Tame Me If You Can

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

My face is pressed into the pillow, feeling like it's been punched by a gorilla.

Throat hurts. Nose is stuffed. And my spine hurts like it's trying to tear me in half. I sit up and glare at myself in the mirror.

"You...with your shitty, snowflake immune system had to get sick before midterms, huh?"

I grab the little stuffed reindeer friend I gifted myself for Christmas and prop it on the kitchen counter, holding a spoon as a microphone.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to my channel. I'm going to show you how to take care of yourself when you're sick."

I fetch some ingredients and begin mixing with half-assed, eye-balled estimations, spilling left and right. "A tablespoon of honey...a sprinkle of cinnamon...and vinegar. And don't give me that look. Cheers."

I hunch over the counter, forcing it down, then gasp for air.

I pretend to walk out of the kitchen, then slide back on my socks with fingers pointed at the reindeer. "But wait, there's more."

Opening the fridge, I grab a carton of cold chicken bone broth. "Huh...look at that delicious soup recipe on the back."

I twist the lid open and chug the thing down. Efficiency.

Hours later, because my fatigued brain can't be trusted behind a wheel, I take Uber to school.

The class is unusually loud, but I try not to let it bother me. Suppressing a sniffle, I turn the slides on and smile. "Hi everyone. Today we're covering the last chapter before midterms."

My voice is so congested that my feverish, delirious brain conjures an image of Miley Cyrus. Like, what if I were to pull out a guitar right now, with a blonde wig, and start singing a country song. Change the lyrics to trauma. I could make the whole class sing with me. We could have a midterm acapella.

I think I giggle out loud, because some students look at me funny.

"Sorry guys, I'm not feeling well today. I'll make this part of the exam easy though, don't worry." I apologize and begin.

The class appreciates that with nods and smiles, except for Jake who looks...pissed? It's so unexpected, that I have to look away to mask my hurt feelings.

What's his problem?

Ten minutes into the lecture, pissed Jake gets up and leaves the room. I do my best to not get affected by his weird behavior. Maybe he's dealing with a personal issue.

By the end of class, I'm shriveled like an overbaked asparagus. I tell the class that I'll be skipping office hours and that they can email me any midterm related questions.

The bed, or death, is calling my name.

Dragging my feet to the parking lot, I keep my head down to avoid familiar faces. As I reach the edge of the street, I take out my phone to call Uber, then sneeze all over the screen.

"Why are you here?" A sharp voice makes me snap my head up.

I squint through the aching sinuses to see Jake standing before me, still serious, but holding a questionable, brown paper bag.

"Is this your street? I'm sorry, I'm so congested I can't smell your urine." I pretend to look around, trying to find the place where he's marked his territory.

His eyes flash with amusement. "You can barely stand straight yet you're still trying to roast me?"

"I'm succeeding."