desiderium | m. o'hara

twenty-three*

Tw: vomit, sickness, also smut lol what a surprise no minors!! spanking 👀

you really think Miguel would let you keep testing his limits? (the answer is no but also yes)

  I glance at Rosalina's reflection in the rearview mirror. "My poor papita. We'll be home soon, baby."

  Rosalina - clammy, pale - nods pitifully small. She stares out the car window with teary eyes and holds her upset belly. I make sure to drive as smoothly as I can.

  A stomach bug has been going around at Rosita's school and she's its latest victim. I'd never inputted a portal's coordinates so fast when I received the call that she'd thrown up in one of the bathrooms at school and was crying to go home. Miguel's on a mission, but I asked Lyla to relay to him what's going on - and to ask him to return as soon as he's able.

  It's a relief when we arrive home without incident. I take her bag and hold her hand as she shuffles up the stairs to the entrance. I watch her worriedly.

  I hate it when Rosalina gets sick. I hate having to just wait it out while her little body struggles against illness. No matter what I do - cold flannels, warm baths, chicken soup, vitamins - I always feel so useless. I always get so panicky that I'm doing it wrong.

  Mig had always been the one to calm the both of us down. But he's not here anymore, and the man that's taken up his spot is inexperienced at caring for a kid with this level of sickness and making sure I don't stress my head off. The worst Rosalina got during winter was the sniffles, and all Miguel had to do was make sure her Spider-Man shaped tissue box was stocked, keep her company by doing a jigsaw or reading books, and retrieve painkillers for her headaches. I wasn't even that worried.

  But this is far worse than the sniffles.

  Rosalina curls up on the couch and stares into space as I tuck a blanket around her. I turn on the TV to her favourite channel and wipe her hair out of her sweaty forehead as I place a tin bowl - the resident throw-up bowl - on the floor beside her.

  "Are you hungry?" I pet her too-warm face with gentle brushes of the backs of my fingers. "Do you want me to make you something?"

  Rosalina shakes her head. She leans into my touch and wearily closes her eyes. My despair grows. I kiss her forehead.

  "Mi pequeña princesa," I murmur against her hairline, and kiss her again. "You'll feel better soon."

  I make her a glass of lukewarm water and electrolytes to slowly sip on and do exactly what I detest - wait it out. She throws up a few more times and cries, and I hold her hair and murmur gentle words. Then, while she sleeps, I sit on the other end of the couch and work on my laptop. I quietly ask Lyla for updates about Miguel's ETA, but she keeps saying that he's still tied up.

  Rosalina's feeling a little better after a long nap, and by the time it's dinner she's able to hold down food. She has a bowl of plain rice and a banana and eats it dolefully. Miguel still hasn't returned.

  "Where's dad?" Rosalina sadly mumbles.

  "He's just held up at work." I squeeze her hand reassuringly. "He's trying hard to get back as soon as he can."

  That doesn't seem to make her feel any better. She stirs her rice with an upset frown. "I miss him."

  I smile sadly. "Me too, baby."

  Miguel, where are you? I managed to handle myself well, but Rosita still wants her dad. I want him home, too.

  "Hey, how about we open that bracelet-making kit you got a few weeks ago?" I ask. "Does that sound fun?"