Page 69 of Dreams and Reptiles

Well, he was about to learn what it was like to be taken care of. If he let me, I was going to do all the things for him. I wanted him to feel as loved and supported as he deserved without feeling like he had to do all the caretaking. He’d been there for me. Now it was my turn to return the favor with interest.

I peeped a tea kettle and a rack with different types of teas that looked like they’d been purchased in this century. Chamomile looked the freshest, and it was the best option this late at night. Strangely, I wasn’t tired, only worried for Kendall. I hoped he wasn’t too tired to drive. I supposed I could have texted him that I’d pick him up, but that would involve driving, which I still hadn’t done yet. Another hurdle I needed to get over, I reckoned. I wasn’t afraid. I just seemed to keep putting it off.

I grabbed a lemon from a bowl on the counter and a knife from the block and was just looking for honey when I saw headlights through the window. I prepared two mugs and waited for him to come in the front door. But instead, the door behind me opened, probably from the garage.

An exhausted Kendall stood there in a fire t-shirt and sweatpants, his face dirty… and his eyes filled with tears?

“Kendall…”

He shut the door and, without speaking, approached me with shuffled steps. He reeked of smoke, but I didn’t care. I pulled him into a tight hug and felt him exhale.

“I made you some tea.”

He pulled back and let out a shaky breath. “Will you bring it? I need to shower.”

“Right behind you.”

I picked up both mugs and followed him down the opposite hall from where Alberto had gone. His bedroom was nearly filled by a massive antique wood four-poster bed and matching dresser. The bed was covered with a lovely quilt with patterns and shades of dark and light green and white. The window coverings looked to be handmade drapes, as well. There was a circular forest green rug on the floor next to the bed. Kendall passed the bed and went straight into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

Taking that as an invitation, I moved to the doorway and set his tea down on the counter. He was moving like he was in pain. He pulled his t-shirt off, and I noticed his back tensed up as he brought it over his head. When it was time to take his sweats off, he kinda tugged them a bit at a time without bending over too much.

“Can I help?”

He looked at me over his shoulder and gave a small nod, his blue eyes rimmed with red and dark circles. I tugged his sweats down then his loose cotton boxers. He leaned on the wall to balance as I pulled off one sock and then the other. I started the shower for him and held out a hand to steady him as he listed a bit. When the water was the right temperature, I guided him in and under the spray.

He just stood there, letting it hit him in the forehead. I reached for his container of oatmeal body wash and started washing his back, gently at first, and then using my thumbs, fists, and elbows to work his muscle groups. I washed his head, guessing he used the body wash, as there was no shampoo, and worked over everywhere I could reach, including between his toes. I hadn’t gotten undressed, so the hems of my lounge pants were soaked, as well as my t-shirt. When I finished, he turned and let the water hit his back for a long time, then he used more body wash to get his pits and undercarriage. Once he was fully rinsed, he finally opened his eyes fully and gazed at me as he shut off the water.

The skin on his face was a bright pink, as if he’d gotten a sunburn. Had he been so close to the flames that he was burned? As I looked closer, the skin appeared angry on his forehead and cheeks. His stubble had grown in, like he hadn’t shaved since he’d left home the day before. I barely had to shave, but his beard grew in heavy within hours.

I reached for the towel hanging next to the shower and held it up for him. He wrapped it around his waist, went to the sink, brushed his teeth, and was about to leave the bathroom, but I put a hand to his chest.

“Can I put lotion on you?”

“I’m not sure I have any.”

This poor man.

“Go. Lay down. I’ll look.”

He hung his head and trudged into the bedroom as I opened the cabinets. They were pretty bare, but I did find a pump bottle of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter that didn’t look too ancient. I brought it back into the bedroom, and my heart hurt from the exhaustion pouring off him.

“I’ll be quick,” I said, kneeling before him. I slathered the lotion on my hands and started from his feet, working my way up, gently massaging his calves and quads as I went. I rubbed it into his chest and arms next. I loved that I could take care of him like this. I had no idea if he was just humoring me or if he was enjoying it.

“If you want to lay on your stomach, I can rub your back…”

He stood, let the towel drop, and slid between the sheets. I stepped out of my wet pants and knelt on the bed, straddling his hips without putting any pressure on him.

“You must be so exhausted, you poor man. You’re not even arguing with me.”

He pushed up a little, reached for my hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to the back of my knuckles. That was all he had the energy for. He lay back down, and his eyes drifted closed. I massaged him thoroughly and made sure his entire back side was properly moisturized. He was snoring softly long before I finished. I took the lotion and his towel back into the bathroom, hung up my wet clothes, and turned out the lights.

“Francis.”

His voice was muffled in the pillow.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t drink your tea. I’m sorry.”