As I stepped into the room, my eyes immediately fell on Nick, lying in bed. His face was pale, and his usual arrogant demeanor had softened, replaced by the vulnerability of sickness. He looked different, fragile even, a sharp contrast to the cocky boy I had slapped just yesterday. My heart clenched with unexpected concern, but I forced myself to remain composed. I couldn't let him or Eric see my worry.
Eric led me closer, but I kept my distance, standing by the door, arms crossed as if I were still indifferent. "There he is," Eric said with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood. Nick opened his eyes slightly, catching my gaze, and I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat.
"Looks like you're still alive," I said coolly, my tone teasing, though inside, I was torn. I refused to let my face betray any emotion. I couldn't afford to show weakness now, especially not in front of him.
Nick smirked weakly, but I could tell he wasn't himself. I wanted to ask if he was okay, but the words lodged in my throat. Instead, I stayed silent, watching him closely, hoping Eric couldn't see the flicker of worry in my eyes.
Eric glanced between the two of us, his expression amused but cautious. "Well, I'll leave you two to... talk," he said, raising an eyebrow as if he expected anything but a conversation. "Just don't kill each other while I'm gone," he added with a chuckle, though I could hear the slight edge of seriousness in his voice.
I forced a small smile, my arms still crossed, as Eric walked toward the door. "I mean it," he added before stepping out, his eyes meeting mine briefly as if to say good luck. Then he was gone, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller.
The door clicked shut, leaving me and Nick alone. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. I could feel my heartbeat quicken, though I wasn't sure if it was from the tension between us or the fact that he looked even more fragile now that we were alone. I forced myself to stay near the door, refusing to let my emotions control me.
Nick shifted slightly in bed, breaking the silence. His gaze, usually so sharp and full of arrogance, was softer now, like he wasn't in the mood for games. Still, I couldn't let my guard down, not after everything. "So," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "What do you want, Nick?"
His smirk returned, though weaker than usual. "Nice to see you too, princess."
I ignored the nickname, trying to keep the growing concern in my chest from reaching my face. I needed to stay composed. He was sick, yes, but this was still Nick—the same guy who had taunted me relentlessly. Whatever sympathy I felt, I couldn't let him see it.
"You're here," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That's what I wanted."
My pulse quickened, but I kept my voice cool. "And now what? What do you plan on doing?"
Nick chuckled weakly, shaking his head slightly. "Relax, I'm not here to fight. I just wanted to see you. You know… after everything." He trailed off, his voice hoarse, and for a moment, he seemed almost... human.
I didn't know how to respond. A part of me wanted to stay distant, to keep this wall between us. But another part—a part I didn't want to acknowledge—was glad that I was here. That he wanted me here, of all people.
But I couldn't let him know that.
Nick shifted slightly in bed, the smirk still on his face. "Hey, since you're already here," he said casually, "pass me the meds on the table and that soup. I'm starving."
I blinked, caught off guard by his sudden request. I stayed rooted to my spot near the door, arms still crossed. "What?"
He raised an eyebrow, like it was the most normal thing to ask. "You heard me, princess. You're already here, might as well play nurse for a bit."
I frowned, my frustration bubbling up. Play nurse? Was he serious? The guy had the nerve to make demands after everything that happened?
"I'm not your nurse, Nick. Get it yourself," I said firmly, not moving an inch.
Nick's smirk faded, and his eyes darkened as if he hadn't expected me to refuse. He sat up slightly, wincing from the effort, and shot me a look. "Don't be difficult. Just hand it to me."
I scoffed. "You've got arms and legs, right? You can manage."
His expression hardened. "You're seriously going to make this harder than it has to be?"
I didn't budge. If he thought he could just boss me around, he had another thing coming.
Nick's lips curled into a slow, menacing smile, and that's when I knew he was about to play dirty. "You know," he started, his voice low and taunting, "I could always tell the dean about the slap. You know, just to make things more interesting. I didn't tell him, but I could."
My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my face neutral. "What are you talking about? The principle already knows."
Nick shrugged, clearly enjoying the power shift. "Yeah, but not my side of the story. I wonder what he'd say if I told him how you really attacked me. Maybe add in a few extra details for effect."
