Beautifully Wrong - Rafe Cameron

III

chapter 3: cold
warnings: foul language.

Indiana wrapped the oversized blanket tighter around her shoulders, her head pounding as she stared blankly at the old television in her living room. The familiar static buzzed in the background, the screen occasionally flickering, but she barely noticed. The remnants of the cold that had taken hold of her the day after she served Rafe Cameron at the country club were still lingering, refusing to let go.

Her nose was stuffed, her throat was scratchy, and the chill in her bones seemed impossible to shake, despite the heavy blanket and layers of clothes she had bundled herself in. It was one of those colds that made everything feel ten times worse than it actually was.

"Indie, you alright in there?" Percy's voice carried from the kitchen, where he was rummaging through the cabinets.

"Yeah," she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. She hated how weak she sounded, but she was too tired to care.

"You don't sound alright." Percy appeared in the doorway, frowning as he took in her appearance. "You look like death warmed over."

"Thanks," she muttered sarcastically, pulling the blanket up to her chin. "Just what I needed to hear."

"Sorry," he said, not sounding too apologetic. He walked over and plopped down on the couch beside her, making the old cushions sink under his weight. "You need anything? I can make you some tea or something."

"I'm fine," she replied, though her red, raw nose and puffy eyes said otherwise. "Just... cold."

Percy reached over and placed a hand on her forehead, grimacing at the heat radiating off her skin. "You've got a fever, sis. You should be in bed."

"Too boring," she grumbled, leaning her head back against the couch. "I hate being sick."

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna get better sitting out here watching this ancient piece of junk." He gestured to the TV, which was now showing some old black-and-white movie she wasn't paying attention to. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

She groaned in protest, but Percy wasn't having it. He stood up, yanked the blanket off of her with one swift motion, and practically lifted her off the couch. She swayed on her feet, the sudden movement making her dizzy.

"Whoa, easy there," Percy said, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. "Let's go."

"I can walk," she insisted, though she was grateful for his support as they slowly made their way to her small bedroom. Once there, she collapsed onto the bed with a sigh, pulling the covers up over her head.

Percy chuckled as he tucked her in. "You're a mess, you know that?"

"Shut up," came her muffled response from under the blankets.

"I'll make you some soup," he said, ignoring her grumbling. "Try to sleep for a bit, okay?"

"Okay," she mumbled, already feeling her eyelids growing heavy. The last thing she heard before drifting off was the sound of Percy clattering around in the kitchen, probably burning whatever he was attempting to cook.

When Indiana woke up, the sun had shifted in the sky, casting long shadows across her room. She felt marginally better, though the cold still had its icy grip on her. She pushed the blankets aside and slowly got up, wincing as her muscles protested the movement.

She padded out to the kitchen, where she found Percy and John B. leaning against the counter, talking in low voices. Both of them turned to her as she entered the room.

"Hey, there's the patient," John B. greeted with a grin, though his eyes were soft with worry. "How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," she admitted, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. Her throat was still dry and scratchy, and the cool liquid felt like heaven as it slid down.