A Proscriptive Relationship (41 page)

“
But I don’t care about that—” I started.

“
But I do,” he responded with a frown. “You’re too young for me right now.”

“
My birthday’s next week though!” I protested, suddenly becoming anxious. “Then I’ll be a legal adult! Four years and a couple months isn’t that much of an age difference!”

“
Hence why I said ‘yet,’” he responded, now smirking.

I blinked at him. He waited a moment, his smirk slowing growing. That’s when I got what he said. He wanted me to wait until I was eighteen?

“
I won’t respond to your confession right now,” he continued. “I can’t. It’s not right. I can handle the student-teacher thing, but our age difference is another thing completely. Right now it’s illegal and obviously I need to be careful with the law. So I’m going to forget about your confession for now.”

“
So, when I’m eighteen—”

“
Tell me again,” he stated, his eyes piercing into mine.

I quickly looked away, clearing my throat. “But since you already know, doesn’t that ruin it?”

“
Know what?” he asked innocently. “Hmm, I wonder if the game is on . . .”

He turned on his television, putting it on the game. “Holly, go make me a cup of coffee.”

“
But it’s almost two o’clock in the morning,” I protested, glancing at the clock on the TV stand.

“
Who are you, my mom?”

“
No,” I responded in an irritated voice. “I’m just saying—”

“
Coffee,” he ordered. “Now.”

“
But it’s your house!”

“
Holly.”

“
Fine,” I muttered, pushing myself off the couch. “You know, you’re so—”

“
Amazing, I know, thank you,” he finished for me with a wide grin.

I rolled my eyes, but a grin made its way onto my face as well. Everything was still normal. Even after everything we had been through, after how much stress tonight had caused, it was normal. But the tough part was still ahead. How was I going to confess a second time to him?

LESSON twenty-eight

The smell of something burning woke me up. I sat up quickly, under the impression my house was on fire. For a moment I looked around the room in bewilderment, until I remembered I was at Mr. Heywood’s apartment. A blush made its way onto my face when I realized I was in his bed. Pushing that thought aside, I slid out from under the covers and headed towards the kitchen to investigate the source of the burning smell.

A few pillows and a blanket were lying askew on the couch. At least Mr. Heywood had the decency to sleep on the couch this time. I felt sort of bad, though. After all, I was the guest. I should have been the one sleeping on the couch. Or I guess we could have just slept in the same bed. We’d done it before . . .

I shook my head violently. No, we couldn’t sleep in the same bed! He was still my teacher, and I wouldn’t be eighteen for another week. It was a good thing he had slept on the couch. What was I thinking? My hormones needed to control themselves.

“Mr. Heywood,” I started, stepping into the kitchen area. “Are you—”

I let out a scream as my foot met on something soft, making me pull it back in surprise and lose my balance. I grabbed the counter and managed to catch myself before I fell to the floor, where I saw something that made my heart skip a beat.

Mr. Heywood was lying face down on the ground, motionless.

“Mr. Heywood?” I asked, bending over him.

When there was no response, I put my hand on his back and shook gently. When still no response came, my pulse picked up. I tried to roll him over. “Are you playing some kind of joke?” I asked harshly. “Because I’m not finding it very funny.”

Still no answer. With surprising force, I managed to roll him over onto his back. His head rolled limply to the side, his eyes shut. Panic coursed through me now. Either something was wrong, or he was a very good actor.

“Mr. Heywood!” I called, shaking his shoulders slightly. “Chris?”

Now when no answer came, I panicked. What was wrong with him? Leaning over him, I lowered my ear to his mouth, and relaxed slightly. He was still breathing at least. But his breaths were shallow and quick. I gently pressed a hand to his forehead and nearly pulled it back from shock. He was burning up!

I didn’t know how to care for a person with a fever. My mom always helped me, and as far as I could remember, and she hadn’t ever been sick in my life. I knew I had to get him off the kitchen floor at least.

He was too heavy to lift. Grabbing him by the arms, I began to pull him across the kitchen floor towards his bedroom. I brought him all the way up to the bed. Now came the tough part: getting him on it.

