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“Whatever,” I grumble, desperate for her to stop talking. My head is pounding so hard, I feel like it’s going to pop off of my neck.
The moment I walked through the door this morning, Mandi started going on and on about Eli. Lucky for me, I remembered her germaphobia, so I made a point of telling her I wasn’t feeling well.
It worked, and she changed her focus to getting the hell away from me and my germs.
“Okay, feel better,” she says, slinging the duffel bag over her shoulder. “Text me when you’re not contagious, and I’ll come back.”
“Oh, sure,” I mutter. “Will do.”
Mandi slams the door behind her, and I wince as the noise slices through my head like a knife. That girl just can’t do anything quietly. She stomps around like an elephant 24/7.
When I got home from Eli’s, I texted Jasmine to tell her I was sick, and she said she has a fever, too. Whatever this illness is, it’s making its way through the student body at a rapid-fire rate.
For the next few hours, I hover between sleep and misery, my body wracked with chills as my headache pounds away. The only positive thing about any of this is that my room is a Mandi-free zone for the next few days.
Somehow, I manage to get out of bed and find the thermometer I’d packed with a mini first-aid kit. Sinking down onto the floor, I pop the thermometer into my mouth to take my temperature, too exhausted to even climb back into bed. I rest my head on the edge of the mattress and close my eyes to wait.
A minute later, the beeping noise of the device startles me from my twilight state.
Shit. It’s 103. That’s pretty bad.
Despite the fact that I’m freezing, my t-shirt is soaked through with sweat, but I can’t manage to get back over to the dresser to get clean clothes. Grabbing the mattress, I pull myself up and climb back underneath the covers.
This isn’t good. I don’t have any creature comforts in the room, like water or medicine. And I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the rest of the night, yet alone how long this illness might last.
Tears stream down my face, and I roll over on my side, pulling my knees up to my chest.
When I’m sick, I get weepy and emotional. For the next ten minutes, I feel sorry for myself and cry my face off until exhaustion drags me back into sleep.
Unfortunately for me, sleep is only a temporary reprieve. When I wake an hour later, my mouth is sticky and feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls, and my eyelids are glued together with gunk.
This is going to be a long, miserable night.
A knock on the door startles me, and I moan as I try to force my eyelids open. Jesus, even moving my eyeballs hurts.
“Who’s there?” I croak.
“It’s Eli.”
Oh,no. I let out another low moan and cover my face. I’m the hottest mess on the planet right now. I don’t want him seeing me like this.
“Holland? Can I come in?”
I swallow, and my throat feels like it’s been sliced with ten thousand razor blades. Fuck. I really need some water. “Yeah, come in.”
Eli peeks his head inside the room, and his jaw drops when he sees me. “Jesus Christ. Holland, what the hell?”
I pull the covers over my head, once again seconds away from bawling. “Don’t look at me! I’m a disaster.”
My mattress dips as he takes a seat on the bed and tugs the covers off of me.
“Fucking Bucket and his fucking miserable germs,” he seethes, shaking his head. “You really are a mess.”
To my horror, my eyes begin leaking again, and my lower lip starts to quiver.
“Oh, fuck.Noooo, don’t cry,” he begs. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I can’t help it. I turn into an emotional basket case when I’m sick.” I begin wheezing, then start to cough. My throat is so dry, and the pain is unreal.
