When Time Ran Crooked

64 hours, 39 minutes and 55 seconds Until

I awoke feeling the heat. A gentle warmth circulated throughout my entire being, gently stirring between my toes and rushing through my veins until I was left in a hot state of delicious bliss. I stretched out my legs, pointing my toes, with all the elegance of a cat.

I hit something.

Instantly, my eyes widened. I started to feel more than the heat, as well; I felt the knot of mucus in my nose, making it almost impossible to breath, the stale taste of disease in my mouth, the aching that was my lungs. I was sick. Victory for me.

The blinds had been pulled down, but I could see the light outlining them in a blurry white halo (if halos were squares, that is), causing the rest of the room to be muted in various shades of grey. I blinked several times, willing myself not to fall asleep again.

Swiveling my head backwards, I realized what I had hit: Claude.

He was lying on his back, one arm splayed across the pillows- I had been lying on it, letting his fingers tangle in my hair. My feet had reached backwards, touching his sweatpants-clad leg. Claude had taken off his glasses before falling asleep, long lashes splayed across his cheeks like black smiles, his mouth slightly open. I learned that he snored.

Instantly, I sat back up, pulling myself away from him as I sat up. I slipped out from under the covers, suddenly feeling the cool air hit me. I was tempted to flee back into the sheets, but I was up. And food. I had to have some food.

After taking a bathroom break and munching on a breakfast of night-old fondue snacks (unfortunately, I didn't think the fondue was quite so edible anymore), I went and opened up the blinds. Light, endlessly bright to the the point it was blinding, flooded the room. I groaned, covering my eyes.

"Bees?"

I turned around, seeing Claude sitting up. His arm was covering his eyes, too, as he propped himself up on his other elbow. "Did you just call me Bees?"

He shrugged with one shoulder. "I don't know. It's like six a.m., I don't even know where I am."

"You're at Cloud Nine," I told him, before smirking. "Or should I say Claude Nine?"

He mumbled something in response, but I couldn't hear him over my laughter. Since I was hilarious, of course. The laughing led into a fit of coughing and the, next thing I knew, I was leaning over my knees and practically coughing as if I had been smoking for sixty years.

Abruptly, something brushed against my forehead, feather-like.

It was still enough to send me flying back, ready to karate-chop whatever was before me.

Of course it was Claude, who still had his arm out-reached. He was scowling. "You're burning up, Bea. How are you feeling?"

I wiped a line of mucus that was leaking from my nose with the back of my sleeve. "Like I could wipe out a horde of zombies."

"Well, you'd probably just be able to blend into the group right now, based off how horrible you look right now," he replied.

"Wow, Claude," I deadpanned. "How do you handle being so charming?"

"It's a struggle." The worst part was that I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. Before I could demean him even further, Claude grabbed my arm at the elbow, gently. "Let's get you back into the bed."

I pulled my arm away from him. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he insisted.

"Well, are you a doctor?" I demanded. "Because unless you have some big fancy degree, then don't tell me what the fuck to do."