Cold As You

Cole's Point of View 

I walked down the dark, cold sidewalk, the hot soup in a paper bag swaying with every step. The old motel just outside Seattle was immersed in shadows, and the only light came from the streetlights, which barely illuminated the worn structure. My focus was on Zoe, who was still inside, on the bed in the small room, and on keeping our presence hidden. I knew that if anyone found out where we were, it could jeopardize our safety. 

The thought of Alabama hung over me like a thick, heavy cloud, obscuring the present with shadows of the past. I never imagined that I would ever set foot in that place again, a scenario that I had tried to leave behind for so long. But reality was relentless, and blood was thicker than water. The recent calls, insistent and uninterrupted, made that clear.  

My childhood best friend, Adam, tried to contact me more than once. Each missed call was a bitter reminder of the roots I couldn't completely sever. And now, my cell phone display was flashing with an Alabama code, signaling that he was calling again. It was as if fate was forcing me to confront what I had left behind. 

I dismissed the call with a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the decision I needed to make. I didn't want to deal with him, or with my uncle, who had also tried to reach me. They were both desperate for me to return to face the problems unfolding in Alabama. The situation was getting more and more complicated, and I knew that my obligations and responsibilities were calling. 

Finally, I reached the room and, with the key trembling in my hand, opened the door. The small, simple room welcomed me like a temporary refuge. I put the soup and medicine on the round wooden table and approached the bed where Zoe was lying. The space was as dark and silent as the night outside, but her presence gave me a sense of purpose. 

She was a little calmer than the previous nights, and that brought me a slight relief. The fever seemed to have subsided, and the expression on her face was a little more serene. I tried not to be abrupt when I woke her up, gently touching her arm. 

"Zoe, wake up," I whispered, my voice low and soft. "I brought you something to eat." 

She opened her eyes slowly, and a small smile appeared on her face. It seemed that, even without much strength, she was happy to see me. 

"How long did I sleep?" she asked, her voice still a little hoarse. 

"Just a couple of hours," I replied, trying not to show my concern. I took the soup and put it in front of her, next to the table. "How are you feeling?" 

She gestured that she was so-so, waving her hand vaguely. The smile she gave me was weak but sincere. 

"I'm not feeling very well, but it's better than before," she said, looking at the soup with a mixture of doubt and need. 

"If you don't eat, I'll have to feed you like a baby," I joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

Zoe grimaced at me, her expression still tired, but with a touch of humor. 

"So you've demoted yourself from mechanic to babysitter for a grumpy girl? That can't be a good sign." 

I laughed, but the lightness of the joke didn't last. My tone became more serious as I watched her so that she wouldn't feel like a burden, as I knew she thought she was. 

"Actually, I like being your babysitter," I replied, a sincere smile forming on my face. 

She was a little embarrassed, blushing slightly, and finally picked up the bowl of soup with a more relaxed expression. 

"You must be doing really well as a nanny, then," she said, taking a small sip of the soup. 

I watched her as she began to eat, feeling a mixture of concern and gratitude. The relationship between us was changing in ways I hadn't anticipated, and despite the difficult situation, there was something comforting about the connection we were developing. It was an unlikely refuge, but at least we had each other at that moment. 

"Thank you for looking after me," said Zoe, her eyes meeting mine with a more intense gaze. 

"You're welcome," I replied, with a tone of sincerity. "We'll make sure you're okay. That's what matters now." 

After watching Zoe eat to make sure she had something to eat, even if her appetite wasn't the best, and taking a quick shower, I lay down on the narrow motel bed. The bed was so small that my feet extended over the edge, and I found myself struggling to find a comfortable position, but the tiredness in my bones was overwhelming, and I could barely keep the darkness from enveloping me. The heavy sleep that came over me was an unexpected relief, although the small bed and the lack of comfort weren't exactly ideal. 

My rest was interrupted in the middle of the night by a sound that jolted me awake. Zoe was whimpering, and the sound was an agonizing mixture of pain and discomfort. 

I jumped out of bed, feeling a wave of panic. My hands moved quickly to her face, and I found her burning up with fever, something I hadn't seen even the first night we arrived. Her temperature was high and alarming, a level that seemed to have suddenly risen, and it left me paralyzed with fear. 

I tried to wake her by shaking her gently, but she was unconscious, her face contorted in a state of suffering. My heart was racing, and the frustration of not knowing what to do was overwhelming. Not knowing how to act, I grabbed my mobile phone and called reception, my voice shaking with the urgency of the situation. 

"Please help, my girlfriend has a high fever and isn't waking up," I said, trying to stay calm, but the anxiety was clear in my voice. 