If I could get his front half up, then I could easily bring up his bottom half. But the question was; how was I going to do that? Maybe I could lift him up by his armpits? Well, it was worth a shot.

I wrapped my arms around him fully. When I quickly glanced at his face he looked back at me with wide eyes. My breath caught and I dropped him in shock, pushing myself back, blushing hard. He landed on the ground with a loud thud and a groan. I blushed even deeper and winced.

“Sorry!” I apologized, bringing myself closer. “Are you okay?”

“What am I . . .?”

He looked at me with an extremely confused expression. His expression, with his messy hair and worn-out look, made him look like a lost puppy and I couldn’t help but stare at him in awe. He was so cute!

“Ow,” he groaned, bringing a hand to his head.

How I wished I could take his picture. “What’s wrong?”

“Headache,” he said, shaking his head in dismissal. “Why are we on the ground?”

“Oh, um . . . you have a fever.”

“
That doesn’t explain why we’re on the ground.”

My face became hot again and I averted my gaze. “Um . . . well, you kind of passed out in the kitchen, so I tried to bring you to your bed . . . but I dropped you.”

He smirked slightly, but it was ruined by a sudden coughing fit. When it was over, he put his hand on the side of his bed, attempting to push himself up. I reached out my hand for support, but he ended up putting a hand on my shoulder, making me sink under the pressure as he managed to get himself to his feet. Then he collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.

“Holly.”

“Yeah?” I asked, straightening myself out.

“Get out.”

“Huh?”

“Go call Jeremy or something, just get out,” he ordered, his voice muffled by his comforter.

“What? Why?” I asked, a little hurt by his words. What did I do?

He flipped over onto his back and laid a hand across his eyes. “Not like that, Holly. I just don’t want you to get sick too. I’ll feel like it’s my fault.”

A frown slipped onto my face. Now that I was thinking about it, I realized it was probably my fault Mr. Heywood had suddenly gotten sick overnight. He had spent three hours in the cold rain searching for me. “I’m going to stay to take care of you.”

He chuckled. “I don’t need someone to take care of me, Holly. Go on a date with Jeremy or something.”

“We aren’t dating!”

He raised an eyebrow and I quickly looked away. That had come out more defensive than I had meant it to be. But then he chuckled again, ending in a cough. “If you want to help, go get me some cold medicine. It’s behind the mirror in the bathroom.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please.”

I stared at him in amazement. He must be sick, I thought. He never said please. Nodding, I started towards the bathroom, still blown away. As I passed the kitchen again, the burning smell filled my nose and my eyes widened.
Crap!
I had forgotten to figure out what the burning smell was.

Rushing into the kitchen, I immediately went to the oven. There was nothing on the burners, so I opened the oven door. Large clouds of smoke met my face as soon as the door opened. I coughed and stepped back quickly, trying to wave the smoke away. I located the oven dial and turned it off, still trying to clear the smoke around me. After a few moments I opened the oven again, peering in. Small, black, burnt mounds of . . . something were sitting on a silver tray. I closed the oven door again. I’d deal with those whatever they were later.

With a glass of water in one hand, and two small pills from the bathroom in the other, I returned to Mr. Heywood’s bedroom. He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands holding his head. I cleared my throat quietly and he looked up at me.

“Here,” I said, holding the glass of water out to him.

“My hands are shaking too hard to hold the glass,” he responded. “How about you pass it to me by mouth?”

I stared at him in shock, feeling heat creep across my face again. Then he started laughing and he took the glass away from me while I turned my head to the side.

“Holly, it’s no fun if you’re not looking at me when you blush.”

“M-Mr. Heywood, I think—”

“Chris,” he corrected me.

For a moment I stayed quiet, looking at him wonderingly. It had been forever since he had corrected me. It felt nostalgic. A smile crept onto my mouth, and I shook my head. “Um, Chris, I think you should rest for a while . . .”

“I’m hungry,” he complained. “I want to eat first.”

“I’ll make you something,” I offered, excited by the idea of being able to cook something for him while he was in need.

