8th October 2008
Head throbbing with an unbearable ache, a gentle but heavy pressure weighed down on my trembling body. As I opened my eyes, instead of daylight, I was met with the warm flicker of candlelight dancing around the room, illuminating the walls. The blackout curtains were closed, and the luxurious fabrics that usually draped around the four-poster bed were pulled back. A slightly sweet, woody scent, with a masculine touch, permeated the room, filling my senses. The fragrance was oddly familiar.
Jess. I recalled his scent from when I had rested my head on his chest, but where was h-"Elora, lie back down."
Just as I had begun to push myself up, I turned my head and spotted Jess's silhouette seated in the corner on a chair. Even his silhouette is attractive. How?
"Why am I in here, Jess? We were working. I need to get u-" I began before Jess interrupted, "No, you don't. Stay where you are. You threw up and passed out. I'm worried you might be sick from being out in the cold on those slopes today." His voice was smooth like vanilla and honey, yet dark and warm like whiskey. It was almost addictive.
"It's alright, I promise. Just a panic attack. They happen all the time. Where is Mariam and Tora?" I asked, wincing from the throbbing pain of my migraine.
"They're finding you a doctor to make sure you're okay," Jess said, grabbing a jug and pouring a glass of ice-cold water before handing it to me gently. I sipped it gratefully, unaware of how dehydrated I was, my mouth as dry as crumbling sandpaper.
I whispered, "Thank you," my hands trembling as I handed the glass back to him. The room fell silent, only the heavy snow and hail pounding against the window panes. It was unsettling. My stomach twisted with a mix of anxiety and nausea, similar to the sensation of driving over a steep hill.
"What's this?" Jess suddenly asked, his fingers brushing softly over the vintage journal I'd placed on the nightstand.
"It's just what I use to write up my interview questions and some other random thoughts, that's all."
Without another word, he picked up the journal and began skimming through the pages.
"Jess, no—don't!" I tried to stop him, but I was too late.
"I can't stop thinking about what Rowen had said in his interview. I wonder if Jess knows that I understand. I wonder if he knows I'm not his enemy and that I don't believe the stories," he paused, his curious, glimmering green eyes scanning my face as he continued, "Months before I came here, I'd watched all the news reports and read every article stating that he'd knocked Luke Quinn off the track so he could win. But months before, I also didn't know how hard his upbringing had been, that he'd had just as hard of a childhood as I did."
The expression he wore confused me greatly. His jaw wasn't tight, nor was it loose. Lines pooled below his eyes as he asked, "What is this? What do you mean by any of it?" Slowly, he shut the book.
The migraine intensified, and my vision blurred with black dots. "Rowen explained what happened in his interview with Mariam and I..." My words halted abruptly as I attempted to clear the fog that clouded my mind, "I was determined to tell your story. Not just for you, but for me. I understand the loneliness and disorientation of growing up without parents. I was seven Jess. Seven when I was thrust into a broken system, as if living in a shattered home wasn't harsh enough."
Jess moved to the edge of his seat, elbows resting gently on his knees and his hands swaying in-between his legs.
My voice drew out as shaky as my body,"My teachers discovered that I was neglected at home and called social services. Despite the pain my parents caused when I was that alone in the world at such a young age, I wanted nothing more than to crawl right back to them." My face streamed with tears feeling like a waterfall toppling boaters off the edge of it.
Jess said nothing, but he stared - the kind of stare that was sympathetic, that understood, like a comforting embrace in a storm.
"Why do you think I'm so pushy? Why do you think I argue and bite back the same way that you do, Jess? Because we may be different, but God, we're alike." My voice cracked, and I felt the urge to be sick again.
Rushing to his feet, Jess grabbed a bucket that he'd put on the floor next to the bed and held back my hair.
His voice came softly to my ears, "It's okay, I've got you, you're safe. Listen to me, Elora, you're panicking again. Mariam, Tora, and Rowen will be here any minute; they're trying to get a doctor to find out if you're sick from the cold."
For the following hour, Jess's hand was tangled in my hair, holding it back as I vomited five or six times - I had lost count. My head was still spinning as if a hundred tiny dancers had been twirling around in my brain when the doctor arrived. She was a short old woman with sparse brows and mousy brown hair that delicately sat above her shoulders.
"The doctor took my temperature, then cleared her throat, addressing Mariam, Tora, Jess, and Rowen with a soft tone reminiscent of a sweet but firm grandmother, "She is to stay in bed until her temperature has dropped below thirty-eight degrees Celsius. I believe that Elora was already falling ill due to the cold weather, but only became aware of her symptoms when her anxiety triggered the settling flu." She glanced at the dark, unlit fireplace and nodded in approval, knowing that additional heat would only exacerbate the fever.
The sound of her voice was faint to me, drowned out by the loud thumping in my ears. I dragged my hand towards my face and rubbed my eyes drowsily, the orange candlelight twinkling through the gaps of my fingers as I spoke, "But doctor, I need to work-"
"No buts," she interrupted, "You are to stay in bed until your temperature has dropped young lady."
The doctor approached the wooden door, gently turning the rounded knob before declaring, "I will need a word with the rest of you." She exited the room, and the rest followed. Even though they left, I could still hear their discussion about taking paracetamol and ibuprofen with a four-hour gap and eating comfortable amounts of food. She went on to recommend things like toast and plenty of water.I sighed, thinking, This whole trip has been a mess. Even though Jess had spoken about what happened with Luke, it wasn't done in the way I wanted. I wanted it to be professional to ease him in, ask him about his past and background with Luke. Of course, I knew a portion of it through Hazel, which was helpful, but it made no difference to the documentary as she hadn't stated any of it on camera, and I highly doubted she was going to. Instead, what I got was a tension-filled interview with nothing easing about it and a bone-rattling fever. Just my luck, I scowled.
YOU ARE READING
The Winter Rivals
RomanceOn the verge of being fired, Elora Winter and her two best friends/Co workers, set off to snowy Switzerland in hopes of a promising story, they can turn into an eye opening documentary. Jess Miley, a stubborn, arrogant, but highly talented skier, h...