Five Hundred Miles

2.1: Calling in sick.

Chapter 2.1: Calling in sick. [UNEDITED ]

“There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.”
― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl.

"Cut it out," He murmurs for the hundredth time.

My genius alarm clock won't stop ringing. Of course, I bought this alarm clock because I know that it will succeed in waking me up. It always does.  

I reach for the alarm and shut it up. I rub my eyes grogily, glancing at the man beside me.

I remember that I'm suppose to hate him. He isn't forgiven yet.

I'm in China, this is a hotel, and my knee is starting to hurt.

"What time is it?" Gideon asks, his eyes still closed.

"Six forty, China time," I say annoyingly, checking on my alarm clock. I shouldn't have shut it if I plan to annoy Gideon more. He should know when to wake up.

He groans audibly, slapping his hand onto his face. "Why the hell did you wake up this early?"

"It's time to work," I remind him, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, I know," slowly, he gets up stressfully. He casts a glance at my direction. "What are you going to do?"

"It's none of your business," I say, remembering yesterday's incident. I'm lucky to have him away from me for the night. When he neared, I would nudge him away with my elbow, and he would roll to the other side, moaning.

"Just asking," he replies coolly, then gets up and walk to the bathroom.

Not consciously, I place my hand on the place where his body laid. My hands are starting to feel very warm.

The heat is unnatural.

"Gideon!" I yell, extracting my hand and standing up. My voice sounds like a toad croaking, but I ignore that.

He rushes out of the bathroom with only a towel hanging below his abs. I close my eyes at the faintness he's giving me. God, can't he at least wear something on before coming out?

"Come here!" I order nontheless, hoping that he'll be too tired to notice the faint color on my cheeks. I know that he will, he is always very good at observing people.

"What's the matter?" His sexy morning voice mutters in confusion. He nears me. My heart starts racing for no reason.

I place my hand on his forehead, staring into his petrifying eyes. Even in the dark, I can still see the blueness. His forehead burns heatily, and for the first time, I notice his bloodshot eyes that looks as though they are ready to pop out at any time. I touch his neck, feeling the warmth.

"You're hot," I say calmly, frowning at the sickening thought.

"I know," he says with a smirk, adding a wink.

"NO!" I roll my eyes. "You are having a fever, don't you know that?"

"I'm feeling mighty well," he retorts, grabbing my hands away. Even his hands feel sickly hot.

"You should visit a doctor and take a pill to get rid of the fever. We're in a foreign country, and if anything happened to you, it won't be easy to handle." I reason, sighing as he turns his back on me. He puts a hand on his forehead and messes with his dark hair. I am determined to keep my brows furrowed because I don't want him to notice my weak spot.

"I could have told you the same yesterday when you weren't thinking straight," he says then. "You ran into the streets, maybe you're sick."

Oh I remember yesterday, and it is not a good memory.