Tristan
was a wreck.
All through the night, he’d done
nothing but toss and turn in his bed, stand up, pace around while scratching
his head furiously, and then go lie back down. Only to repeat step one. He
found it completely draining, not to mention ridiculous.
There were also the two-sided arguments he’d been
having inside his mind. From that, he thought his very skull would split in
half.
Around 12am, the angelic part of him tried to offer
solutions for surviving – moving his room farther down the hall, renew the
walls of the patient-and-doctor relationship, etcetera. Then the devil-Tristan
squashed everything. Some of its counter-arguments were:
a.) there’s nothing wrong with what’s happening
b.) he had every right to enjoy himself with her
c.)
he couldn’t help
it at all
There was a fourth reason, but that one in
particular terrified him. He couldn’t even summon the energy to form the words,
but he knew it was there, just lurking on the corners of his mind, waiting to
strike.
So he liked it, in a way. And there’s definitely nothing wrong with that.
Maybe it was his reward from above for helping people. He donates books to the
local library (albeit medical ones) and relief goods to various places and all
those things. If he dared say it, he deserved
this break. Not that he’d been unsatisfied before, but when Reeya came,
certain things became better.
He fell asleep at 5:30, his head throbbing.
1 hour later
“Tristan?”
No response.
“Hey. I’m really hungry already. Wake up.” The young
doctor was shook slightly by the soft hands of Reeya Hamilton, who was
cross-legged on the floor, her face levelled with his. Five minutes of poking,
coaxing, and shaking still haven’t managed to wake him up.
Disheartened, Reeya rested her chin on the mattress, seeing
Tristan’s profile up close. The owner of the house was beyond exhausted, but if
he knew of the view that would greet him when he opened his eyes, he would, no
doubt, feel mightier than any of the gods.
“Wake up.” Reeya tapped him on the shoulder.
“Hmm?” came the sleepy, half-minded reply.
“I cooked breakfast.”
“Wha – ” his brow creased, even though his eyes
remained closed, “Ma?”
Her laugh filled the room with light and upon
hearing the familiar wind chime-like sound, Tristan opened one topaz eye
sleepily.
She was smiling timidly at him, her pretty face
up-close, to the point that he could count her eyelashes if he wanted to. The
stubborn sunlight streaming on the room engulfed her, and this early in the
morning, Tristan felt himself getting hot. The room suddenly seemed smaller,
tighter, and sweetly suffocating.
He loved it.
“I cooked breakfast,” she repeated.
He smiled widely, and then sighed. If this was the
way he’d wake up every morning for all eternity, suffice it to say, it was more
than enough. It was also a plus to see that she was wearing his shirt, and
although it was a few sizes too big for her, it was dark blue; it emphasized
her skin color. Tristan didn’t even notice the small cuts and bruises from her
time at the hospital.
Tristan kissed her on the cheek.
“‘Morning.” he said, spirits high. He felt like he’d
just won the lottery.
“That was really nice, but I still think we should
eat.”
He chuckled, and instead of being hurt or offended,
he felt even more energized. The though ordeal of the night before now
completely forgotten, the doctor sat up. Then he noticed his bare chest.
“Damn, sorry – ” he hopped off the bed, scrambled to
his closet, and looked for a shirt. Reeya was already on her feet when he poked
his head out from the closet door, her expression still quite the same but bordering
on the apathetic mask she had on the first time she saw her.
Shit, Tristan cussed as he quickly pulled a gray v-neck
over his head. This was just what he needed.
“I’ll see you downstairs.” Then she was gone.
All the while he remained in the room alone, Tristan
chastised himself. And to think he’d been floating on cloud nine just moments
ago. He gritted his teeth.
As he took the stairs, two at a time, he tried to
convince the two sides of him that circumstances will change, that everything will
be okay.
Mind over
matter, mind over matter, he chanted. He’d
known several cases where those three simple words made the difference between
success and failure. He was hoping for the latter.
The sound of his heavy footfalls was heard all the
way to the dining room, and the voice that called out pried Tristan away from
his issues,
“Speed up, slowpoke.”
Yes, he inwardly pumped his fist in the air. She hadn’t
blocked out. But just to be sure, Tristan made a note to give her a pill of
Laxino, maybe half. He didn’t want to gamble with his chances – he won’t let her be that way again, not
ever.
“The master of the house orders me,” he replied
teasingly as he swept into the eating area. His mood brightened when he got his
first glance at the room. He was sure he’d never been happier to see his
kitchen before.
This was Reeya’s doing, of course; the place seemed
more alive with her presence. As he watched, she loaded the plates with the
finished meal from the pan, and even though her back was to him, he found the
sight of her appealing, endearing and everything in between.
Tristan walked over to her side, partly to make sure
she took care of all the tools and utensils. He would really hate it if she
blocked out and used those sharp things.
“You have a lot of stuff on your fridge.”
“Yes, but I’m more fond of, you know, instant stuff.”
“You mean you can’t cook.” she responded, a smile on
her face.
Tristan really hated it when the patients saw
through his lies.
“No, really. I can, but, you know. I have a pretty
busy schedule.”
His answer was greeted with a giggle and she raised
both eyebrows at him, “I stand by my original statement.” Then she turned away,
went to the table and set the wonderful-looking sunny side-ups on the center.
I’m up to my
neck in trouble, he thought as he
made his was to her.
All throughout breakfast, Tristan was torn between
distancing himself from her in some way, and trying to get even closer to her
than he already was. In the later part, the latter won out. He had the task to
figure out what happened to her before, after all. The basics of it didn’t sate
his unstoppable pique of interest; he needed the details. Like, what the color
blue has got to do with her experience, for example.
“This is my best meal since I started cooking on my
own,” he said to her, “aside from my mom’s recipes.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, “maybe I should teach you
how. It’s not that difficult, you know.”
“Lunch?”
“Sure.”
The dawning prospect of it drove Tristan out of his
mind with excitement.
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