Staying Put

"I really, really appreciate you doing this," she said.

"That's the last time you get to say that," I replied. "Until we're all done here. I'm happy to do it and I can do it, so stop saying thanks."

She was about to protest, but I put my hand up to stop her, so she subsided.

Then she looked down at the blanket and her brow crinkled. "How did I get here from the shower? I remember taking a shower, but I don't remember coming back to bed."

"You walked, apparently," I said, "because you were in bed when I got here."

"Was I...?"

"Yes," I said.

"Sorry about that," she said, looking a little sheepish.

"Forget about it," I said. "If we're going to get through this, we can't be bashful about such things. I promise not to remember any of it."

She smiled at that. It wasn't much of a smile, but it was something anyway.

Over the next ten minutes or so, she managed a few more sips of water, but it was pretty clear she was fading again. I turned off the light and sat with her as she conked out. Then I slid her back down into a more comfortable position in the bed and left her.

Sometime in the night, I couldn't tell when because I didn't have a clock in my room, I woke up to the sound of her voice. My parental reflexes kicked in and I was about to run to her room, when I realized she wasn't calling for help. She was talking in her sleep. I couldn't make out what she was saying, so I pulled on a t-shirt and padded down the hallway to her door. Light shone through it into the hall, so she must have turned on a lamp.

When I peeked in, Chris was sitting up in bed, her bare torso exposed, trying to snatch something out of the air. Whatever it was, it was buzzing around her head, and she was making furious grabs at it—all of them unsuccessful. If it hadn't been so sad to watch, it would have been comical.

As I watched her for a minute, I realized that she was becoming increasingly frustrated by her inability to catch whatever it was that she could see and I couldn't, so I stepped into the room to help. I remembered from dealing with my father when his meds had made him hallucinate that it was pointless to try to argue with someone in this condition. It just frustrates them more. So I played along.

"I'll get it," I said as I approached her bed.

She slumped back against the pillows. "Thanks Daddy."

I picked up a magazine from her nightstand and spent the next couple of minutes pretending to shoo some flying thing out of the room. When I closed the door on it at last, she was smiling at me.

"I knew you could do it."

"That's what I'm here for," I said.

As silly as the situation was, I also wanted her to cover up. Something about her nakedness was vaguely upsetting. Part of it was that her body was so attractive, but more than that, it just made me feel guilty being there in the room with her exposed like that and completely unaware. So I sat next to her and pulled the coverlet back up to cover her breasts.

To my surprise, she smiled at me and pulled it back down. "It's okay Daddy, I know you like to look at my boobies."

Okay, now this had crossed the line into weird.

"Sweetie," I said, in the voice I used to use with my daughter when she was little. "You aren't feeling well, and I want you to go back to sleep, okay?"

Her face crinkled up. She looked sad. "What's wrong Daddy? Did I do something wrong?"

"No sweetie," I said. "It's just very late and I need to go back to bed."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm not tired."

"Well, I am. I have to go to work early so I need to get to sleep, okay?"

She pouted for a moment, then snuggled back down into the bed, but pointedly pushed the covers down toward her waist, keeping herself exposed. I realized I was feeling just a tinge of panic over the situation.

"Will you sit with me while I fall asleep Daddy?"

"Sure, sweetie," I said. I turned off the light and sat with her in the almost dark room. The moon shone through one of the windows and lit a far corner, casting just enough light for me to make out Chris's form in the bed. I could see that her eyes were closed, but I could also see that her hands were now on her breasts massaging them softly. The sight of her hands on those beautiful breasts caused a stirring in my gym shorts that I willed to go away.

I didn't like to think about what her delirium was bringing up for my viewing. It was the sort of thing people shouldn't know about each other unless they're married, and maybe not even then. The revulsion I felt at the thought of what might be the source of her delusions made me angry and the anger made any feeling of excitement subside. Fortunately, she soon stopped what she was doing and before long her breathing was deep and steady. Now that she was out, I felt like it was safe to touch her, so I felt her forehead. She was burning up, well over 100. I wavered, thinking I ought to take her temperature, but I really didn't want to wake her up again, so I let it slide.

When I got back to my room I found my watch and checked it. 2:35. Shit!

