ethan & emma: talking with you.

Sick Day

Emma didn't intend to sleep for long on Friday, yet when she woke up the morning sun was blasting through her uncovered windows. 

She groaned, trying to move her arm to cover her eyes, but Ethan's arm was draped against hers and it weighed about a thousand pounds. Emma turned to where he was curled in her bed, her covers twisted around his legs, his hair smashed against her pillow. His mouth was open and he was snoring softly. Emma couldn't help but smile, in an annoyed-but-fond sort of way, as she pushed herself out of his grasp. After her panic attack, they must've both fallen asleep. If Emma remembered the times right she slept for nearly fifteen hours. Damn. Panic attacks were exhausting. 

Fumbling for her phone, she tried to orient herself. It was still sitting in the same place she set it yesterday. Since she fell asleep before she plugged it in to charge it was barely at 10% battery. She grappled for the charger and made sure to plug it in before running her finger across the screen. 

Oh shit. 

She still had those three texts from Ellie, but there was an additional:

[5:23 p.m.] Ellie: Hello?? 

And then nothing. 

She needed to deal with this at some point. Feeling much calmer than yesterday, Emma opened their messages again, clearing her throat. 

What the hell? 

Emma coughed. It felt like there was a thick buildup of phlegm just siting in the back of her throat and stripping all the moisture from her mouth. She tried to force a sound and all that came out was a raspy whispering that sounded like some demon had possessed her. 

Leaving her phone by her bedside, Emma stood up, maybe too abruptly. All the blood rushed to her head. Emma swayed with a wave of nausea sloshing about in her stomach. She held on to the side of the bed until her head rush subsided, though the nausea did not. 

She stumbled downstairs and into the kitchen, grabbing her Brita filter from the fridge and pouring a glass of water. When she tried to chug it, she discovered to her horror that her lips weren't curling around the glass right and water dripped onto her chin and then the floor. 

"Fuck," Emma said to herself, hurrying to her downstairs bathroom. She flicked on the light. 

Oh no. 

Her hair was an absolute mess since she didn't brush it or pull it back before falling asleep. Her eyes were crusty as hell too. But worse than that, her face was overly pale, red splotches covering her cheeks. The bags under her eyes were especially defined. She ran her hand over her throat and stuck her tongue out. Her tonsils were definitely swollen or inflamed or something.

"Fuck," Emma rasped again, scrounging for chapstick to apply to her flaky lips. Whatever cold she thought she had a few days ago had clearly morphed into something else. Did her panic attack yesterday make it worse? Or was that just a side effect of some kind of flu?  

She went back upstairs and texted her mom. Honestly, her mom deserved a medal for graciously handling all of her bullshit. Emma had some sort of crisis at least once a day.  

Her mom told her to go to the doctor, and that if things were bad she'd drive down to LA to stay with her. Great. Now she needed to deal with Drama and Doctors, two D's that Emma fucking hated. She turned to the D that she didn't hate, shaking his shoulder. 

He didn't wake up. Didn't even stir.   

Of course he didn't. If her apartment's fire alarm was going off he would probably sleep through it.