Only You by K.T. Quinn

43

Molly

The Day I Panicked

“I can’t believe you stole a test for me,” Donovan said through the door. “What happened to the cute girl who was afraid to disobey a closed sign?”

“The test is easy,” I said, ignoring his jests. “I had it done on me. I can walk you through it.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he replied on the other side. I heard the crumple of plastic as he examined the kit. “You shouldn’t have gone out and risked yourself.”

“I wanted to get myself tested,” I replied. “Getting you a kit was a secondary benefit. If you test yourself now, I’ll take it back to the testing site.”

“I’ll take it later, I promise,” he said. “I just want to rest now.”

He sounded much more tired than this morning. That worried me.

“You don’t want dinner?” I asked. “It’s five-thirty.”

“I’m not hungry.” The words came out as an exhale, like he could barely summon the energy to say them.

“You need to eat. I’m going to go make dinner for myself, and I’ll bring you something.”

I went down to the kitchen and gathered supplies. Dry fettuccine noodles, creamy alfredo sauce from a jar, and more leftover chicken. I boiled the pasta and then mixed everything in a bowl, topping it with freshly-grated Parmesan cheese.

“Knock knock,” I said when I got back. “I’ve got fettuccine alfredo. Made from scratch.”

He laughed softly. “You made pasta from scratch?”

“I’m going to pretend you don’t sound so dubious.” I opened the door and placed his bowl in the partition, then closed it. “I even grated fresh Parmesan cheese on it.”

Donovan’s door opened and closed. I heard a fork clinking against a bowl. “Even without my taste buds, I can tell the difference between fresh pasta and dry stuff. The consistency is different.”

“Maybe I’m just really bad at making fresh pasta,” I suggested.

I heard him eating, so I took my own bowl and started chowing down. After being spoiled by Donovan’s cooking for so long, mine was definitely mediocre. But it was better than nothing.

“Thanks for making me eat,” he said through the door.

“You need your strength.”

After we ate, I looked up a video on how to self-administer the test. I sent him the link and then explained the process through the door.

“It’s a tough test,” I said. “It would be easier if I did it for you.”

“No.”

“You can open the door a sliver and let me do it through the crack. It’ll be safe! Just like when I gave you a hand-job through the door…”

“I won’t let you risk it. I’ll do it to myself.”

I heard the rustling of plastic as he prepared.

“I have to stick this all the way up my nose? To the marked line?” he asked incredulously.

“Told you it was tough. If you want me to do it for you…”

“Okay. No problem. Here I go. Three, two, one…”

He groaned on the other side of the door. I counted down fifteen seconds on my phone. “Make sure it’s deep enough.”

Instead of making a sex joke, Donovan replied with another muffled groan. He gasped and coughed when he pulled it out after fifteen seconds. “That was awful. I think I’d rather die of the virus.”

“If you think that’s bad, let me tell you about gynecologists.”

“You’ve got me there.”

I instructed him to break the tip off and place it in the plastic vial. Then he wiped it all down with the disinfectant wipe included in the test.

“Okay, it’s in the partition,” he said.

I opened the door and pulled it out. I gave it another wipe-down with my own disinfectant wipe, then pulled out the included forms.

“Full name?”

“Donovan Mark Russo.”

“Mark. Boring middle name. It’s a good thing you’re sexy. Age?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Uh oh, the big three-oh is coming up. You’re practically ancient. Birthday?”

I filled in the form with his answers: sex, nationality, phone number. For the address I put the Residencia Al Gladiatore.

“Now I need your weight and height.”

“One ninety-five,” he said. “Six-foot-one. These questions are getting personal.”

“Now I need your favorite color. And your celebrity crush.”

“Blue. And Salma Hayek.”

“Salma Hayek? Really?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You just like her because she has enormous tits.”

There was a pause, and then Donovan said, “Well, yeah?”

“I want you to know that I’m rolling my eyes at you,” I said with a laugh. “I kind of like asking you questions like this. You’re too sick to lie.”

“Disease is nature’s truth serum.”

I frowned at the next entry. “Codice fiscale? What’s that mean?”

“I think it’s their equivalent to a social security number,” he said. “Mine is two-four-zero…”

After he rattled the numbers off, I said, “Perfect. I have everything I need to steal your identity. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go order ten credit cards in your name.”

I heard him laughing on the other side of the door. “This was a long con the entire time. I knew it!”

“Hope the sex was worth it,” I replied.

It felt good to laugh about everything. For a few moments it didn’t feel like there was a barrier between us.

I stuck the filled-out forms in the plastic bag with the test, then sealed it with the included red tape. I changed clothes and put on my shoes.

“I’m taking this to the testing site. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“Can you bring me dessert on the way back?”

“Sure. What flavor of gelato do you want from the creamery down the street?”

“Actually, I was craving some cookie dough from the kitchen.”

I blinked with surprise. “You want cookie dough? I thought you said it was better baked.”

“I’m taking a page out of the Molly Carter playbook,” he replied. “I’m sick and I want comfort food.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Molly?”

I paused. “Yeah?”

“Be safe out there.”

“I will.” I rested my hand on the dividing door, then left.

Even though the sun had set over an hour ago, the night was pleasantly warm. But there was no time to enjoy it: I was on a mission. I clutched the test bag in my hand and hurried across the plaza, then down an alley toward the test site.

During the walk, I thought about what I would tell the people there. I had stolen the test. They might know that I shouldn’t have it, that there was no way I could have administered it away from the testing site.

Then again, I doubted they would ask any questions. They were swamped earlier today and probably wouldn’t have time to worry about the details. They would take the plastic bag and toss it in the pile with the other tests that had been administered.

I was a block away from the testing plaza when I came across two police officers, chatting quietly while looking at their phones.

I stopped out of instinct, and considered hiding. But one of them had already seen me. He said something to his partner, who also looked down the street in my direction. A flashlight clicked on and they approached me.

“Test,” I said, holding up the bag. “I have to take this to the testing site.”

One of the cops shook his head and pointed back the way I had come. I recognized him as the same cop who had caught us twice already. And based on the look in his eyes, he recognized me too.

“This isn’t like the other times,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I’m just dropping this off at the test site. It’s right over there, around the corner. It will only take me a minute…”

The other cop barked an order at me in Italian. His hand drifted down to his hip, unclipping something from his belt. His handcuffs.

The other cop said something, and the only word I caught was stazione. It sounded like station.

Police station.

They’re going to arrest me, I realized in horror.

My legs moved without thought.

I darted between the cops and sprinted toward the testing site. Shouts followed me but I could barely hear them over the sound of my breathing, constricted by the mask. My feet pounded on the cobblestones and the plastic bag swung at my side as I ran down the street, turned left, then ran some more.

The drab tents of the site were up ahead. There was a line, but if I could run around it and drop the bag off at the front…

A body slammed into me from behind, knocking the wind out of me as arms wrapped around my chest and dragged me to the ground, sending Donovan’s test flying. I cried out as the bag slid across the cobblestones and came to a stop underneath a bench.

“The test!” I cried out. “Please, just give me the test, I need to turn it in, they’re waiting for it right there!”

I felt cold metal snap onto my wrist behind my back. One of the cops growled something like a curse.

“Stop,” I begged as he dragged me to my feet. Tears ran down my cheeks and were absorbed by the fabric of my mask, the mask I had borrowed from Donovan, the man waiting for me at home. “Please stop, just let me turn in the test. I need to turn it in for Donovan. He’s sick.”

I let out a wail of anguish as they dragged me away, leaving the test underneath the bench.