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He'd never met someone with such a bubbly personality. Not to mention the wildness and odd phrases she'd say every five minutes...
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❀Azalea❀
I've never seen anyone milk something as much as Grey has been. I swear he's the definition of pitiful.
On top of him milking everything, he won't even get his lazy booty up to go to the doctor. I've just about had it.
He sniffles from beside me and I pass him a tissue and he takes it. I look over at his poor little pitiful self.
Bless his heart.
I place my hand gently on his forehead and it feels as hot as hades. It's obvious his fever is making him hot too, considering he's only wearing his gosh darn boxers.
I mean, I'm not one to complain about that but I know he doesn't feel good. Bear knows it too. He lays his head on my legs, never taking his eyes off Grey.
But for three days he's had this going on and it's only getting worse. At first, I noticed his nose getting a little bit stuffy and then he started getting tired and now it's a combination of all kinds of stuff.
He sniffles again.
"That's it. Get your gluteus maximus up. We're going to the doctor," I stand up and he looks at me like something's funny.
"No, we're not."
"Yes, we are," I assure him, "get dressed."
"I don't want to," he argues.
"I don't care, you're pitiful, you're going."
"I'm not pitiful," he disagrees.
"You look like you've been dragged behind a horse," I push his wild dark hair back and he closes his eyes briefly.
"I don't like going there," he grumbles.
"But you know it'll make you feel better so get up and put clothes on. I'll even drive, you can sleep in the car," I persuade him.
He stands slowly and I smile. I smile up until he mumbles something about throwing himself off a bridge but I choose to ignore the comment.
I follow him into the bedroom to monitor him. He doesn't even look at the closet as he lowers himself down onto the bed. I let out a groan.
"Grey, I'm going to tie a rope around your ankle and connect it to the back of my car and drag you to the doctor."
"I'm not going."
"You're not winning this."
"Yes, I am," he argues.
Jokes on him because the longer he's sick, the longer I don't want his lips on me.
"You're being ridiculous," I sit on the bed next to him.
"No."
"We can do anything you want after, but you need to go," I try and convince him. There's plenty of stuff to do after. We could go eat, we could go get him all the jerky he wants, anything.
