Nausea: Sequel to Warcrossed

Whatever's Happening Needs To Stop

Every time I woke up, it hurt like I was being stabbed with a thousand needles at once. My right arm was bruised up severely, and was so sore I started to keep it in a sling that Junior had left over from when he'd broken his collarbone last spring. Now, the phone was ringing again, and Hercules picked up.

"Hey... It's late over there in South Carolina, you okay?"

"It's late there, too... five-thirty in the morning, right? And no, I'm not okay... I mean, I talked to this guy that Jefferson and Madison referred me to, and he gave me ideas, but I keep waking up in random places hurting like crazy. And my arm keeps getting more and more bruised... I don't understand, Herc."

"Me either, John. Do you pass out or anything? Land on that arm?"

"I don't know! That's what's scaring me!"

A beat of silence followed my words.

"Sorry, Herc... I shouldn't have yelled. I just don't know who to go to. Usually Laf..." I couldn't finish. Speaking his name, even his nickname, pierced my tongue with an invisible dagger. I wiped the tears away with my sleeve.

"I don't get why it had to be him... why him, Herc?"

"I don't know. The world's cruel. I'm sorry, John. I don't know how to help you... I can listen, but... I don't know what else to do..."

"I just want it to stop. All of it." Every thought, memory, question, ache was too much for me to bear.

It was quiet except for ambience on his end. He was listening, still, probably walking on eggshells to avoid upsetting me more. At least I had him who cared.

"If you ever need to come over here, I can get you a flight," he offered.

"No. I can't. I'd like to but I can't."

"Why not?"

I pondered on whether or not Hercules would yell at me for what I was going to say.

"I'm letting Jayce stay here."