Emerald Eyes

Your mouth tasted terrible. Your throat was so dry it hurt to swallow, but the feeling of nausea was still there. You groan, because you're afraid what will come out if you open your mouth.

Suddenly, you feel a rough, calloused thumb rub circles on your neck. You shift your body to face the other in your bed.

And there are those emerald eyes.

You smiled and weakly said hello. He placed his index finger on your lips, cooing "Shh" into your ear. "Don't strain yourself talking, love. I don't want you to strain yourself more than you need to."

He was so caring, always putting your health in front of his own. Here's a man with a past of smoking weed, and still continuing to drink and smoke cigarettes, but he's worrying more about you than himself. You felt a vibration on the bed, and the the bed shifted weight.

"Jesus christ," he muttered, hitting the ignore button and laying back down next to you. Almost instantly, the vibration started again. He muttered more profanities, finally putting the phone on silent. You ask who it was, and he gave you a look. That was all you needed to know.

Adrienne.

You tell him he needs to talk to her, she's worried sick. You feel guilt that you know where your friend's husband is, and you aren't telling her; like a good friend should. But you feel even more guilty that he's in the same bed as you while your friend is probably crying herself to sleep, making herself sick from the worries.

He cups your head in his rough hands and stares deep into your eyes, as if he's looking right into your soul. "No, Roxana. I'm hear for you. You're my main priority; not her."

You heart soars with so many emotions. Or maybe that was the nausea in your stomach.

Must have been, because two seconds later your head was in the trash can thoughtfully placed at your bedside. The tears welled in your eyes from puking out your whole insides. You felt you hair being held away from your face, so as not to get anything on it even though it was dirty.

You looked up and saw those eyes staring back, smiling in sympathy. He got a tissue from my table next to my bed and wiped my teary eyes. Then kissed my forehead and continued to stare into my eyes. You couldn't drop the gaze, you were mesmerized and you loved it. You love him.

"You had a rough night," he said pulling your hair into a ponytail. You chuckled and say the same thing to him.

He laughs as well, "I guess so. We both had a hectic night. Both of up puking our guts out. And you didn't even drink!"

You laugh and start nodding off. You've been so tired lately, more than usual. He noticed too. "Are you okay? You've seemed a little off lately. Do you need medicine? A doctor?"

You shoo his cares away and say it's only a cold. He didn't believe it, "Rox, I really don't think this is just a 'cold'," he said using air quotes, "I really think you should go to the doctor."

You continue to tell him that you're fine, but he doesn't believe you. He grabs your hands and stares into your hazel eyes. His eyebrows were raised slightly, and he forehead was creased. "Roxy, please go to the doctor. For me?" He pouted his lips slightly, and made his eyes big like a puppy's. Why must he be so irresistible?

You giggle and agree, you could never say no to him. He smiles, bearing all his teeth, and bounces off the bed to your house phone. He quickly dials seven digits and holds the phone to his right ear.

"Hello, I would like to make an appointment for my girlfriend.."

Did you just hear right? Did he say girlfriend? You must have dreamed that. He would actually risk telling a stranger that he, Billie Joe Armstrong, has a girlfriend apart from his wife? Was he being serious? You head was spinning, and it didn't help your stomach.

"10:30? That would be great. Thank you very much, goodbye."

He hung up the phone, grinning at you. You were still in shock he used the term "girlfriend". He laid back down next to you and gently rubbed your back. He reached over you, feeling his light weight on your torso, and looked at your bedside clock.

"We have about an hour before you're expected in. Do you want to take a shower?"

You shook your head no and told him you just wanted to change into sweat pants and a hoodie. He nodded and went to your dresser, picking out a pair of yellow sweatpants.

"I know this is your favorite color," he smiled handing the pants to you. You smile and put them on, while also putting on the white hoodie he handed you while you were putting your pants on. Soon the outfit was finished by some yellow sandals. You tell him you just want to leave now, and maybe the doctor would take you earlier than you were expected.

He laughed, "Okay, let's go then!"

He helped you up from the bed and carried you wedding-style to the car. Yo never felt more pampered, or loved in your whole life.

But at the same time you were a nervous wreck. You hated doctors.