Fate Interrupted

41. The Fall Out

Ren

The storm has passed, and a bright and sunny, cool morning fills our bedroom. I check the clock. It's 7:40 am. Usually, I'm able to sleep in on the weekend, but I've been lying awake for thirty minutes. It's probably because while I was lying in the hospital after the crash, I reassessed my life (as you sometimes do after a close call with death) and decided—it's time. 

Last night I wrote up my resignation letter giving my two-week notice and emailed it to Cheryl before I chickened out. Gio said he already knows of two people who need a graphic designer, and my dad is excited to have my computer skills for a job he picked up this month. I just have to buy Adobe Creative Suite and start marketing myself. We have savings...It'll be okay, right?

Gio is still sound asleep on his stomach, one arm is half off the bed, and the other is spread over the bed, hand on my hip. A smile nudges up the corners of my mouth. He's so cute, even if he is drooling a little on his pillow. I'll let him keep dreaming. He could use the extra sleep.

As I slide out from under him, his hand drops heavily on the mattress. Normally, he might wake, but he appears to be in a deep sleep, and he is undisturbed as I trace my finger over the bird inked on his bicep and then pull the covers up higher.

Padding into the cheerful, sun-drenched bathroom, I sit down to pee. Rolling my stiff neck, I then check out my hands, which are still a bit bruised, but otherwise, I feel fine. After washing my hands, I make my way into the kitchen, grab the carafe immediately to make coffee, and then decide to make some eggs and toast for breakfast. I get out the bread and toaster, cut a slice in half, and pop them in.

The skillet clangs on the grate as I turn the burner to medium with my other hand and pour in a dollop of olive oil. Suddenly, my head goes light. Weird. I shake it off, then crack two large eggs into the pan. The strong smell immediately turns my stomach over. They certainly don't smell like normal eggs—they must be bad. I turn the stove off and leave them there, feeling extremely nauseous now. Abandoning the toast, I beeline to the sofa and lie down. 

I hope this passes shortly, but it doesn't. Slowly, a slight headache tightens around my forehead instead. What's going on? I close my eyes and try to rest.

The sound of Gio flushing the toilet rouses me again, and I see him breeze into the kitchen from my position on the sofa. At first, he doesn't notice me, instead surveying the mess I left on the stove—the unfinished eggs still in the pan. Alerted, he quickly scans the room till he finally spots me and rushes over.

"Bella, are you okay?" His eyes full of concern.

"I don't know, I feel strange."

"What? How do you feel?!"

"Um, I was making breakfast, and I got lightheaded. Now I just feel nauseous with a slight headache, and it won't go away."

"Are you dehydrated?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Let me get you some water." He rushes to the kitchen to fill a glass.

Maybe that's it. I didn't drink enough water yesterday. 

He brings it back to me, and I down the whole thing. "Do you feel any better?"

"I don't know. Can I have the toast I made? Maybe if I eat something, I'll feel better."

"Sure thing," he says, jumping up like a rocket to go get it. "Bella, it's cold. I don't think the butter will melt on it. You want me to make you a new slice?"

The thought of melting butter churns my stomach again. "No, just bring it plain."

He passes the plate to me, and I force myself to eat it to give my body something. Gio sits on the sofa next to me and rubs my back. At first, it's wonderful, and I love how attentive he is, but soon, the stimulation, the heat from his hand, the heat from his body next to me, is all too much. It's making me feel worse—much worse.