“Did he tell you something?” I ask, my heart fluttering with hope.
“No. He doesn’t need to, though. Even a fool could see it.”
I roll my eyes. She got me really excited there for a moment.
Jess and I walk slowly out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out into the front where the car is parked. The driver is waiting with the door open. He takes her bags and stows them in the trunk. She gives me one last hug, lingering, then steps away and waves as she climbs into the back seat with a radiant smile on her face.
I stand on the front step watching the car until it leaves the estate and turns onto the road.
Then I bolt inside, only just making it to the downstairs bathroom in time to avoid throwing up on the floor.Ugh. This is horrible.
Drained and feeling gross, I go up to my room and lock myself away to sleep and hide. Kristopher is really busy at work, Jess is on her way home, and I don’t want to worry anyone with a silly tummy bug.
I close my eyes and press my hands over my stomach. It’ll be fine in a day or two. If not, I’ll sneak off to the pharmacy to get something to settle the nausea.
***
A day or two passes, and I still feel horrible. It hasn’t improved at all. Sometimes I think I’m feeling better, but then I catch a scent of something food-related and the nausea kicks in all over again.
I spend most of my time in my room, hiding from Kristopher and claiming that I have a lot of studying to get through. It’s easy to stay out of his way because he’s coming home late after long days at the office, and he’s exhausted. But he’s also annoyed that I haven’t had dinner with him in a few nights. I can’t keep anything down, though, so I tell him I’ve already eaten whenever he asks me to join him.
It’s Wednesday. My fourth night struggling with this virus.
I hear Kris arriving home and snuggle myself deeper beneath the blankets, hoping he will just peek into my room and think I’m sleeping.
I caught a look at myself in the mirror today, and there are dark circles under my eyes, and my skin is sickly pale. Ilook like shit. Tomorrow, I’m going to have to sneak off to the pharmacy for meds.
“Hey, you, are you awake?” he whispers, leaning into my open bedroom door. I don’t answer. I stay very still. He walks into my room and sits on the side of my bed. His hand strokes over my back, and as he leans over me, he pulls the blankets away from my face and realizes I’m awake.
“Georgie, you look…” he says, shocked when I roll to face him, and he sees the dark rings around my eyes.
There’s no point in hiding it, I guess.
I look like shit.
It’s obvious.
“Hi,” I mutter meekly. Slightly embarrassed.
He presses his hand gently over my forehead. “You look terrible,” he says with worry tight in his voice.
“I think I have a bug or something. You should keep your distance.”
“But when did this start? If this hit you today, then it’s a really serious bug,” he exclaims.
“Four days ago,” I sigh.
“Four days?” he snaps, angry. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I know you’re busy with work. There’s no reason for you to be concerned about this, too.”
His phone rings in his pocket, and he tugs it out, answering it.
“Hello. No. No, I won’t make it. We need to reschedule. Good.” He hangs up. Leaning over, he flicks on the bedside light to get a better look at me.
“What was that?” I stammer, sitting up in bed, causing my head to spin. I lean my back against the headrest and close my eyes.
“When last did you eat?” he asks, looking even more worried to see my face fully.
