Of Frost & Cinder (Old Version)

Side Effects

Chapter Twelve

I wake up hacking, coughing, and gasping. My throat is so constricted that even the thought of drinking water burns my insides. Before I can blink, Beck comes out of nowhere and sets a trash can under my face as I vomit silver goop over the side of my bed. I hack for what feels like forever, with Beck holding up my hair. He's being so calm about it, so unaffected, and I'm surprised that he has a chivalrous bone in his body.

"Thanks," I croak when I'm done upchucking. My eyes are wound tight, so I'm not sure what he's doing save the quick footsteps and the sound of my door creaking open.

I go to move, but my limbs are surprisingly feeble. I haven't felt this awful since before I found out I was anemic. I was barely six, but I was ready to conquer the world. It was a weird day; I was having a hard time breathing or focusing, and Dad was trying so hard to be patient, but I couldn't muster enough strength to last through any part of my routine. The moves were amateur, but they were strenuous, and when Dad would tell me to jump, I couldn't take off. I fell, hard, and the ice cracking sounded like thunder, as if the entire arena shattered when my face hit the ground. Blood poured out of my nose like water, and it wouldn't stop. Before I knew it, I was in a hospital bed, and Mom and Dad were arguing outside. At the time, I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I understood that Mom was furious. I figured it was just because Dad was relentless, but it was definitely one of Mom's scarier moments. We later found out that I had Iron-Deficiency Anemia, and was given those little red pills.

Red, I pause. During that first year, my pills used to be red. Why hadn't I noticed that before?

With a groan, I finally manage to push myself up enough to lay flat on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.

"So, you remember me yet?"

"If I did, you'd probably know about it."

Beck shakes his head and sits at my feet, on the edge of the mattress. He then holds out a glass of water and a wad of toilet paper. "I couldn't find the rags."

Pushing myself up is an incredibly arduous motion, and Beck must note this because he sets the glass and toilet paper on my nightstand, only to help by pulling me off the bed. When I'm upright, I fall into his chest, my knees weak and wobbly like Jello.

"God, you smell like vomit," he grunts, stepping back to hold me at a distance. His eyes emit a shocking amount of concern.

Maybe it's because I'm sick, or just the hangover from casting a spell together, but I have to steel myself in order to combat my sudden want to burrow into his well-defined chest. It's surprisingly bare, compared to the length of his hair and the scruff on his face. I only saw part of his torso in the kitchen when I cut him, but I guess I expected all of him to be as grizzly as his face. "When did you take off your shirt?"

The better question is when did I strip down to my tank top and hello kitty pajama pants? The one time I sneak a guy over, and I couldn't have found a more mature article of clothing to wear?

"So, is this supposed to happen? Is it normal to get sick after a spell?"

"I don't know," he says, but his face doesn't twitch, not the clenched jaw or furrowed brows, but he does remove his fingers from my arm. I know this because there's a rush of heat that fills the emptiness left by his cold skin. When I blink, his hand is on my forehead, and that coolness overwhelms me again.

"Damn, you're burning up."

"I'm fine," I force myself to look away from him, trying to focus on anything but my nausea or his ridiculously sculpted abdomen. Seriously, no nineteen year old should look that good...even if said nineteen year old has a magical animal gene that transcends everything.