The next morning I woke up with sunlight streaming in the window onto my face. I was groggy from the previous night, but felt more rested than I probably should have given that it was only 6:45. On my way to the kitchen, I checked in on Chris and saw that she was still out. Good.

Her kitchen was pretty well stocked even before the stuff I brought and I was pleased to see that she liked good coffee as much as I did. In a few minutes I had a pot going and a bagel in the toaster oven. I remembered seeing a newspaper box down at the end of the drive, so I slipped on my running shoes and walked down to the main road. The morning was crisp and fine. It had been one of the coolest springs I could remember and so far the summer boded cool as well. On the way back to the house I skimmed the headlines, but it was a slow news day seemingly.

When I came back inside, I peeked in on Chris one more time just to make sure she was okay before I settled in with the paper. She hadn't moved, which worried me just a bit, so tiptoed in and felt her forehead. Her fever had broken, but she was still warm. The vomit bucket was empty, so that was good.

I went back to the kitchen, washed my hands, and ate. When I'd learned all there was to know about the world, I went back to my room, took a quick shower, then went back to her room to wake her up and play nurse. It was time for her meds.

To my surprise, she was sitting up in the bed again, and had a t-shirt on. That was a good sign, of course, because it meant she'd been out of the bed on her own.

"Good morning," I said.

She looked up at me and she looked worried.

"I see you've been up and about," I ventured.

"Yeah," she said. "I made it to the bathroom and got some clothes on."

"Well, that's a good sign, no?"

"I guess," she said. "Why are you here?"

Okay, maybe not such a good sign.

"Don't you remember? Yesterday I took you to the hospital and Dr. Markovic asked me to sit with you for a couple of days until your medications start to take hold. You've got an intestinal parasite, remember?"

She shook her head. "No. I don't."

"Sorry," I said. "But it's the reason I'm here. And I'm here in your room right now because it's time for you to take your next dose."

This made her look even more suspicious. I could tell she was worried that there was something going on here that she didn't like. So I picked up the two bottles of meds from the night stand and showed them to her.

"See, these are the prescriptions we picked up yesterday. There's your name on them."

She examined each bottle carefully, then nodded and said, "Okay."

I shook out the doses from each bottle, poured her some more water and handed them to her. I remembered from being in the hospital so long with my dad that it was important to watch patients actually swallow their meds, so I sat down and stared pointedly at her as she put them in her mouth, took a sip and swallowed.

"You need to drink all of that water," I prodded. "Water is part of your cure."

I could tell from the look on her face that I'd busted her. She hadn't swallowed the pills at all. This was going to be difficult if she continued to see me as dangerous somehow. But she just shrugged her shoulders and drank all the water in several sips. I was tempted to make her open her mouth to show me that she'd swallowed everything, but I decided that would just make things worse, so instead I just sat with her for a bit.

"Your fever seems to have broken," I said just to say something.

"That's good," she said.

"It looks like it's going to be a nice day," I continued.

"That's nice."

"No sign of rain."

"Good."

"You're coffee is very good."

"Glad you like it."

I was just about to put my hand out to feel her forehead when she sat forward in the bed and picked something I couldn't see off the bedspread. She held it carefully between her fingers and then handed it to me. I put out my hand to take it and she carefully placed something invisible in my palm. She looked pissed.

"What?" I asked.

"I can't believe you left that in my bed last night."

"Left what?"

"The needle, of course. You know that's very dangerous. I could have rolled over on it."

Okay, here we go again, I thought. I was really glad the doctor had warned me that this could happen. I'd been through it with my dad, but it can still be scary if you don't expect it.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm not sure how I could have missed it."

Then she leaned forward again and picked up another invisible thing and handed it to me.

"Another needle?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, her voice full of frustration. "And there's another one, down by my feet. Get that one too!"

I took the invisible needle she was holding and then made like I was getting the one from by her feet. That seemed to satisfy her for a moment. So I made her drink some more water. As long as she was holding it down, I wanted to get more into her. She was suspicious, but did as I told her.

We sat together in silence for a few minutes. Then she leaned forward again and picked up another needle. I could tell this was something that might go on for a while, so I tried to change tacks.

"Look, Chris, I'm going to change the bedspread so there won't be any more needles in the bed, okay?"

