⌁ Thunder ⌁ Lana Del Rey Fanfiction

chapter thirty-six: love is in the air

"You know what, forget it." I say into the phone, tossing my leg across the bed so I sprawl my sore body a little more. My skin under the fabric of my clothes, and the blanket, feels tacky all over. I feel a cold sweat coming on. "I don't feel good. Like, at all."

"Oh, come on, it's a Saturday! take some medicine and get your ass up." Zella says urgently.

"A rain check? just one?" I grog, feeling sick from the sunshine landing in my eyes.

"It's like 70 degrees out! how the fuck are you sick?!"

"Allergies? fuck do I know..." I throw myself under my duvet to avoid the light. Except, it's too hot, so I end up throwing it off my body seconds later.

"..." Zella's awfully quiet for a bit. I can hear her fingers tapping away on the phone. Then, she laughs a devious "haha."

"What?" I ask.

ding

I check my phone.

___________________________________

8:37 AM

L - You're sick?
- Bringing you something warm ASAP
- Hold tight <3

___________________________________

I turn on my stomach and lean on my elbows, perked up by my sweet love's message.

"You texted her?" I ask in disbelief, my cheeks turning red, probably matching the shade of my stuffy nose.

"Ummm," I can hear the aggressive tapping for a bit. "Yeah, obvi," she chuckles. "Look, I'm gonna carpool with her. See you in a bit, my sickly angel!"

well, then.

I hop in for a quick shower to wash away some of ill-feelings. It does help quite a bit, but I know tomorrow might just be my worst day.

As I finish up throwing on something casual, I finally leave my bedroom. The house is still and quiet. The only other person still here, is Irene.

I knock on the guest room door softly, hoping i'm not waking her. I hear a shuffle, then a faint "come in" which prompts me to push the door open.

Irene lays in bed, cocooned by the duvet. Her face is flushed, her eyes look tired. She offers a weak smile, and an attempt to unravel herself which looks like it pains her.

and I thought I was sick

"Oh my god, are you good?" I ask, rushing to the bedside. She whimpers as she finally manages to stretch her body out of the blankets. I scoop her face into my hand and press my palm to her forehead. Hot to the touch. "Nope, not good." I digress, worried.

"I don't know what's happened," she says hoarsely, her words getting caught in a yawn. She pulls away.

"I didn't wake up feeling so good either," I add. "Zella said she's on her way. She might bring something for the sickness, if that helps," I smile encouragingly.

Even through the pale complexion written all over her face, she manages to smile back. She looks down, I recognize that this is her tracing her thoughts. What does she think about Zella?

"She's not worried about getting sick?" she mumbles back, offering nothing but an innocent glance.

I chuckle. "An army couldn't keep her away."