Life in Search ✔️

56 ~ You

I feel like shit.

There's no getting around it. My head is pounding, my nose is stuffy and my throat is scratchy. Trudging downstairs, I try to appear normal, "Morning, mom."

God, even my voice sounds horrible.

"Sit." She orders and I practically collapse into the nearest chair. A thermometer is shoved in my mouth before I can even protest. "102.1 fever, go back to bed."

That's impossible, "I'm fi-" A firm hand grips my chin and its partner pours green liquid down my mouth. Gagging at the taste, I jump away from my mom. "What the hell was that?"

"Medicine, now you have 5 minutes before you're out cold so march upstairs." She shrugs, looking for her keys.

"But what about-"

"Scarlett will be no good if you get her or any of her siblings sick, so no more if, ands or buts." She orders, guiding me towards the door.

I want to argue but my eyes begin to feel heavy. Mom guides me up and tucks me in, a part of me feels childish but I would've curled into a ball on the landing if I had the choice. Yawning, I reach for my phone.

I need to call...

*****

What is that god-awful noise?

Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I try to remember what day it is. Checking my phone, I notice two things. Scarletts called me 10 times and it's almost one in the afternoon.

What the hell did mom give me?

Blindly reaching for my bottle of water, my phone rings again. Answering it, I try to sound upbeat. "Sweetheart, I'm alive. Sick but alive."

"Funny, I preferred it when you called me a piece of shit lowlife." A gruff voice offers.

The phone falls onto the bed. No. No. No. No. No. No. There's no way. I'm hallucinating, that medicine fucked me up. Pinching my arm like Scarletts done a thousand times, I wince in pain, but nothing changes.

A shaky hand brings the phone back to my ear. "Trust me, I've got a few more colorful names for you now."

He chuckles, "Still as hotheaded as ever."

Gritting my teeth, I try to keep my cool. "What do you want, Eric?"

"I just wanted to talk to my son."

"I'm not your son." Never was, never will be.

He tsks, "Back on that train of thought, are we?"

"It's not a thought, it's a fact." I snap back.

"I hope you've been getting my letters. I keep waiting for a response, but you know how shitty the mail system is to us inmates." He carries on like I'm one of them.

"No, I really wouldn't know."

"That's right, you got out of your punishment. Something about starting over to become better. How's that going for you?"

I stay silent, I'm not surprised that he knows that. If anything, I'm shocked he cared enough about to me find out what happened.

"Pretty well if what I've been told is true. You're at some fancy charter school for academics. You're actually attending classes and getting good grades, something I laughed at when I heard. You hated school." He starts and I remain silent.

I only hated school because he told me to. He's the one who thought grades and homework was a waste of time.

"The shock that almost killed me was the news that you're playing football again and apparently you're not half bad. Mister big shot, swooped in and won a championship. Got a scholarship to Tennessee... no, Alabama. My sincere mistake."