Blue Heaven

Part 10

30 March 1982

Tuesday 10:40am

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The night before, Paul had said he felt a little off. He was unsettled, and kept getting shivers.

Sure enough, the following morning, he was hot to the touch, moaning and complaining.

The baby was down for her first nap. You took his breakfast up to your bedroom.

Approaching the bed, you placed a damp washcloth on his forehead. He had slept in. The curtains were drawn. There he lay in the dark, mourning and pitiful.

"What is it, a fever?" You said.

Paul's eyes blearily opened, delirious.

He moaned, but not in the alluring way. He was unhappy.

"No." He said. "I'm a goner. This is the end for me. I can hardly think."

He groaned, and sniffed.

He seemed too ill for theatrics, even. He spoke weakly.

You bit your cheek, looking down at him. His flesh was still burning up.

You knew he wasn't going to die, but your location wasn't ideal. If he really was in a bad way, you were far from any hospital. Was he just being dramatic, or was he at death's door? It would be bad to lose him.

"No, you're not dying." You said. "You probably just feel that way, but it'll pass."

Paul's lip trembled, his eyes shutting.

You stroked his damp forehead, pushing his hair out of the way.

"Paul..." You murmured.

He might very well be playing it up. You knew how much he loved being fussed over. Though, it was also true that he despised illness. At the office, it would take a particularly strong one to keep him away from productivity. Often, he would come to work on some sort of non-drowsy medicine, forcing himself through, not admitting the obvious to himself. Suppose he had to in such a high-demand field.

He tilted his head against your hand, a pitiful expression.

"Hold me." He whimpered. "Mother me."

You tilted your head, making a bewildered sound.

You sat on the edge of the bed, and let him rest his head in your lap.

He sniffed, and curled his arm around your hip. You stroked through his damp hair. He was shivering.

"Could you try to eat?" You said. "It'll help get your strength back."

Paul let out a weak sound.

"I've got no appetite." He said.

You left the tray on the side table, and let him fall back asleep.

You couldn't help but worry. You didn't enjoy seeing him in pain. Surely, it was only an illness, and he'd recover fine. Worst case, you could call a doctor.

Shit. You had painkillers in the medicine cabinet, but as for proper medicine, you couldn't get them. The nearest town was a twenty minute drive, and you didn't drive. Horrible lack of foresight.

"I'm fading away." Paul moaned, pained. "Tell my little one her daddy loved her."

You stroked through his hair, tsking.

"Don't be dramatic." You said. You put a hand up against his head. He was swelteringly hot. "Where did you even catch a disease? We're practically quarantined up here in the middle of nothing."