Eternally North (21 page)

He picked up a piece of
my hair and began rolling it between his fingers. “As fucked up as
it sounds, last night was probably one of the most amazing nights of
my life, being with you like that, touching you, having you that
close. I like you, Tash. More than like, but I'm dealing with some
heavy things, things you can't know about and I'm struggling with
balancing doing what’s right and what I want. It's selfish and
wrong of me, but I have to have you in my life now that I've met you.
I want you, even if it can only be as a friend, if you'll agree? You
just make things… better for me. I don't know how else to explain
it. If I
can
explain it." He looked at me full of hope,
hope that I would forgive him, that his explanation would help us
move on, even if it wasn’t a full disclosure into the reason for
his frequent episodes of emotional whiplash.

One thing was for sure,
I knew I couldn’t stop liking him, he’d wormed his way into my
heart. Hell, he’d wormed in, set up shop and colonised! I didn't
know if his feelings towards me made me happy or whether I was
annoyed. I needed more time to process all of this. But if he was
being genuine and was trying to turn over a new leaf, who was I to
deny him?

Be open to every
opportunity, Tash!

“Of course, Tude, no
bother. I want you as a friend even if there can't be anything more.
I understand what it's like to work through personal shit.”

He cracked his smirk,
dimples out.

“What?” I asked.

“You’ve called me
Tude
, twice now,” he told me, his face all bashful.

“I have?”
I
have??? That’s bloody embarrassing.

He shifted closer,
smiling and tucking his hands under his cheek. “Mmm-hmm…I like
it. I’ve never had a nickname before.”

My heart fluttered.
“Well,
‘I'm glad to be of service’
...”

He grew all serious
again. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“I’m not telling
you how old I was when I lost my virginity, or my bra size, you pig!”
I scolded.

“What?
No
, I
wasn’t–" he spluttered.

“Gotcha!” I laughed
as loud as I could manage; it sounded like a pathetic croak.

He slow-clapped. “Good
one, Sunshine.”

“Sunshine?” I
asked, baffled.

He shrugged. “If I
get a nickname so do you.”

“But Sunshine? Why
Sunshine?”

He fidgeted, clearly
embarrassed. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he
said enigmatically, playfully tapping the end of my nose.

“
Okay!
How
very cryptic of you, as always. Now, fire away with your personal
question. I’m intrigued.”

He continued, fidgeting
with his hands. I reached out and stilled his fingers, nodding my
head in encouragement.

He coughed. “Erm…Well,
you said you were ill before, something before this hormone problem
you have now.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He adjusted his
position, leaning on his elbow, running his hand back and forth on
the bed sheet. “Well, I was wondering… what was wrong, you know…
before? When you were young. You don’t have to say if you don’t
want to,” he asked, looking very guilty for doing so.

“I don’t mind
telling you. It’s just I don’t necessarily advertise it as it was
years ago, and it’s in my past. I don't even mention my current
condition to anyone outside of my family. It's not who I am, I am not
defined by my illness, so why tell anyone about it?”

He reached out to hold
my hand, he must have thought I needed some support.

I sighed heavily. “I
had Leukemia when I was a kid. It was bad, and the doctors weren’t
sure that I would make it. Anyway, after a lot of treatment I did
make it through – full remission, no relapses. I just got stuck
with this bloody hormone problem a few years later, but other than
that I’m all good. My parents never really got over it, are a bit
clingy, but I try to live each day with a positive attitude. The way
I see it, I’m alive when many of my friends – you know, other
kids I met in various hospital wards – are not. I cherish every
breath I take out of respect for them. No use living in the past, I’m
all for a brighter tomorrow.”

He stilled, and I
realised he hadn't moved for most of the big reveal.

“Tude, you okay?”

He coughed again,
hunching his defined traps – you know, those gorgeous chunks of
muscle between the neck and shoulder, and on Tudor they were so big
they met his freakin’ earlobes!

“Shit!” he
whispered, interrupting my salivation over his fine physique. He was
shaking, his hand was still entwined with mine in an awkward,
backwards clasp, and it was trembling. He shifted back around and was
staring at me, now seeing me differently.

