The Rise of Lydia Rowe ↠ Jasper Hale (ON HOLD)

[2.08] the fall of lydia rowe

IT HAD BEEN FOUR DAYS SINCE Lydia first got sick, and she was only getting worse. 

For the first time in a while, Lydia was alone in her room. She could hear both of her mothers talking indistinctly in the kitchen, and she knew that Gwen would be over in a little while once school let out. But for now, Lydia was left alone with her thoughts. 

Is this what it feels like to die? 

It wasn't the first time she'd had that thought since she got sick. Hell, it was probably the fourth time she'd thought it in the past twenty-four hours. Maybe it was dramatic, or maybe it was perfectly fitting. She'd been growing weaker and weaker every hour. She could barely stand up without collapsing back onto her bed. Even in a sports bra and shorts, she felt like she could pass out from heat exhaustion any second. No amount of cool baths or cold compresses could bring her raging fever down. The last time she'd checked—which was a little over an hour ago—her temperature was 112. According to Google, the highest recorded fever was 115.7 degrees in a man who'd suffered a heat stroke. 

It seemed like Lydia's body was trying to set a new world record, and it was dragging her along for the ride. 

Patches of her skin were red and blotchy, every inch of her body covered in sweat, all evidence of the extreme heat her body was emitting. She'd already taken two showers since she woke up that morning, and she was already considering a third. 

Lydia didn't even have enough strength to lift her head as Tracy walked into her bedroom, a bowl of what looked like soup in her hands. She sat down gently beside Lydia's form. "You should try to eat something, honey," she murmured. "It might help you feel a little better." 

She doubted that, but she allowed her mother to spoon-feed her about half of the contents of the bowl. She felt like a helpless child, but there wasn't anything she could do. In the state she was in, she'd sooner knock the entire bowl over than actually get the spoon from the bowl to her mouth. 

The sound of the doorbell downstairs rang faintly through the house. "That must be Gwen," Tracy said, standing up from Lydia's bed and taking the half-empty bowl downstairs to the kitchen.

It was. Gwen walked into Lydia's bedroom, a small pile of textbooks in her arms. Her eyebrows came together as she took in Lydia's state, likely noting how much worse she looked since the last time Gwen had seen her, which wasn't even twenty-four hours ago. Gwen sat down in the spot Tracy had just vacated, setting down her backpack on the floor and the textbooks on Lydia's nightstand. "Feeling any better?" Gwen asked softly. 

Lydia shook her head. "Still bad," she mumbled. "I don't..." She gulped, not even wanting to think about it. But she had to. It was all her mind would focus on. "I don't know if I'm going to get better, Gwen." 

Gwen gave her a confused, worried look. "What do you mean?" 

"I'm just getting worse," Lydia murmured. "I feel like every cell in my body is on fire, every time I move my entire body aches. Nothing's working, and I... I don't know if anything will." 

"You're not dying," Gwen said, her tone sharp. 

"Gwen," Lydia whispered. 

"You can't die," Gwen choked out. "You can't." 

Lydia hated the way Gwen's blue eyes filled with crystalline tears. "I don't know if I have much of a say, Gwen." 

Gwen looked at her, studying Lydia's face as tears welled up in her eyes. "You... you can't leave me like this." A tear fell down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away, but it was soon followed by more. "I've lost too much in this life already. I can't lose my best friend, too."