They Called Me Cold, They Called Him a Liar

Sickness is

WARNING: Some content in here is a bit disturbing, especially if you're not a fan of vomit.

This hasn't been rated yet, the beginning is much tamer than the rest might be, fair warning, swearing and *ahem* mature content.

A big thank you to all to everyone who's read this far, and please, read, comment, maybe even vote?

-Dakota

Sickness is

Martha had helped me get to my room, and after she left to make some phone calls I stripped to my underclothes and made sure to open my window to let the cool wind in.

After, I found the room temperature controls, and now am lying in the beautifully chilled room, eyes closed and arms flung above my head.

What is wrong with me? I felt fine this morning, it just seemed to strike.

Maybe whoever she called can help. Is this normal for people?

I try to stand, to find Martha, but even as I rise, pain rips through my stomach, and I curl into a ball.

It keeps coming in waves, and when the worst hits, despite the pain I race to the bathroom just as the gagging starts.

My breakfast of pancakes comes back up, a horrid mixture being funneled through my esophagus into the toilet below me.

At some point or another, Martha comes in and tries to sooth me, rubbing circles on my back. She has to stop when it finishes, because even though it's empty, my rebelling stomach tried to throw more out into the toilet, and terrible dry heaves clench my stomach and rock my whole body in violent tremors.

When they finally stop, I wipe my mouth and slouch against the tub, shivering with goose bumps even though I'm not cold.

"What was that?" I ask, slightly out of breath.

Martha sighs, sliding down to my level, and rubs my shoulder with her warm hand. "It's common with sickness, usually it means there's a virus or bacteria in your body, and your stomach is trying to get it out." she explains, handing me a cup of mouthwash."Although in this case, I'm not sure what made you puke"

After teaching me how, I gargle the mouthwash and spit it out, clearing my mouth of the taste of bile.

Heat spikes up my arm and I flinch away.Martha looks at me sadly, and passes a thermometer to me, being careful not to touch my hand. I put it in my mouth, under my tongue, and wait for the beep.

When it does and I look, I hear Martha gasp from behind me.

Beside the digital screen is a sticker with the average body temperature. 36.1Celsius, or 97 Fahrenheit.

Mine read 41.6 c. -41.6 c, that is.

I feel a bit relieved, knowing I was cold and everything else was normal, that it was me burning because I was weird, but Martha's face told me it wasn't as much as a relief for her.

She touches my hand, and lets me jerk away.

"Cold as ice" she murmurs.

My face turns blank as she leaves the bathroom, for a phone call I presume. I know I can be cold in attitude, but for some reason her comment stings. I hobble back to my room, and slouch against the cool door.

My touch isn't the only part of me that is cold.

I bring my knees to my chest, and wrap my arms around them, letting the hot tears roll down my cheeks, leaving burn marks in their wake.

I am weak. Having a girly fit of tears isn't like me, or, at least the me I've known for three months. Then again, the average human body would be frozen at this temperature, instead I'm thriving. If I'm not human, then what am I? The lack of identity is scary, and it's what's frightened me.

The tears, as they loose their heat and finish burning my skin, turn to ice and roll the rest of the way down my cheeks, tinkling on the ground beside me.

*:::*

"Sydney?" I hear Martha ask from the other side of my door.

I don't answer, trying to hide my face with my cold hands before she comes inside. As soon as she steps in, I see through my fingers the goose bumps raising in her bare arms.

"Sydney, are you alright?" she whispers, standing far enough away that I can't feel her body warmth. I nod, still covering my face, mostly the burns."Sydney honey, please move your hands."I shake my head, and slide a few inches more away from her.

Her small hands touch mine, and I jerk them away from the searing pain, as well as my face.

The burn trails streak down my cheeks, small cracks through my skin, just the sight of them makes her take a sharp breath. Without another word, she leaves.

When the door closes, I pad over to the small box under my bed, and open it to reveal a dagger. The very same dagger I first held when I woke up. The dagger that now feels as cold as I do.

I brush my fingers across the edge of the blade, expecting a cut, but instead a thin, white light is traced onto my skin. I sigh with relief, and drag the point of the knife along my arm. Wherever it touches, a cooling feeling spreads, and it's perfect, like spreading mint across my skin.

I drag the dagger along every surface of my skin I can reach, laughing at how good it feels.

White-blue lines crisscross my legs, arms, and stomach.

The cold seeping from the lines are just right. Colder than my room, but still fine to me.Out of curiosity, I run the tip of the blade against my burn trails, and sigh. The pain ebbs away slowly, but it feels amazing.I need to see something else.

Taking the dagger with me, I slowly open my room's door, and start laughing, making my way down the stairs.

It still feels hot, but now I keep my icy temperature, and don't feel like I'm being boiled alive. Still, I clutch the dagger to my chest, in case I need it.

Martha appears at the bottom of the stairs, she doesn't say a word, but her eyes widen at the sight of the knife.

"Martha, don't freak out. I swear, it helps." I say, trying to stop her inner screaming so loud I can almost hear it. "Look" I say, taking the knife and quickly slashing it across my arm. A high pitch scream escapes her mouth, and she tries to stop me, and freezes, horrified at the glowing light. "It doesn't hurt, and it keeps me cool." I tell her, coming the rest of the way downstairs.

She doesn't move until I grab her coat and bring it towards her. "Come on, I feel much better. You booked an appointment to see a doctor right? Find out what's wrong with me?"

A slight nod of head is all I need, and I race down the steps leading to our appartment's garage.

"H-Hold on, Syd" Martha calls from behind, but she can't stop me.

At the end of the stairs, I see the garage, but just by our car is a drift of snow that blew in from the open windows. I race to the snow, picking up speed and launch myself into it arms first.

Oh, but it's so soft, like laying in a pile of feathers, maybe clouds. Something really soft. I raise my arms, covered in snow and laugh. "Martha!" I call out. "Martha look at this!" I giggle, and fall into the snow again.

I look at my snow covered skin again, realizing I was still in a tank top to cool off. This morning everyone was bundled up to their ears, trying to keep warm. But here I am, lounging about in a pile of snow in nothing but a tank top and a small pair of sports shorts.

But my laugh dies in my throat, and panic replaces the fun.

"Martha!" I scream.

Everywhere there was snow, ice crystals started to grow, and they keep growing even as I stare. Melding together, they form a shell of ice that covers each of my arms.

"Martha!" I yell again, running to the car.

That was a long one, but I'm glad it's over. Any theories out there as to what's wrong with her? Ideas for parts to add in? If so, leave a comment and let me know. I'll try to work in anything you post.

My next update will be in a few days, maybe two or three at the most. Love you guys for taking the time to read this, and see you next chapter.