This is why I don’t
tell anyone.

“Tude, it’s fine.
I’m fine.” I hate the pity, even if it comes from a good place.

“Fuck, Tash. I wasn’t
expecting that. I thought maybe measles or something equally on that
scale, but not…
cancer
. And this hormone thing, what happens
with that? How serious is it? Can it harm you? Is it life-threatening
too?”

He was panicking; I
could see it in his expression and in the tone of his voice.

I began stroking his
arm, something my mam used to do to calm me down. “No, don’t
panic. My hormones are just a bit erratic. I had surgery years ago to
help and it did for the most part. The medication evens the imbalance
out, but sometimes if I’m stressed or get ill they can make me feel
like this – my immune system is not very strong. Oh, and it means I
will always be a little bit chubby,” I winked.

He scowled. “You’re
not chubby.”

“Yeah. Okay, Tude,”
I spluttered, starting to pull away.

He leaned down and
cupped my chin, halting my movements. “I mean it, Sunshine, you’re
not chubby… you’re... beautiful.”

There goes my
temperature again.

“Tudor, it’s fine.
I know I’m not a rhino, actually, saying that, I
was
once
referred to as an elephant… but look,
you
know, being used
to the Hollywood circles, that I’m a chub, and I'm okay with that.
I’ve made my peace with it. I'd take the gift of life over a
bikini-ready body any day.”

He jerked up, annoyed.
“Fucking hell, Tash, stop saying that! Half of those actresses are
emaciated, eating-disorder thin. Most are like that through drugs or
surgery or both. I’m a big guy, I can handle a bit of meat on the
bones of a woman, in fact, I prefer it. Nothing wrong with curves.
I’m an ass and boob man all the way. I like something to hold on
to,” he said completely seriously.

I shrugged nonchalantly
but was really kind of buzzing about it.

“Fair enough. I for
one am glad you're a chubby-chaser. It’ll help me succeed with the
wicked plans I have in mind for you!”

"
Tash
..."
he growled, warning me to shut up, but I saw him smirk when he
thought I wasn't looking. I pulled my lips tightly together and made
an exaggerated zipping motion over my mouth. He seemed mollified.

He walked around the
bed and reached for the glass of water off my cabinet. “Drink,”
he ordered, tilting my head up. “I don’t want you to get
dehydrated.” After a few sips, he placed the glass back down and
adjusted the pillow, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“So, does it ever get
any worse than this?”

I nodded. “Sometimes,
but if I take my medication I’m okay. The fainting, that doesn’t
always happen. I got too far to the brink and Tink wasn’t here to
pull me back. That’s the only reason this all looks so bad. It’s
not normally so
dramatic
of an occasion,” I assured.

Tudor rubbed his hands
over his face and shaved head, and looked at me in deep regard. “I
don’t like it, Sunshine.”

He crawled over me and
laid down, staring straight up at the ceiling.

I shrugged. “It is
what it is. As Ron Burgundy would say ‘
It's part of my life!
’"

He nodded, steadfastly
solemn. Bloody hell, even
Anchorman
quotes were failing to
raise a smile.

I shuffled closer,
laying my head on his stomach. He tensed, arms levitating in the air,
not sure where to put them or even if he should touch me. I didn’t
care, he needed a bloody big hug. He wasn't dealing with this well,
he was too intense, too fenced in.

He eventually held me
in his arms. “As if I need one more reason to think about you.
You're pretty much in every waking thought as it is. Now I can add
worrying about this to the pile."

He sighed loudly.
Bloody hell, the boy loved to brood, no wonder chicks went crazy for
him! All sullen and dark – pass me a wet wipe!

“Hey, Tude?”

“Yeah?” he answered
in a glum-sounding voice.

“…
don’t make
it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into
your heart. Then you can start to make it better,
” I sang. “
Nah
na na nan a na naaa, Nah na na nan a na naaa, hey Tude!
"

He giggled, actually
girly-giggled. I loved the sound. I was bouncing lightly with the
movement of his ridiculously ripped stomach.

“You’re such a
dork!” He squeezed me tighter.

“Why thank you, Mr.
Too-Cool-for-School.”

