The sarcasm in her tone was thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Seriously, you haven’t eaten yet?” Sherilyn widened her hazel eyes in disbelief, blinking in confusion. “No way? Caroline came over first thing in the morning to see her ‘savior’ and she came empty-handed? Tsk tsk, that’s really not cool of her.”
Sarcasm? Two can play that game.
“Why are you yelling at me? Am I obligated to bring you breakfast? First off, you didn’t get hurt for my sake, and second, I’m not your maid!”
“Sherilyn!”
Well, that shut Gilbert up good. His already pale complexion turned a shade of green as he flopped back onto the bed.
Gritting his teeth and with a huff, he said, “Fine, I’ll just let it be! If I die, I die! It’s not like anyone cares!”
He directed this last bit towards the nurse.
The nurse, standing awkwardly by the door, replied, “Ms. Gomez, we… we really can’t do that. Maybe I should come back later?”
She quickly made her exit from the brewing storm.
After all, with someone as important as Mr. Gilbert in her care, the hospital couldn’t afford to take any risks.
“Ms. Gomez.” Before the door even closed, a caregiver hurried in.
With Gilbert hospitalized, the Johnson family naturally had hired a caregiver, who had just stepped out to have Gilbert’s clothes sent for laundry.
The caregiver, a man in his forties, pointed towards the dining table, “Breakfast was delivered early, but Mr. Gilbert insisted he would only eat once you arrived. So…” Some people just can’t stop causing drama.
“Alright, I got it.” Sherilyn nodded, sparing the caregiver any trouble. “You can go ahead with your work.”
“Sure, thanks.”
Sherilyn glanced at the man on the bed then walked over to the table, uncovering the insulated food container.
The oatmeal was cooked until it was perfectly thick and creamy, glistening with a layer of natural sweetness, accompanied by some side dishes from The Velvet Fork. Sherilyn poured a small bowl and brought it to the bedside.
“Have some oatmeal, it’ll make the IV go smoother.”
But Mr. Johnson was turned away from her, silent and unresponsive as if he hadn’t heard.
Sherilyn raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk, “Are you going to eat or not?”
Mr. Johnson remained motionless.
“Hmph.”
Sherilyn couldn’t help but laugh, “Enough with the drama. It’s your body. If you want to starve yourself to death or cause some medical incident because you’re fasting don’t think it’ll be me who feels quilty.”
Her patience was wearing thin, “Eat or don’t – I’m not waiting on you.”
“Sherilyn!”
Mr. Johnson finally reacted, turning sharply while grabbing her wrist.
His eyes were intense, his expression dark and foreboding, “Are you trying to kill me with frustration?”
Sherilyn was tired of arguing, “Should I go get Caroline for you then?”
“Sherilyn!” Gilbert’s voice was deep and furious as he clenched his jaw, “You’re the only one I want, nobody else!”
“Oh.” Sherilyn glanced at him, feeling utterly indifferent. “So, are you going to eat or what?”
“I’ll eat, I’ll eat… Ah!”
Gilbert tried to sit up, pulling at his wound in the process, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead from the pain.
Sherilyn had no choice but to put
down the bowl and help him sit unet Cerly, propping him up w
e of pillows behind bet
back.
“There.”
She picked up the bowl again and scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal to his lips.
Gilbert opened his mouth to take a bite, then immediately scrunched up his face in pain, “Hot! Blow on it.”
After saying that, he waited for Sherilyn to blow on it.
Sherilyn was at a loss for words.
“Mr. Gilbert, you’re twenty-eight, not eight.”
Even an eight-year-old would know to blow on their own food. Heck, Jenna’s only three and she can do it.
“So, are you going to blow on it or not?”
Gilbert
her
esn’t mattlook, saying,
thir matter if I’m twenty-eight or
I want you to
for me! If not, I won’t eat!”
it