Fall ❈ Benny Rodriguez

xx. the cold

CHAPTER TWENTY!
THE COLD　EXITMUSIC

　

　

NAUSEA TORE THROUGH my dreams. Before I could even fully awake, I was darting to the bathroom, only just making it before vomit exploded from my mouth and into the toilet.

　After letting most of it out, I slumped to the floor, weakened by the sickness. Wonderful, I thought. Just before the first week of school, I have to go and catch a virus. Groaning, I folded my arms over the toilet seat, not caring how unsanitary it was, and rested my head in my arms. Already I was trembling all over.

　Minutes later, Luke pushed his way into the bathroom, confusion written on his face. Only three days had passed since he had successfully proposed to Elizabeth, but the joy had yet to release him; his face was always bright, eyes always wide and smiling. Now that light dulled when he spotted me on the floor.

　"Are you okay?"

　I opened one eye. "Just threw my guts up, but I've been worse."

　"I'll go get you some medicine," he said. Luke started to walk out of the bathroom, and then froze. "Does this mean you're not going to church?"

　"I want to," I sighed, "but I'd rather not, just for today."

　"Okay." Luke flashed a small, apologetic sort of smile. "Be right back—and I hope you feel better."

　

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LUKE'S wishes did not cause any real change; the vomiting was short-lived, but the nausea was ever-present. It had taken only a moment of sitting in front of the toilet after my family had gone for church before I came to a huge realization.

　Now, it was merely a waiting game. I sat on the edge of my bed, knees folded against my chest, heart hammering a tattoo of anxiety. Of pure suspense. Fear. A minute had passed, according to the clock, but it felt like an hour. Another minute, and another. Enough time had passed, but I waited another three, just in case. And then another five, for lack of will.

　Eventually, I unclenched my fists, stretched out my stiff fingers, and forced myself to step to the ground. The carpeted floor felt like jagged rock beneath my feet—not literally, of course, but as a result of sheer opposition. To go back into the bathroom, and look.

　Hours seemed to pass—hours that were actually seconds—before I reached the bathroom. Before my fingers curled around the cool doorknob, twisted—

　I caught my breath. Could not move another inch. The white stick rested still atop the sink's counter, bearing news, one way or the other. I had rummaged around and found it beneath the main bathroom's sink, where my mother must have stored them. There were several, and two extras remained in unopened boxes.

　These things weren't completely accurate. This particular thought sparked a tiny flame of hope, one that pushed me forward. Still, my fists were clenched and pressed against my stomach. I'd changed into one of Benny's oversized T-shirts before going to bed, and the loose fabric brushed softly against my thighs, bringing a slight sense of comfort.