He was quiet for a few
minutes before he spoke again. “It’s weird, you don’t know how
true those lyrics are to me.”

I nodded my head in
silence. I had nothing to say to that and he understood I would give
no response. That kind of talk led us to bad places. We were strictly
friends, as we had now agreed, who, granted, on occasion got a bit
touchy-feely, a tad too flirty, a bit turbulent, but it was fine. We
knew where we stood.

He tapped my arm. "Come
on, let's call Tink before he flies back and castrates me. You need
to sleep and get better. We’ll talk more when you’re stronger."

"Castrate you?"
I mumbled, already dozing off, too comfortable on his lovely warm
torso.

"Erm... yeah, he
threatened me... again. I’ve never been challenged so much by such
a small guy. He said if I didn't come here pronto he would cut my
balls off, a threat he apparently learned from you?"

I nodded in
confirmation. "Yup! You don't get brought up on a farm and not
learn a thing or two about how to geld a stallion."

He shuddered. "Shit,
remind me never to piss you off near a pair of shears!"

"Oh, I can do it
with less than shears. A small pair of tweezers would do the trick.
Now close that gaping mouth and grab my phone, and let’s call the
big gay queen before he gets his too-tight G-string in a twist!"

Over the next two days,
Tudor turned into a beefed-up version of Florence Nightingale. He
gave me my tablets and kept me fed and watered. He even changed my
sheets after I managed to sweat out nearly a gallon of water during
the spike of my fever.

When I was feeling
slightly better and I could once again manoeuvre, albeit slowly, he
even helped me take a bath. He was a true gentleman and never once
took advantage, much to my disappointment. I maintained my modesty by
being tightly wrapped in a towel when he dropped me in the tub and
once again when he helped me back out.

Tink was on the phone
constantly. After speaking to him in depth the first night, he called
every two hours for updates. It took a lot of persuasion on my part
to stop him from flying back and cutting his vacation short. He cried
and blamed himself for not being there, but Tudor and I assured him
that I was doing better every hour and that he should take advantage
of Vancouver while he could.

In true Tink fashion,
he had emailed a PDF instruction list of how to care for me during
one of my
‘Shit! Wilbur’s Hormones Have Gone Nuts!’
episodes, as he had so aptly named them, and insisted that Tudor send
my temperature and heart rate readings to him frequently using the
spreadsheet he had devised for emergency occasions.

Tudor had been a
sweetheart through it all and, as promised, treated me like a close
friend. He slept next to me in bed, but assured me it was only so he
could keep an eye on me at all times. He would, on occasion, sneak
over to my side of the bed and spoon, but, to save us from any
awkwardness, I played possum. After all, we had agreed to be just
friends. Plus, I liked him being wrapped around me – I was like the
meat in his fajita!

He cleaned the condo
while I dozed, and when I was awake never once left me alone.
Underneath that moody and hard exterior was a kind and gentle man. I
tried not to get too used to this new and improved Tudor, especially
the familiar warm feeling of having him with me constantly. It'd hurt
too much when he left.

It was obvious that he
had personal problems, or at least something was happening in his
life to cause him worry, and he called his mother several times a
day. He had finally told Pamela where he was and why, and even
admitted that we had seen each other a few times through Tink and
Tate’s courtship. It still frustrated me as to why he could never
just say we were friends on our own accord. But I didn’t question
him about it. I didn’t want to hear the answer.

After spending Thursday
and Friday in living hell, I woke up early on Saturday morning with
the bright winter sun peeking through my curtains. I stretched, and
for the first time in many hours I felt good. I tested each muscle
with tiny non-jerky movements, and there was no pain. I gently moved
to sit up, waiting for the nausea to hit, and to my delight it never
came. I rolled my shoulders and clapped my hands silently in glee. I
was turning over to tell Tudor the good news when I heard soft
rhythmic breathing coming from next to me. There he was, fast asleep,
looking all tousled and sexy, still fully dressed, his arms tucked
under the pillow, snoring lightly through slightly pouted lips – my
hulking guardian angel. He had done so much for me in the last couple
of days, and our turbulent relationship seemed to be improving with
each passing hour, so I probably owed him a lie-in.