He Says He's Just A Friend

Chapter 28 - The Cut That Always Bleeds

- Clay -

When I got home from the party, my throat was raw, my eyes red from crying. My mom accused me of being high until I spoke and my voice came out as a harsh croak. I told her how awful I felt—I did not explain the specifics of why.

Sure enough, she jumped to conclusions and assumed I was sick. She sent me to bed and brought in a bowl of chicken noodle soup that she spooned into my mouth like I was an invalid. I didn't mind it, though. I didn't have the strength to lift my arms. I didn't really want the soup, but I enjoyed the comfort as she dragged her fingers through my hair, humming.

I thought this bone weary feeling would fade by morning. I was just sad. Not actually sick, after all.

I was wrong.

For most of Saturday, I just felt tired and sad. I had a terrible headache and stuffy nose from crying all night. I didn't get out of bed all day. The thought of eating made my stomach churn. My phone dinged, and pinged, and rang, and whistled with a myriad of notifications, but I couldn't bring myself to reach out to the nightstand to pick it up. Just the thought of it was exhausting.

When I awoke Sunday morning, I felt worse than before. My skin was on fire, drenched in sweat. My mother informed me I had a fever, even before she broke out the baby thermometer to shove in my ear, confirming her diagnosis. She made me get up so she could change the sweat-dampened sheets. I tried to protest. "I don't care if they're wet." I didn't want to leave my cozy cocoon of blankets. She insisted to the point of ripping the blankets away, leaving me exposed to the icy air in just my boxers and t-shirt.

Mom helped me to the shower, but I insisted on doing that part alone. She grimaced, putting her hands on her hips, offended. "I changed your diapers, little boy."

"Well, I've grown since then," I grumbled.

She threw up her hands and left me to undress by myself. Every little movement hurt. My body was so weak. My limbs weighed a hundred pounds each.

Could a broken heart could cause this kind of sickness? I figured the word heartsick existed for a reason.

For the first time in my life, I actually craved a cold shower. The cold water was not cold enough, though. It felt warm against my blazing skin. I imagined each droplet sizzling into steam as it hit my body.

After I got out and dressed in the long-sleeved shirt and pajama pants my mom had readied, I opened the door to discover her sitting on the edge of the freshly made bed. She leapt up and ran to put an arm around me.

This went on for days. I didn't even know how many. Everything just blurred together into a mixture of sipping soup broth, having terrible nightmares about Emmett abandoning me, gulping down a disgusting bittersweet syrup that made me gag, and my mother's voice softly singing to me. In my moments of clarity, I responded to messages from Jackson. I also had many calls and texts from Emmett, only I didn't know what to say to him, so they went unanswered.

Finally, my fever broke, but Mom wouldn't let me out of bed just yet. She said I still needed to rest, so the fever didn't return.

Sometime in the afternoon of whatever day it was, I awoke from a nap and heard my door crack open with a tiny squeak.

I rolled over to check it. "Mom?"

She stuck her head in the door. "You're awake? There's someone here to see you, if you feel up to it."

Emmett's face popped into my mind. Then Duke's appeared, taking away the momentary glee I felt at the prospect of seeing Emmett. Honestly, I didn't even know if he'd want to see me again. I broke my promise that I wouldn't vanish like I did before. At least this time, I had the excuse of being deliriously ill to fall back on.