Be My One Regret

be my 1 regret / 27

now~

WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS....or hails

Angsty air clots in my neck. Perspiration beads my temples. Tension hammers in my shoulders. And my stomach lurches with unequivocal nausea. Like a limp rag doll, I sit on my bathroom floor wrapped in a blanket leaning my head back against the wall and wince.

For the better part of ten days plus, this damn flu had become my worst nightmare of gross amounts of vomit, head ripping off headaches, sub zero chills then volcanic sweats. It was awful. More than awful. Excruciatingly awful. Wreaking havoc on my daily life. Work and social. I hadn't been to B&B in five days. I hadn't seen my dad or made any of the last minute Savage Endeavors meetings in seven days. And I hadn't seen Tanner, Tucker or Baz in ten days. Which funny enough, no one has called to check in on me. It was a brutal kick when I was already down. And I was starting to doubt my validity in their lives. Like no one cared. 

They say they do, but they don't. Not really. Unless they needed me for something. 

Which had my dizzy ailing brain hating every one of them. My only friend was the porcelain throne. But even she and I were starting to hate each other. Which was just as humiliating since I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this sick, sick enough to hug a toilet and call it a bff. I was a broken hot mess. So sick and tired of being sick and tired that I was deliriously considering prank calling the Tamiflu company to give them a piece of what was left of my mind about their epic failure product.

Hell yes. Someone needs to tell them that this shit doesn't work.

On cue, my mouth waters with threat of puking which stirs a rush of shivering over my body in fear of more upheaval. I groan a flurry of curses at it's unwanted warning. Wishing for it to go away. Praying on repeating chant for God to have mercy on my wretchedly sick ass.

Disruptively to my misery, a soft knock raps at the door and Cleo's bleached head pops around it's edge as it opens slightly. Her mouth flips back and forth between a smile and a frown. "Hey girl, you okay?"

I knew she meant well but it still was the dumbest question ever. I cringe thru a fake smile and give her a thumbs up. "Oh yeah, just peachy."

Slowly, she bravely pushes the door open a little further. Her mouth thins into a firm line as she glances around the chaotic mess of my bathroom. Old Kleenex tissues were scattered. The Tamiflu box was torn open resting on a pile of dirty clothes. Half empty Gatorade bottles were lined on the counter. Half eaten saltines lay discarded by said bottles. The smell of my certain death by the flu from hell riddled the air. And then there was me, her eyes practically bulged out of her head just looking at me. Like she'd just witnessed a live horror show. Which she wasn't wrong. I knew I was disheveled. Still wearing the same ensemble of ratty sweatshirt, stained leggings and sad holey socks from two days ago. Hair knotted in a 'fashionable- never' sloppy bun on top of my head. Skin the color of a make up artist's dream in the very shade of movie magic zombie. And eyes with black hole circles around them.

Yeah, I was pretty.

She shakes her head in dismay. "Damn Fi. You look like shit."

"Gee. Thanks Cleo for noticing. I feel like shit too." I mumble bitterly but thankful that the flu hadn't killed my sarcasm too.

Her cute face scrunches up with concern. "It's been over ten days, Fi. I think you should go see a doctor."

The mere mention of a doctor grates my belly. The idea of sitting in a waiting room only to be told I did indeed have the flu seemed pointless. It hurts but I shake my head. "No, I'm fine. I'm sure it'll be over soon."