I glared at him, heat rising in my chest. "You wouldn't."
Nick leaned back into the pillows, the smirk back on his face. "Try me. Or, you know... you could just hand me my medication and food like a good little helper, and we can forget all about it."
I stood there, fists clenched, trying to hold back my anger. He was sick, lying in bed, but he still had that same arrogance, the same entitlement that made me want to slap him again. Part of me wanted to walk out, leave him there to fend for himself. But the other part—the smarter part—knew that he wasn't bluffing. He had nothing to lose by making my life even more complicated.
"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath, walking over to the table with clenched teeth. I grabbed the medication and the bowl of soup, fighting the urge to spill it on him.
"Here," I said, practically thrusting the items at him. "Happy now?"
Nick took them, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
I glared at him, my pulse racing with frustration. He was impossible, and I hated how easily he got under my skin. But I couldn't let him win, not completely. I might be stuck here for now, but I wasn't going to let him push me around.
"Enjoy your soup," I said coldly, stepping back. "And next time, do it yourself."
ick took the bowl of soup from me, but instead of drinking it, he just stared at it, swirling the contents with the spoon. I stood there, waiting for him to take a sip, but he didn't. Instead, his eyes flicked back up to mine, and I saw that familiar smirk playing on his lips again.
"You know," he said slowly, dragging out the words, "I'm not really feeling up to it. My arm's kind of weak from this fever… maybe you should feed me."
I stared at him in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."
His smirk widened, like he'd been waiting for this. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
I crossed my arms, trying to keep my voice steady. "You've got to be the most infuriating person I've ever met."
Nick shrugged, playing the sick card again as he leaned back into his pillows, looking far too comfortable. "I mean, I'd hate to spill the soup all over myself. I could use some help, and since you're already here…"
My fists clenched at my sides. Of course, he was making this harder. It wasn't enough to order me around—he had to make it as humiliating as possible. And the worst part? I knew he was enjoying every second of it.
"I'm not feeding you," I said through gritted teeth.
Nick raised an eyebrow, his gaze locking onto mine. "Are you sure about that? We wouldn't want me too tired to explain the real story to the principle, now would we?"
I let out a frustrated breath, my body tense. Why does he always have to do this? I hated the fact that he had any power over me right now, but he knew exactly how to push my buttons. Every time I thought I could stand up to him, he dangled something over my head.
"Fine," I snapped, grabbing the spoon from his hand. "But if you ever mention this to anyone, I swear…"
Nick's smile widened, triumphant. "My lips are sealed."
I sat down on the edge of the bed, hating every second of this. His eyes never left mine as I dipped the spoon into the soup and held it up to his mouth. There was something about the way he looked at me—too intense, too calculating, like he was savoring my discomfort.
"Open," I muttered, trying to keep my voice cold.
He did, obediently taking the spoonful, his gaze never wavering. I quickly dipped the spoon again, trying to get this over with as fast as possible. Each time, he took the soup without a word, but the smug satisfaction on his face made my blood boil. I could feel my cheeks heating up with anger and frustration.
By the third spoonful, I couldn't take it anymore. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Nick swallowed the soup and gave a slow, lazy grin. "What gave it away?"
I glared at him, my hands shaking slightly. "You're such an ass."
He chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I've been called worse."
I scooped up another spoonful, thrusting it toward his mouth, more aggressively this time. He took it, unfazed, still watching me with that infuriating look that said he was in control of the situation.
Just finish this and leave, I told myself, swallowing down the urge to snap at him. This whole thing was a power game to him, and I was determined not to let him win.
Finally, the bowl was empty, and I quickly stood up, putting distance between us. "There. Happy now?"
Nick leaned back, still smiling that same maddening smile. "You're a pretty good nurse, Justine. Maybe you've missed your calling."
I shot him a cold look. "You're welcome. Don't ask me for anything else."
Nick raised a hand in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. "I wouldn't dream of it... for now."
I rolled my eyes and turned to leave, feeling a mixture of anger, relief, and embarrassment. But one thing was clear: Nick had managed to make this whole situation even more unbearable than I had imagined.