Episode 5

Andrew

I awake, feeling a warmth enveloping my body. An attempt to rise only leaves me staggering, dizzy at the first touch of the floor, sending me collapsing back onto the cusp of my bed. "Liz! Liz!" There's no response. The bathroom door creaks open; it's my chance. "Liz!!" My voice scrambles, strained from the meager strength I can muster.

"Yes, what is it?" she calls from beyond.

"I don't feel well," I disclose, prompting her to rush in. "What's wrong?" she inquires, while I survey her from head to toe; she's still damp, her hair soaked, her body modestly sheathed in a bath towel.

"I've got a fever," I admit, distracted by Liz's beauty—a detail I'd never truly noted before.

"What am I even thinking"

I shake off the thought, scolding myself for looking at Liz in such a manner. She approaches and feels my forehead. "You're burning up," she says before darting out of the room, soon returning dressed, bearing a cup of water and a washcloth.

"Lie down," she commands, and I comply. She perches on the bed's edge, dampens the cloth in water, wrings it out, then places it on my forehead. "Keep it there for a while; I'll make some soup," she declares before leaving my side.

In moments, sounds of clattering emerge from the kitchen, and a delectable scent wafts into my nostrils. Liz reappears with a tray, setting it on the bedside table.

"Try and sit up," she suggests. With difficulty, as weakness pervades me, I try to oblige, and Liz assists, placing the tray on my lap. My hand trembles as I attempt to eat.

"I'll feed you," she insists, gently prising the spoon from my grip, ladles a portion of soup, cools it with her breath, and guides it to my lips.

Liz behaves like a genuinely concerned spouse, and the sentiment is bittersweet. Her hair is damp but not sopping; her eyes, large, fringed by lengthy lashes; her lips, full - yet not overly so – the epitome of balance.

*She's truly beautiful.*

"You can take the medicine now, and rest a while," she interrupts my thoughts, and I nod, swallowing the pill.

"Liz, it's late, school—" I express my concern, realizing she has her studies to consider.

"I won't go. Rosa will pass me the notes; don't worry," she reassures, calmly picking up the plate from the table.

"Are you sure?" I probe.

"Absolutely certain," she responds, her smile gracing me along with a kiss on the forehead, an act that takes me by surprise. "Sorry," she apologizes, her cheeks tinged with blush that suggests a pang of embarrassment—yet her actions mimic those of her mother, a familiar comfort she's shared when under the weather. It's a confession she needn't feel ashamed of; I am more than approving of the gesture.

"Liz, no apologies needed; I liked it," I assure, catching a fleeting smile before she departs with the tray. I touch the place on my forehead where her kiss landed, a chuckle escaping me, replaying the image of Liz's flushed cheeks in my mind.

...

"Andrew, Andrew," a voice calls, hefty is the effort to unlock my leaden eyelids. "Wake up," it insists. Gradually, I let light in and am greeted by Liz, her eyes possessing a distinctive spark.

"Which friend?" I mumble, feeling a squeeze at my foot.

"Who else, silly?" Pablo's voice joins in, as I spot him at my bedside.

Pablo, my closest confidant and colleague.

"What brings you here?" My voice is lethargic.

"When you didn't show up, I called to check on you. Elizabeth told me you were ill and resting, so I said I'd stop by," he explains.

"I hope I haven't imposed," Liz remarks.

"Don't worry, he's my best friend. He knows everything," I notice her relax at the assurance.

"Pablo, would you like some water, juice, or a soda?" Liz offers.

"Anything's fine," he replies, and Liz exits the room.

"He didn't mention you were so pretty," he taunts, referring to Liz.

"Don't start; you know how you get," I warn him.

"You know I couldn't, even if I wanted to. She's your wife," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Pablo, this is all a facade. I have my girlfriend, and the one I plan to marry is Teresa," I confess unflinchingly. It's imperative to clarify to Pablo that my feelings for Liz are of fondness, not love.

"You're lucky, having what every man desires—an attentive wife at home and a lover abroad. And the best part, they both are aware. But I fear someone will get hurt; I just hope it's not who I suspect," he remarks soberly.

"No one will be hurt. Teresa understands the reasons behind my marriage, as does Liz. She knows I don't love her and that I don't see her as a woman," I respond with conviction.

"What a shame..." Pablo is cut short by Liz knocking and entering with a tray of sandwiches and orange juice, her demeanor shifted, lacking the earlier luster in her eyes that I so admired.

"Here you go, try to eat something solid, Andrew," Liz states, handing over the tray. Pablo thanks her.

"Are you okay?" I inquire.

"Yes, of course!" Her smile, gifted yet transient, fades as she leaves the room.

"I just hope she didn't overhear us."

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