The Assistant

Being Sick

I shuffle into my apartment Sunday night carrying bags of groceries.

Yesterday, I left Drake's house right after I got dressed, and I haven't seen him since.

I've been feeling weird since then, however, and I'm more tired than usual. It doesn't help me any that I've started coughing a little.

I sit the bags on the counter, and huff out a breath.

"Have these always been so heavy?" I ask myself, yawning.

I think that maybe I need to rest some, so I take a seat on my couch. My forehead as started to break out in a small sweat, and I cough some more.

"Am I getting sick?" I question, sinking down into the sofa.

"No," I shake my head. "I'm just tired, that's all."

At some point in the night I go and get my blanket from my room and head to the couch. I cover myself in it and I lie down, watching TV.

Maybe I can just sleep it off?

***

Its Monday morning now, and I didn't sleep it off. My nose has now gotten stuffy, and I can tell my temperature has risen. My cough is also more prominent.

It's what I get for walking in the freezing rain.

I groggily reach for my phone and pick it up, calling Betty.

"Hana! Girl where are you at? Drake told us all about what happened Friday night, and I just have to say that I didn't like that boy either!"

I cringe at her words. Can Drake not keep his mouth shut?

Betty continues her ramble. "Anyone who is that skinny can't be right-"

"Betty," I groan out. "I can't come into-"

I cough.

"I can't come into work today, I'm sick," I inform her. "Do you care to bring me some medicine?"

"Sure! Are you okay, though?" She has concern in her voice.

"Yeah I'm fine," I reassure her. "I just have a cold."

"Alright, sweetheart! I'm on the way!"

I end my call with her and lie back down, trying to take a nap.

I end up sleeping for a while, at least until I hear my doorbell ring.

I shuffle to the door, and open it.

"Thanks Betty-" I look up at the person smiling down at me. "Where's Betty?"

"Betty was busy," Drake grins. "Now let me in."

There's a take-out bag in his hand, along with a bag of medicine.

"How did you know where I live?" I ask, moving to the side to let him in.

"Betty told me," He answers.

I close the door and walk to my couch, plopping down on it again. I cover myself up with my blanket as I watch him walk around the room, examining his surroundings.

He looks at my pictures that I have framed on the shelf.

"Is this your mom?" He asks and I nod.

She has long dark hair that was curled into waves. Her skin was tan from working in the flower gardens all her life, and her face was beautiful.

"She's pretty," He comments and I smile. "Is this you?"

He points to a picture of me in kindergarten.