"I'd have thought you would have done that last night," she snapped.

"Tell me where I can find another one and I'll take care of it right away."

"The hall closet, of course."

I left the room, found another bedspread. Then I peeled off the old one and acted like I was inspecting the bed for any stray needles that might have fallen out. Seeing none, I put the new spread on the bed and then sat back down next to her. Agitated as she was, I didn't feel like I ought to leave her. So we sat together in silence for a few minutes listening to the birds sing outside.

I was just beginning to think she'd calmed down when she turned on me, anger in her eyes.

"You asshole!"

"Sorry?" I asked, not sure where she was going with this one.

"You fucked me last night, didn't you?"

"No, I certainly did not."

"Then why was I naked? Huh?"

"Because you'd taken a shower and come back to bed naked. The only part of you I touched all night was your head to see if you had a fever or not."

"You expect me to believe that? Get the fuck out of here!"

"Sorry," I said. "I can't. Dr. Markovic put me in charge of you for a few days, so I'm going to stick around here to make sure you're okay."

"Fuck you!" she yelled. If she'd been feeling better, it would have been a lot louder. Her face was contorted and red. I just smiled at her.

"It's okay, Chris," I said. "I'm here to help."

"Get the FUCK out of my house!"

"Sorry," I said, "buy you're going to have to get used to the idea that I'm staying."

She started to climb out of the bed then, so I stood, put a hand on each shoulder and gently but firmly pushed her back down. She was a very strong woman, but I'm a lot bigger and she was very sick, so it wasn't difficult to get her back onto the pillows. For just a second I thought she was going to spit at me, but she finally just slumped back. The effort of fighting me had been too much for her.

As I sat back down, she rolled to her side facing away from me and after a few minutes, I could see that she was asleep again. Whew. People can get very agitated when they're delirious, as I'd learned with my dad, and if she was going to stay agitated, it was going to be a long couple of days. I made a mental note to search the place carefully for guns just in case she had another moment like that while I was asleep.

While Chris slept away the morning, I went out onto the porch and rode her bike for an hour. Then I sat down at the table with some more of her good coffee and worked on an article that had a deadline just three weeks off. Despite the oddness of my situation, the words began to flow and before long, I'd managed ten good pages.

Pleased with myself, I decided to stop while I was ahead. Plus, it was lunchtime. I'd poked my head in on Chris once or twice just to make sure she was okay, but she was taking the sleep cure, so I let her be. One thing I learned as a parent was to let sleeping babies lie. I figured it applied to 40 year-old women too.

After a sandwich out on the screen porch, I was contemplating Chris's back yard, trying to decide if she had a yard service or not when I heard her call out. I jumped up and jogged back to her bedroom. She was sitting up in the bed and looking pretty bad. Her face was grey and she was gulping air, her fists clenched on the bedspread in front of her.

"Hi," I said, crossing the room to the chair next to her bed. She turned toward me, a pleading look on her face. I wondered if she recognized me this time. Before I could say anything else, though, she leaned over and barfed in the general direction of the bucket I'd put next to the bed. Unfortunately, I was too close to the bucket, so a large quantity of the stuff she tossed up landed on me.

Suppressing my own gag reflex, I did the only thing one can do in such a situation. I took hold of her head with one hand and the bucket with the other and improved her aim for her. The last few heaves all landed where they should have and then she just kind of collapsed onto her side, her head at the edge of the bed. I sat for minute, stroking her hair and back, trying to be as soothing as I could. When it seemed she was really done, I set the bucket down and headed for the bathroom to clean up.

My shorts were a mess, so I shucked them and washed myself off in the sink. Then I wrapped a towel around my waist, got a couple of clean washcloths and ran one under the hot and one under the cold water. These I took back to the bed, where I found her in the same position I'd left her.

"Chris, roll over onto your back for me," I said.

She complied. She looked a lot less grey, so I wiped around her mouth with the warm cloth, then laid the cool one on her forehead. The corners of her mouth twitched, so I knew it felt good to her. It was something my mom always did for me when I felt like shit and I carried the tradition over with my own kids. Then I used the warm cloth to wipe up the vomit that had gotten on the floor and left the room to get some new pants.

