how did this happen. . ?

04 - chills with hot soup

Another week passed before the first cough hit.

It started on a cold Tuesday morning. You woke with your head pounding and your throat raw like you'd swallowed sandpaper. Groaning, you reached over your bed to turn on the lamp, the light stabbing at your eyes as you blindly fumbled for your phone.

"Class is in three hours..." You mumbled, your voice scratchy and low.

Your throat burned. Your limbs ached. It felt like gravity had tripled overnight.

You dragged yourself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom cabinet for whatever half-expired medicine you could find. The campus rumor mill had been buzzing for days about a bug spreading now that the weather was shifting, but you'd figured you'd be safe. You didn't exactly hang out with anyone.

Yeah. That was a mistake.

Even though the semester had only just begun, you couldn't afford to skip class. You didn't have anyone to get notes from, not anymore, anyway.

Your heart gave an uncomfortable pang at the memory of what happened with Tim. He hadn't been to class since that awkward, tense moment in the hallway. Maybe he caught the same bug? You hoped that was the reason for his absence, not because he didn't want to see you again.

Still, you'd kept taking notes for him.

Your gaze drifted over to your desk, where the printed notes sat in a tidy pile next to your dead laptop. You'd been up late studying, trying to push through the fog that had already started settling in your head.

Pain sliced across your temple, sharp and sudden. A high-pitched ringing filled your ears. You barely registered the impact of your knees hitting the cold kitchen tile before your head followed.

Black spots danced across your vision.

Maybe just a quick nap. Right here. On the floor.

~ ~ ~ 

It was the shrill screech of your alarm that yanked you out of unconsciousness. Disoriented and aching all over, you groped for the counter and hauled yourself to your feet, then staggered back to your room to turn off the alarm before it drilled a permanent hole into your skull.

Good thing you set it early — forty minutes before class — because everything hurt. Your skin felt like it was made of glass. The weight of your clothes was unbearable. Every movement was a herculean task.

Still, you got dressed.

Still, you walked.

You were already running late by the time you checked your symptoms on your phone.

Nausea. Chills. Body aches. Runny nose. Sore throat.

"Cool. I either have a cold, the flu, strep throat, or cancer. Great."

The headache throbbed harder in protest as you sarcastically closed the tab. This day was going to suck.

Your brain was soup. You barely remembered the walk to class, but eventually, you made it — only to spot someone you weren't sure you'd see again.

Tim.

You stumbled your way toward him, forcing a smile on your pale face.

"Tim!" you croaked, trying to sound casual, or at least alive. You failed. Spectacularly. "Welcome back. I'm sorry about what happened last week. I'm not the best at making friends, and I just kinda assumed we were, y'know... friends. But it's okay! Anyway, I have your notes. I didn't know if you were sick or just skipping class, so I-"

He stood up mid-ramble and took you by the arm, leading you toward the hallway.

"Uh-where are we going? Class is about to start."