Junebug • TWD

31. Sick.

I feel cold all the time now, even though winter is over.

Usually, I like the winter. I like the snow and I love Christmas, New Year's, and Valentine's Day. I especially love Valentine's Day because, first of all, everything is pink and shaped like hearts, and second of all, I love Valentine's Day because Valentine's Day is my birthday. Since Valentine's Day is in the winter, that means that I'm already eleven. We lost track of the exact days now, but we can make a rough guess. I'd say it's probably April. Or maybe June. I can't tell.

All I know is that, even when it's warm out, I still feel cold. I feel cold right now, even though I've got my dad's jacket draped over me as I lay in the backseat of one of the cars. I've been lying down a lot more than I've been standing up. When I stand up, I feel dizzy, and my bones feel like they weigh a hundred million pounds.

Dad opens the door to the back seat. In the winter, he sat back here with me, but now that all the snow is gone, he's gone back to riding his motorcycle. I can't ride on his motorcycle with him anymore. He says it's too dangerous for me until I get stronger.

"Hey," Dad greets, pulling a strand of hair away from my face. "Your head feelin' any better yet?" he asks me. That's another new problem. I have a headache more often than I don't have a headache.

"Not really," I murmur, looking up at his face.

He frowns and does the thing he does where he stares at me silently for a few long moments. He's been doing that more often, lately. He says I look sick and I really gotta start eating more. I really do try, though. I try as hard as I can because I know I'm sick. I know my eyes are all sunken in and glassy, and I know my ribs and collarbones poke through my skin, and I know my muscles are weak. I do want to get better. It's just really hard for me.

After he's done looking at me like I'm some sad, mangy puppy, Dad picks up my empty water bottle from the floor of the car. He leaves for a moment and comes back with his water bottle. He places it on the side, right next to my hand.

"Drink some of that, please," he tells me. I nod. Drinking water isn't so bad. "We're about to clear this house. Maybe we'll find you somethin' to eat in there."

"I hope so," I say.

"Me too," Dad says with a sigh before shutting the car door and heading toward the house.

I know it makes him feel bad, seeing me like this. I think he thinks it's his fault, but I don't think it is. Maybe a little bit of it is, but for the most part, I think I was just born this way. Sometimes I wonder if he gets annoyed with me secretly behind my back. He still thinks there's something wrong with me, and now I'm thinking he's right. Because Carl eats just fine. He'll eat whatever's put in front of him. And I try to eat whatever's put in front of me, but I just can't.

The trunk of the car opens up and I can hear Lori and Hershel's voices. They're talking about hopefully finding some food in this house, too. Lori needs extra food, now, because she's pregnant. Like, really pretty pregnant. They take boxes out of the trunk and slam it shut once again.

Now that they're getting out boxes, I'm starting to think that we're gonna have to stay in this house overnight, which means that I'm gonna have to get up and walk into the house. Usually, standing straight up right after lying down for a long time makes me feel like I'm really going to pass out, so sitting up for a little while makes it easier.

Despite the soreness of my muscles, I push myself up and sit up straight in the backseat. My eyes get all black for a minute, and then little dots of color start warping and dancing in the black until, finally, I can see again. I open up the water bottle and take a few sips. It makes me feel even colder. I feel the cold fall down my throat and slosh around in my empty belly. I hate that feeling.