His Possession

13: Sickness and killer thoughts

"I'm tired and I'm sick to death of being without you."

-Graham Greene, 'The End Of The Affair'.

***

It had been a gruelling two weeks without a day off, and the absence of Blake from my life only added to my discontent.

The recent successful assault on the rogue adversaries, executed skillfully by Blake's pack, had momentarily provided a glimmer of relief. Once we had thoroughly ensured that the threat had been eradicated and our safety restored, we were granted permission to depart. I wasted no time, swiftly departing from the premises within a mere ten minutes of receiving the assuring news alongside Nova.

I couldn't entirely blame anyone but myself for the situation. I had chosen to create distance between Blake, my dad, and me. The revelations about my life had been overwhelming, and in order to distract myself from the shock and uncertainty, I had thrown myself into work.

Well, that was the plan, at least.

In truth, my life had been turned upside down, and the few "shocking things" I didn't know about had turned out to be major bombshells. My entire existence felt like a lie, leaving me on the brink of losing my sanity. To cope, I had become a workaholic, filling my days with a relentless schedule that left me with barely enough time to use the restroom. I cringed at the memory of almost wetting myself due to the sheer lack of breaks.

Today, however, was different. After feeling slightly feverish for the past day, I woke up feeling like death itself—a sensation I doubted the deceased could truly experience. This fever had turned me into a bumbling mess, my mental faculties dulled by the heat raging within me. When I shared my concerns with Nova, she dismissively assured me that I had always been like that, causing a mix of annoyance and affection to well up within me. In an attempt to make up for her rudeness, she insisted I stay home and took it upon herself to care for me.

Nova's methods, however, bordered on madness. Mistaking my attempt to use the bathroom for an escape, she had pushed me back onto the bed, locked all the windows and doors, and positioned herself as my vigilant guardian. The memory of nearly wetting myself replayed in my mind, but this time, it had occurred just half an hour ago. It was beyond comprehension why she thought I would flee in such a miserable state. Yet, I managed to convince her of my genuine need and finally made my way to the bathroom, wondering how on earth I had achieved such a feat.

Nova had confiscated my car keys and checked on me incessantly, not out of genuine concern for my well-being, but to ensure that I didn't sneak off to work. Her frantic behaviour resembled that of a headless chicken, and though I couldn't help but fantasise about removing her head, my upbringing discouraged me from resorting to violence—though occasional slips were always possible. After all, if a body were never found, who would ever know?

"I'm going crazy," I whispered to myself, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation. However, my fever decided to throw a tantrum at that very moment. Nova walked into my room, bringing with her a bowl of soup.

"I brought you some soup. You better eat this one, you didn't eat the last one I bought, talking about how it tastes like cow dung."She placed it on my side table, her words barely registering in my pain-addled mind. It seemed my body temperature had skyrocketed to unimaginable levels, and I questioned whether an ice bath would even help.

"Nova," I moaned in agony, my voice strained.

"How do you even know what cow dung tastes like?" Nova questioned, her attention seemed momentarily diverted, likely having missed my earlier remark.

"Nova!" I called out, raising my voice a tad. The immediate consequence of that action was an intensified wave of pain that gripped me, causing me to double over.