“It’s been three days. Three days of you barely being conscious and then thrashing around like a fish on land.” Ambrose looks haunted. I don’t want to tell him that three days isn't bad. Recently, I’ve had bouts that have lasted over five days.
“Let me get you some water.” Ambrose picks up a glass from the side table before sliding his arm under my shoulder and lifting me to take a drink.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, even though I’m weak. I’m not sure I could’ve sat up by myself yet.
“Do you always wake up so grumpy?” Ambrose lifts a sly brow as he helps me back down and sets the water on the bedside table.
“Yes.” I’m a notoriously deep sleeper and am usually pretty grumpy when I wake up.
Ambrose stands over the bed with his hands on his hips. “What else do you need? Food. Bathroom,” he says to himself, like obviously that’s what I need. And he’s not wrong.
Do I want Ambrose carrying me into the bathroom, though? No.
“If you could just help me walk to the bathroom.”
Ambrose tsks. Before I know it, he has one arm under my knees, the other around my shoulder, and he’s lifting me out of bed. I gasp and cling to his neck. I'm not tiny by any means.
“Put me down. You’re going to drop me.”
“So little faith in me.” Ambrose shakes his head.
“You’re not the problem,” I huff out, but Ambrose ignores me and sets me down once I reach the bathroom.
“If I hear a clunk, I will be coming in.”
Ignoring him, I shut the door before slowly making my way over to the toilet. It takes me far too long to pee, wash my hands, brush my teeth, and get the door back open, but Ambrose is waiting patiently for me on the other side. He scoops me back up in his arms and takes me straight to bed.
“Stay right there.” Ambrose points to the bed, as if I’m going anywhere, and then disappears into the hallway. I don’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going. I let my head flop back on the pillow and assess my body. Whenever my curse hits, I always ache for a few days after. It’s sort of like getting hit by a bus, or at least what I imagine that would feel like. I’m always tired afterward, and a little foggy.
Ambrose comes rushing back into the bedroom with a tray full of bottles of water, juice, and sports drinks. He also has some crackers, an assortment of chips, and it looks like he made sandwiches. I don’t know how he's juggling everything without dropping it.
Ambrose sets his collection of food and drinks on the nightstand, and then stares at me. I run a hand over my hair, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. I’m sure I look horrible. I’ve been sweating and rolling around until my hair is a tangled mess.
In all honesty, Ambrose doesn’t look much better. He follows my gaze and looks down at his rumpled clothing with a frown.
“I need a shower. You need a shower.”
I shake my head. Is he hinting at what I think he is?
“I’m not going to take a shower with you.”
“Not for fun reasons, Piper. I’m not a monster. Let’s conserve water. Be good stewards of the land.”
Laughter bubbles up from my throat. “I can barely stand, Ambrose.”
“Exactly why you need me there to help. I’ll wash all your hard-to-reach parts.”
“Ambrose.” My laughter is full and raspy since my voice hasn’t been used much in the past few days.
Ambrose places his hand over his heart. “Piper, I promise I won’t do anything untoward. Let’s get cleaned up, then we can have some snacks, and watch some really bad reality television, in between napping for the rest of the day.”
That sounds incredible, actually. Before I come to my senses, I tell him okay.
This time when Ambrose tries to pick me up to carry me to the bathroom, I push him away.
“If I can’t stand on my own, then I’m not ready for a shower.”
Ambrose looks like he’s ready to fight me. Instead, he walks beside me as if he’s expecting my legs to crumble underneath me at any moment. They might.
