“Hey dude,” I replied, “I need a favor.”
I started coughing as soon as I got the words out. My head started pounding in my temples again, and the pain was enough to make me squeeze my eyes shut.
“You sound like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” I agreed when I could speak again. “Can you go pick something up for me?”
“Sure,” Jon said.
“Awesome.” I swallowed a couple of times as my stomach lurched and the hammer inside my head began to nail up drywall on the inside of my skull. “You know that pimp dude that hangs out by Mario’s old place? Marvin or something, I think his name is?”
“Melvin,” Jonathan corrected. “I know the guy.”
“He’s got a hooker named Bridgett,” I said. “Pick her up and bring her here, will ya? I’ll Paypal ya later.”
“You got your own hooker?” Jon laughed.
“Just pick her up,” I moaned.
“Will do,” he replied. “Be there shortly.”
It didn’t take him long at all. At least, I didn’t think so. It was also possible I passed out and lost track of time between the phone call and their arrival. Either way, it seemed only a short time later someone was knocking at the door. I dragged myself off the floor of the bathroom to answer it.
They were both there – Bridgett in her usual tiny skirt and fishnets, and Jonathan with an unlit cigarette sticking out between his lips. Odin peeked out at both of them from the edge of the couch.
“You are a mess,” Bridgett said as soon as the door opened.
“Shut up and get in bed,” I mumbled.
Jonathan laughed and chewed on the end of his cigarette.
“She’s right, bro, you are a mess.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, asshole.” Jonathan laughed and then apologized. “Sorry, bro – that was just mean. You do look like shit, though – I can’t lie about that.”
“S’okay,” I muttered. My stomach lurched. “Thanks for pickin’ her up.”
“No problem, bro,” he said. “I’m gettin’ outa here – you ain’t paying me to catch this shit.”
With Jonathan gone, Bridgett put her hands on her hips and looked me up and down. Her eyes narrowed as she took a step forward and placed her palm against the side of my face. As soon as she did, her look softened again.
Her hand felt cold on my skin.
“You are burning up,” she said quietly. Her hand trailed down the side of my face and then came to rest on my bare chest. “How long have you been like this?”
I shrugged and ignored her question. Any additional actions would have put me in a coma.
“I just need sleep,” I told her. “I swear I haven’t slept in days, so get in bed, okay?”
“When was the last time you drank anything?”
“I’m not that kind of sick!” I snapped. My head began to spin a bit, and standing became quite a chore.
“You are that kind of dehydrated!” she retorted.
She probably had a pretty good point there.