love bites » marcelee.

9: Feverish Nightmare

Chapter Ten: Feverish Nightmare

Marceline saw it. Among the trees. It was too far away to get any details, but it was there. It was in the shape of a man, more or less. She shrugged it off as some guy or whatever. But she kept seeing it.

She saw it again, standing in the middle of the woods. Closer. She couldn't make out any features, but she knew it was staring at her. She saw it standing there as she backed away.

She saw it again, standing several feet away. This time, she could make out features. It wore a black cloak, and the hood was longer, making the face almost invisible. But not quite. The features remained faint; all she remembered was the creased look. A look of almost primal hunger.

She steeled herself and began to walk. The thing never moved, but somehow got closer to her. She ran the other way and looked back. It was still the same distance away. Wherever she went, whatever she did, it would always be the same distance away.

She didn't have long left. It was somewhere near her. It was close enough she could feel it. She could feel its hunger.

And it was getting closer.

She stopped to catch her breath. Then she heard it. She turned around and it was gone. But the moment she blinked, it had appeared right in front of her.

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Marceline shot up from the bed, kicking off the covers (which she didn't remember using) in the process. She panted, eyes flitting around the dark room, hearing the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof. She looked at the small window that was on the cupola of the room. It was dark outside. She took a few steadying deep breaths before confirming that she was still at Marshall's place. The idiot who brought her here in the first place.

"You awake?"

She looked toward the source of the husky voice. Speak of the devil. Marshall, who was lying ventrally down on the sofa, one arm hanging off the side with his head turned toward her direction, asked. Was he even sleeping in the first place? Well, she did theoretically stole his bed.

"Yeah. I just had a nightmare." she spoke in a hoarse voice and coughed.

Marceline pushed her hair back as she rubbed her warm face. Her throat felt hot and dry so she decided to go downstairs to get a drink. "I need a drink." she told him and started to feel a little woozy after rising too quickly from the bed.

"What did you dream about?" Marshall asked out of curiosity.

She shook her head, waving him away and brushed past him to go downstairs. It was after she drank some water but still had that hot feeling in her throat that she realized she was unwell. From her body temperature, she reckoned she's feverish. She grabbed a tissue box from the kitchen counter and went upstairs, coughing a few times. She trudged over to the bed and laid supine on it.

"What's wrong with you?" Marshall inquired.

"A-Achoo!" Marceline sneezed, as if to answer the question. She sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue.

Without a word, Marshall stood and closed the distance between them. He sat next to her on the bed and touched her forehead, feeling the warmth of her body fever hot against his hand. "You're sick."

She peeled her eyes open and frowned at him in botheration. "This is all...achoo! Your fault." She sniffed.

"Hey, be grateful I didn't push you off my bed." he said sardonically. He had propped his elbows on his knees and was watching her. Just watching her through his heavy eyelids.

"Stop staring at me." Marceline coughed, telling him off with a grunt. "Why are you up, anyway? Did I wake you or something?"

Marshall stretched his arms, letting out a yawn. "Nah, I haven't been able to sleep with all your snoring."

"I don't snore!" she shouted in denial, causing herself to cough.

He shifted on the bed and let out a chuckle. "You do. It's kinda cute, though."

"Ugh, whatever." That comment brought a blush to Marceline's cheeks but luckily for her, it was dark in the room so he wouldn't see it. "Do you have, like, chicken soup somewhere in your kitchen?"

"Chicken soup?" Marshall repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. When I was a kid, I got fed chicken soup when I fell sick." The corners of her mouth curved slightly upward as she reminisced the memory from her childhood.

"Your parents must've loved you a lot." he said sarcastically but she didn't quite sense it in his voice.

"Nah," Marceline shook her head. "My Mom died when I was five, and my Dad wasn't even around most of my life." She immediately shut up and looked away when she realized what she had just blabbed.

Marshall kept quiet for a while, adding on to the awkward silence which filled the room until he decided to pipe up. "Hey, there's no need to get all emo about it. I kinda get how you feel. I mean, I never knew my Dad. And my Mom's a wretch who cares more about her job than her only son." He shrugged.

"Wow," she coughed lightly, not knowing what else to say because she was not expecting him to reveal something like that. "We're more alike than I expected."

"You wish, Abadeer." he mocked her from yesterday and playfully tousled her hair, earning a slap to the hand from her.

Marshall splayed his hand on Marceline's knee. A shiver danced through her at the hint of contact as instructed her, "Stay in bed."

He got up from the bed, headed over to the closet and slipped on a grey pullover, a pair of jeans and shoes.

"Where are you going?" she looked up and asked in a scratchy voice.

"I'm goin' out for a while." he told her.

"But it's late and it's still raining."

"I know, but I'll be back. Don't go anywhere." he told her again.

Marceline dropped her head back down onto the pillow. She really shouldn't care at the moment, considering she wasn't in a flourishing condition. Her head was throbbing, her nose was congested and she really needed to rest.

So she just watched him leave.