Fairytale • Robby Keene

fifteen

Odette woke up to the soft light of the morning streaming through her window. Her body was still heavy with sleep, but the warmth of the sun coaxed her to stir. She stretched, blinking away the last remnants of a dream. It had been a peaceful night, but something felt different this morning—something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

But then, a sound shattered the calm—harsh, guttural coughing. It came from downstairs, the kind of coughing that rattled the chest and didn't seem to end.

Her heart skipped a beat as the sharp, strained sound continued. It was unmistakably her brother.

Panic tugged at her, but she pushed herself out of bed, her feet hitting the cold floor with a quickness that startled her. She rushed out of her room and down the stairs, her pulse pounding in her ears. The air around her seemed to grow thicker, laden with an unsettling tension.

When she reached the living room, she froze. Oliver sat hunched over on the couch, his body wracked with another violent cough. His face contorted in pain, his cheeks flushed and damp with sweat. His breaths came in short, uneven gasps, each one more desperate than the last. He struggled to catch his breath, his hand clutching his chest as if he could somehow hold the pain inside.

Odette's chest tightened in response, a sharp, irrational fear surging through her. Something was terribly wrong. She had no idea what was happening, but the look in his eyes, the sound of his labored breathing—it was enough to consume her with worry.

"Oliver?" She whispered. She took a hesitant step forward, her hands hovering as though unsure of how to help, or if she could help at all. "Oliver, what's going on? What's happening?"

His eyes flickered to hers, filled with a mixture of exhaustion and confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was another harsh, wheezing cough. He looked like he might collapse, his body fighting against something he couldn't control.

"I'm going to get help," Odette murmured, already turning toward the door, but Oliver's weak, trembling voice stopped her.

"No... please... don't..." His words were barely audible, choked by another fit of coughing. He looked up at her, his face pale and pinched, a shadow of his usual strength.

Torn between wanting to protect him and the overwhelming sense that something was horribly wrong, Odette stood frozen for a moment, her mind racing. But instinct soon took over, and she rushed to his side.

It felt like an eternity before he began to calm down, his breathing slowly evening out.

"Are you okay?" Odette asked worriedly.

"I'm okay, O..." Oliver reassured.

Odette's hands trembled as she cupped his face, her eyes scanning his for any other signs of distress. "What happened? Why were you like that?"

"I don't know. I just felt... I don't know, weird." Oliver explained before dismissing his sister's concerns with a wave of the hand. "I'm fine. In fact, I'm starting to feel better now. Just a little cough, that's all."