Winter (Not Edited)

Chapter 10

After a long nap, and a day later, it was Friday, the day Emerson came back. Winter had declined that night, she could barley stand up without feeling a wave of nausea.

The fact of the matter was she still had chores that needed to be done. Pushing herself out of bed, she got a bath. It helped a bit, but she was tremendously ill.

Making a small breakfast of toast and tea, she also ate plenty of fruits, for the vitamins. Since she fell asleep yesterday, she had no time to finish his study.

The closet was closer to clutter than clean. She began to work, slowly. As she moved her body refused to push its limits further. Against her body's wants she continued to clean the room.

Pushing boxes out of the room she swept inside the closet. Hours had gone by and she hadn't noticed. She missed lunch, not that she usually eat lunch. She needed to fix her eating habits.

She felt like she was getting too thin, it was looking disgusting, or as she saw herself in the mirror.

Her fever was brutal, her legs ached, she wanted to cry, she couldn't do that. She went to prepare dinner.

Emerson had arrived and went straight to his room, before heading for dinner. He wondered what Winter had made, he also wouldn't deny that her cooking was fantastic.

As he was sitting waiting for dinner, he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled his sleeves up halfway. Unbuttoning a few of the first buttons to his shirt he put on.

Winter grabbed his plate, it was rice and chicken. She felt bad that she couldn't do more. She inhaled sharply as she entered the dining area. Walking over in front of him, Winter focused on her feet as she felt overwhelmed by the air around her.

She placed his food down, he mumbled a thanks as Winter nodded and began walking away. She bumped into one of the chairs as she walked slowly. She could barely see, or breathe. She gripped the table as she leaned her weight downwards onto the table.

Emerson watched as Winter stumbled only to the end of the table. She looked terrible, and it was concerning him a bit.

"Are you alright?" Emerson's voice came out in the calmest tone, he almost didn't believe it came from himself. Winter said nothing, but only nodded a yes.

She lifted her head up and instantly regretted it as everything went black. Winter fell to the floor, thankfully, not hitting her head, the chair she was holding caught her fall, before she just fell backwards.

Moving fast, Emerson jumped up out of his seat. He knelt down towards Winter he blew a bit of air on her face and her eyes flutter a bit before closing again.

"Winter?" Emerson said, softly. Her lips parted as if she was going to say something. He knew she was awake now. Emerson looked again closely at her face, she was sick. He pressed the back of his hand to Winter's forehead. He cursed under his breath.

Scooping her up in his arms he carried the sickly girl to her bedroom. He assumed she had been sick for a while, but he couldn't know how he never realized it. A sudden flame of anger rumbled through Emerson, he had made her work. He cursed again, himself this time.

Laying her down she mumbled something. She was wearing a oversized T-shirt and shorts. Emerson pulled the blanket over her, reaching for the cord he turned it on and slowly moved the blanket further around her, tucking it between her sides.

Pressing his hand to her forehead again he thought about what to do. When she took care of him she had used a cool rag, he thought back to the time she had cared enough to help someone who was drunk by choice.