When I got back, she was out again. Her fever was back up and the room smelled pretty bad, so I went back to the kitchen, got the disinfectants I'd used earlier and wiped the floor and bed down one more time.

I sure hoped that was the last projectile vomit.

As the afternoon wore away, I figured out how to get her computer online, then spent some time answering emails and poking around on the net. I looked up her parasite and was suitably grossed out by the pictures of the little fuckers. If I were lucky, I wouldn't be a host. They were nasty.

Around 4:00 I heard her stirring again, so I went to peek at her. Once again, she was sitting up in bed, but this time when I came in, she smiled at me. A much better sign.

I sat down next to her and felt her head. Whew. She was still burning up, so I decided to take her temperature. She knew what was up and opened her mouth as soon as I picked up the thermometer. When it beeped, I looked at it and was relieved to see that she had only a 103.

"How're you feeling?" I asked.

"I feel sick, Daddy." Here we go again.

"It's Mark," I said.

She smiled at that. "I know your name Daddy. But I don't like to call you Mark." Okay, so her father had the same name. Great.

"I want you to try to drink some more water sweetie," I said.

"Okay. And I feel a little hungry too."

That at least was a good sign. It was the first time she'd shown any interest in food, but given what had happened to the last drink of water, I was reluctant.

"Let's try some water first, okay?"

"Whatever you say Daddy."

I poured her a cup of water and over the next couple of minutes she sipped it and held it down seemingly without difficulty. I told her about the weather, the latest news, and what I'd learned about her parasite.

"That sounds gross," she said, making a face. Her voice had just a hint of a little girl's lilt to it.

"A little, but the medicine you're taking is going to kill the little buggers off pretty soon. Then you'll be well in a few more days."

She smiled again, seeming happy. "Daddy, can I please have something to eat? I really am hungry."

"Okay sweetie, I'll go get you some crackers."

"Thank you."

I got up and went to prepare her first solid food in several days. I arranged a couple of saltines and a couple of Ritz crackers on a plate, poured myself a glass of ice tea and headed back to her room. When I stepped in, I almost dropped the plate and glass. Chris was still in the bed, but was on her elbows and knees, her ass toward the door and she was furiously fingering herself, her panties and t-shirt on the floor next to the bed.

"Chris!" I blurted.

"Come on Daddy. I know what you want. I'm ready. You know I am."

"No!" I said, trying to sound like a stern father. "You lie back in the bed and cover up this instant."

"No yourself. I want your big dick Daddy. I'm a good girl, you know I am."

"Chris! You stop this right now. I want you to lie down in the bed and try to eat these crackers I brought."

Even as I said these things and was repulsed by the scene in front of me, I realized that I was having an involuntary reaction to the show she was putting on. Goddamn you, I snarled silently to my cock. Stop that! But the more Chris's fingers danced in her pussy, the more difficult it was for me to make my own reactions go away.

"Now, Chris!"

"Please Daddy," she pleaded, now running a finger up to her asshole and beginning to probe it. "Please do me Daddy. I want you to be happy. You know I do."

I walked over to the bed, put down the plate and glass and took her by the shoulders, turning her over in the bed. This had the desired effect of forcing her to stop what she was doing, but not of putting the whole thing to an end. Instead of subsiding, she looked at me with a look usually seen in porn stars. Then her hand shot out and grabbed my cock in my shorts, squeezing me.

"See, I know what you want Daddy. Look at you. I can feel how much you want me."

"No," I said, pushing her hand firmly away from my hardness. "I don't and I won't. I'm not your father. I'm your friend Mark and I'm not going to do this."

Her other hand was now back in her crotch, working furiously just below those crossed lightning bolts. I could smell her arousal and it was making it more difficult for me to get control of myself and of the situation. I wish I could say that I was entirely, one hundred percent noble at that moment.

If I had been, the thought never would have crossed my mind that I could do what she was begging me to do and she'd never remember a thing. Her body was amazing and it had been more than two months since I'd had sex with anyone but myself. Who would know? As I had this thought, blood surged into my cock as though my body were willing me to cross the line into evil. For a heartbeat, I stared longingly at her body, feeling the electricity roiling up and down through my nervous system. Then she spoke and broke the spell.