His facial expression told me he wasn’t sure if he wanted me to cook him something. “I think I’m—”

“I can cook,” I told him, a little resentfully. “Just because some of us aren’t professional like you, doesn’t mean we can’t cook.”

He grinned and laughed quietly. “Okay. There’s some can soup in the cabinet. You can handle that, right?”

“Yes,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him.

“Well, get to it.”

With a roll of my eyes, I exited the bedroom and headed for the kitchen again. A scowl appeared on my face as I huffed. Mr. Heywood really needed to stop teasing me. A part of me told me that was one way of how he showed he cared, but I tossed that thought away. He still was a jerk. But, he was a jerk I loved. How cliché.

As I passed the living room, a sharp ringing came from the coach. Peering in, I spotted Mr. Heywood’s cell phone on the table in front of the couch. I grabbed the phone and looked at it, wondering if I should bring it to him. My heart skipped a beat when I realized Jeremy was calling. After a second of hesitation, I hit the talk button and put the phone to my ear.

“Chris, you finally decided to pick up. Do you know how many times I tried calling—never mind. Did you find Holly? Is she okay? What happened with Shawn?”

“Um, it’s me.”

There was a silence on the other side of the line, and then I heard a deep sigh. “Holly.”

“Jeremy.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I told him, chewing my lip. “Are you?”

He laughed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know,” I responded, smiling sheepishly.

“Holly, I’m sorry about last night,” Jeremy apologized, making my eyes widen in surprise.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry—”

“No, I heard you,” I said, cutting him off. “But what are you apologizing for? Don’t! You didn’t do anything wrong. It was as you said; I was just being overdramatic. I should be the one apologizing for snapping at you! I’m also sorry I called you a liar and—”

“
Holly, breathe,” he ordered with a laugh. “It’s fine, I understand. You were just stressed out yesterday. I didn’t take anything seriously.”

“
I’m still sorry . . .”

“
Don’t worry about it,” he said easily. “I’m guessing things are okay now?” he asked, changing the subject.

I cleared my throat, glancing at the ground in embarrassment. “Oh, yeah.”

“
Where’s Chris?”

“In his bedroom. He has a fever.”

Jeremy laughed. “Well that’s what he gets for running around in the rain.”

“Jeremy, I really don’t know anything about helping sick people,” I said honestly. “Do you think maybe . . . you could come over and help me out?”

He was quiet for a minute. “Well, I guess.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to . . .”

“No, I don’t mind,” he assured me. “I just thought you’d like the alone time with Chris.”

A blush made its way onto my face again. “I don’t . . . it’s not . . . I mean I d-don’t . . .”

Jeremy laughed again. “Holly, you’re too cute.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, glaring at the wall.

“I’ll be over in about twenty minutes.”

“Okay, I’m going to make Mr. Heywood some soup.”

“Behave,” Jeremy responded in a singsong voice before I heard the click of the line hanging up.

I scowled, bringing the phone away from my ear to shut it, but something on the background caught my attention. It was the picture of Mr. Heywood pretending to kiss me. I stared at it in shock. Why was this his phone background? It was so embarrassing. I couldn’t leave it like this. I made a stupid face and took a new picture, replacing the old background with the new one.

I tossed the phone on the couch, still flustered. Why would he have that as his background? Suddenly it hit me. Jeremy’s words rang through my head:
if you ever get the chance, look at his cell phone
. It made sense now. But was it because . . .?

I shook my head. No, I couldn’t afford to assume things, and I wasn’t going to ask him about it. I made my way back to the kitchen to heat up his soup. It was the canned kind, so it only took about five minutes. When it was ready I returned to the bedroom.

“Mr. Heywood?” I said, going over to him. “Mr. Heywood? Are you sleeping?”

When he didn’t answer, I frowned. How could he have fallen asleep so quickly? I squatted by the bed, peering at him for a moment. How could someone be as handsome as him? Sighing, I reached over and shook him. He could sleep after he ate his soup.

“Wake up,” I said loudly. “Chris.”