“You’re more than welcome to sleep in it for now,” she murmured. “My spare room doesn’t have a bed in it. It’s my office. Don’t go in there, though. It’s a mess. I need to clean up something fierce. I’m out of trash bags, though. That was why I was at Walgreens today. For those.”
I looked at her. “Did you ever get them?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t handle another stop. I’ll just order it from my grocery pickup place. I’ll have to wait, but it’ll be worth it.”
“You can borrow some of mine,” I said. “If it’s not taken out by a tree, that is.”
“When’s the last time you took some meds?” she asked as she led me to the bed.
Hours ago.
Way longer than I probably should have gone.
But, again, I’d been a dumbass and had walked out without buying some.
“Umm,” I hesitated. “When did you give me some?”
She snorted and helped me onto the bed.
“I’ll be back,” she murmured.
And she was.
However long later, with my eyes closed, I felt more than heard her come back in the room.
There was hail hitting the windows again.
“It sounds like someone’s taking their fingernails and slowly drumming them on the windowpane,” I murmured. “All I can picture is a witch, with her wicked black nails, slowly tapping them against the glass. Tap. Tap. Tap.”
She helped me sit up and said, “Take these pills.”
I opened my mouth, and she froze for a second.
But then I felt her put the pills in my mouth while being super careful not to brush my lips with her fingers.
I swallowed them dry and she laughed. “I brought you water, too.”
I didn’t want water.
“No,” I denied her.
“You need water,” she said, placing the bottle to my lips.
Then she tried to drown me.
I had no other choice but to swallow the water despite not wanting any.
“Water is good for you, especially when you’re sick,” she said, finally taking the bottle away.
I cleared my throat. “I liked you until right then.”
She snickered. “I’m sorry. But getting dehydrated is a real thing, unfortunately.”
That I knew, too.
I was an adult after all.
But my stomach hadn’t been feeling good for the last half an hour, and I didn’t want to chance puking it up.
Not that I could even mention that to her when I was drowning.
Luckily, she didn’t drown me for long, finally stepping away and giving me room to breathe.
Just moments later, she ripped the blanket away and covered me up with something much thinner. Something that didn’t keep me warm anywhere near as well as the previous one had.
She was the devil.
“I’m not the devil,” she countered.
Whoops, did I say that out loud?
“Yes, you did,” she confirmed.
And how did she know what I needed anyway? I needed that bigger blanket. Not that small, flimsy piece of shit.
“I went to nursing school. Actually, I am a registered nurse. I just chose not to pursue that career now that my writing has taken off,” she said. “So yes, I know that you shouldn’t be using a blanket when you’re running a fever as high as you are. You should really be taking a cold shower, but I don’t think I could keep you from actually drowning in there.”
Instead of answering her, I went ahead and laid my head down and closed my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing and not the way I was slowly freezing to death.
“You’re a writer?” I found myself asking.
I couldn’t find a comfortable position on my side, so I flipped all the way over to my other side, which happened to be closer to where she was leaned back on the bed beside me.
She smelled good, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and inhale her scent. Even though doing so made my throat feel like it was on fire.
“Did you look at your throat?” she asked curiously.
No. I hadn’t even had the energy to pee in the last four hours. When would I have looked at my throat?
She sighed and came back with the flashlight from hell.
“Let me see,” she ordered.
I opened my mouth and showed it to her.
“No pus pockets,” she said. “That likely rules out strep.”
“Thank God,” I said as I closed my mouth. “Strep is awful.”
“The flu is awful, too. Imagine if you had strep throat on top of that.”
“You would just find me dead in your bed because I’m a little bitch,” I said. “Hey, I think I really need to go to the bathroom.”
She sighed. “Let’s go then.”
The next five minutes consisted of her half-carrying me to the bathroom. And me half-walking.
Though, if I was an honest man, she probably did a bit more than half.
“I did more than seventy-five percent,” she countered as she left me leaning against the counter in her bathroom. “I’m gonna close this, but not all the way. Yell if you need anything.”