like I’d eat this even if I wasn’t sick. But not this tea, ugh.”

He playfully batted me on the arm. “Can’t win them all.”

I finished my soup and tea, then wrapped myself up in the blanket like a burrito, leaning against Michael. When he lifted his arm, I shifted closer, snuggling into his side and resting my head on his chest while relishing the feeling of his strong arm around me. The last thought I had before I fell asleep again was, I could get used to this.