What?

Chapter Eleven

I groaned.

My eyes opened no more than slits. My head hurt, both outside and inside. My stomach made me feel like I was going to throw up at the sight of food. My chest felt bruised up too. I was so tired. My limbs were sore. What time was it? I was facing the wall next to my bed. Oh man, I felt sick. The lights were off and I was very glad that it was so cold in the room for once. I was so hot. I felt like I had just stepped out of an oven or out of the sun's center. I was breathing through my mouth and my breath was strained. My throat felt swollen. My mouth was parched and dry.

My mind was dizzy and my vision was blurred. Finally, I was able to keep my vision from spinning. I could feel my shirt clinging to my chest and back with sweat. I was so sick. It felt like every form of the flu that one could get at once, not to mention fight wounds. I could see the blankets had moved to the edges of the bed and out of my way. I bit my lip.

I don't know how long I laid there, just staring at the wall trying to ignore the pain and nausea. The cool air vented in the room and the gentle hum of the AC alerted me to it. My shoulders were shaking, but I didn't care as I felt the cool breeze start to overcome the room. It cooled the sweat on my body for a few preciuos seconds. Then it died down and my sweat heated up again because of my body heat. I nuzzled my head into the pillow as though if I didn't see myself, I wouldn't feel my body and how much I hurt.

My limp hair plastered itself to my face and neck. I could barely move, but I managed to grab my stomach which felt like it was swimming around inside of me and disturbing the rest of my organs. I curled up slightly, but it bothered my stomach with every move I made.

My head wouldn't comply with thinking logically. I was worried that I'd have to fight again today. I'd be subjected to a beating worse then yesterday if that was the case. I hated the training sessions. Bruce never beat me. Bruce never made me do something if I wasn't understanding it. Why did Slade insist on making me do something if the end result was a bunch of bruises and only one skilled gained? Then I realized that I was comparing the two men. Of all things, Slade doesn't deserve the honor of being compared to Bruce. In fact, he doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as Bruce! My headache over came me and I groaned.

I heard the door open. Must be Wintergreen coming to get me up. Please no. The Titans would force me to stay in bed if I got this sick. Frankly, I normally wouldn't argue if it was this bad. I would on other occasions, but not ones where I could barely move a muscle and felt like rejecting Cyborg's food (who is probably the best teenage cook in the world). Oh man, food, got to get my mind off of it. Got to get my mind off of...He lit the candle.

I felt a hand come to my forehead and pull back after a second, "Feeling under the weather, I see."

I moaned in response. I don't think my mouth would allow me to talk.

"Well, I'll get you some toast instead," Wintergreen told me.

I shook my head 'no' telling him I couldn't eat, but I don't think he was going to comply with that.

"I'll get Slade to check in on you, see what's wrong," he said casually.

He patted me on the back before he left, "Hang in there. We'll see what's wrong with you."

I was dizzy again and I couldn't pay much attention. I felt like I was on a ship that was rocking in the water. My brain didn't seem to understand gravity anymore because at one point, I felt like I was going to fall to the ceiling and off my bed. I was disoriented. For some reason, maybe it was my sore throat that seemed to be shriveled up or maybe it was because I was leaking sweat faster then a river flows, but my neck felt like it was fragile. Almost like a soft piece of clay that if it was pushed too hard, it would break. I heard the door open and Wintergreen place a tray on the bedside table. My stomach did a flip. Not food, please not food. It wasn't just Wintergreen though who was there.