The receptionist, a slight woman in her forties, replied in a formal tone. 

"She needs to be taken to hospital. If the fever is too high, there's not much we can do here." 

I knew the hospital was the right solution, but we couldn't risk being discovered. 

"I understand, but I can't take her now. If you can help in any way, I'll pay triple the price of the room." 

The offer of additional payment seemed to have aroused some interest in the receptionist. After a brief pause, she agreed to help. There was a knock on the door sometime later, bringing a mug of tea and cold compresses. She looked at Zoe and frowned. 

"Cold compress won't be enough. You'll need a cold bath. Put her in cold water and keep her there for a while. If the fever doesn't go down, you'll have to take her to hospital." 

I thanked the woman and paid her, hurrying her out of the room. Now alone with Zoe, my mind was racing, struggling to cope with the situation. With a sigh, I pulled the covers off her and headed for the bathroom. 

The motel bathtub was something I had avoided, but now there was no choice. I filled the bath with cold water and put in the ice packs that the receptionist had brought. The water was ice-cold, and I knew that this was exactly what she needed, even if it was a desperate measure. 

I returned to the room, took Zoe in my arms, and carried her to the bathroom. The feel of her warm body against mine was a painful contrast to the cold water I was about to immerse her in. I climbed into the water with her, sitting down and holding her tightly as she shivered. Her upper body was resting against my chest, and I kept her safe, trying to be the support she needed. 

I splashed some cold water on her face, trying to keep her conscious and relieve the fever. Every tremor she gave seemed like an eternity, and I felt a mixture of hopelessness and determination. For long minutes, my mind revolved around the receptionist's suggestion, and the idea of taking Zoe to the hospital seemed more tempting by the second. But suddenly, like a miracle, Zoe began to regain consciousness. Her eyes slowly opened, and the tremors began to subside, a slight improvement that brought me immense relief. 

I held her tighter, feeling a weight lift from my chest as she began to show signs of recovery. The cold of the water was still intense, but the feeling that she was coming back to me was an unexpected comfort. 

"It's going to be okay, Zoe. I'm here with you," I murmured, hoping that my voice and presence would be a relief to her. 

The cold water in the bath had a visible effect. Zoe's temperature was gradually decreasing, and the relief was palpable. With extreme care, I lifted Zoe out of the water and took her in my arms. Her body was cold and a little shaky, but the fever seemed to be subsiding. With my heart still racing and fear consuming me, I carried her back to her room. The tiredness was starting to get to me again, but the situation demanded immediate action. 

That narrow bed and the motel environment seemed increasingly inappropriate, a prison in which Zoe's health was deteriorating. I knew I had to get her to a better place, away from the place that only seemed to make her condition worse. I couldn't allow her to remain there. 

When I got to the room, I carefully placed Zoe on the bed. She was teetering between consciousness and unconsciousness, mumbling disconnected words about James, who seemed to be a boyfriend, and about her mum. She also mentioned her father, who she had told her had died years ago. The sound of her voice, weak and delirious, only intensified my despair. 

On the first night, I took off her wet clothes, looking away out of respect for her privacy, even though I knew it was a moment that required a minimum of modesty. I dressed her in one of my shirts and a pair of shorts that I could adjust and tie. I covered her only with a sheet, so as not to overload her with heat. Then I gave her the hot tea and some of the medicine she was already taking, hoping it would help. 

With everything ready, I rang reception again. The receptionist's voice, still tired from the last call, picked up. 

"Hi, it's Cole again. I need one more thing. I want you to stay with my girlfriend for a few hours while I go out. I'll pay you very well, more than last time." 

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and I could hear the sound of a faint sigh. 

"I can do that. Where are you going?" 

"I need to sort a few things out urgently. Don't open the door for anyone and keep an eye on Zoe at all times. I'll leave my number with you. If anything happens, call me immediately." 

She agreed without question. I thanked her and hung up the phone. When the receptionist arrived, she brought more of the tea, and it was steaming in a new mug, I let her into the room and gave her clear instructions.  

"Don't open the door for anyone. Stay there with Zoe and keep an eye on her at all times. Here's my number. If anything happens, call me immediately." Repeat as if it were a mantra.  

She nodded, watching Zoe carefully, then went to sit on the bed I was sleeping on next to Zoe's.  

Before leaving, I approached Zoe, placed a soft kiss on her forehead and whispered: 

"I'll sort everything out by dawn. You'll be fine." 

I needed to leave, to do what was necessary to ensure that Zoe had the right help and care. With one last look at her, I left the room knowing that I would only return when I was sure that at our next stop, she would be safe and receive the help she needed.