I sit up with difficulty, my body wanting to obey even as my mind still throbs with anger. But all I can do is stare at it, at him.
“I said, eat,” he says, his voice harsh. “I know you threw up the last plate of food. Eat now, or I’ll punish you again.”
The threat feels distant, unreal. I don’t feel the pain of his last whipping anymore. Only achiness over every inch of my skin, and loss, heartbreaking loss. It overtakes all the rest, even my anger.
“This is the last time I’ll ask politely,” he warns. “You’re going to eat this food, or you’ll regret it.”
I can’t help it. I really can’t. My entire body seizes with sobs, and the tears spill out, unheeded, drenching my cheeks. I can’t stop it any more than I can stop breathing. My body seems to have turned into a pile of mush.
He sighs in exasperation, sits down next to me, and drags me onto his lap. I try to prepare myself for the force-feeding that I assume will follow, and perhaps that’s what he meant to do, but the second he touches me, he pauses.
“Damn it,” he mumbles. “You’re sick.”
In a flash, he lifts me up and carries me outside. I shiver in the night air, barely registering the thought that this darkness means I’ve slept all day. He places me gently into his car, takes off his jacket, and covers me with it. Then he sits behind the wheel and drives off.
I fall asleep again, waking when the car grinds to a halt in front of a large building lined with doors, with a sign flashing in front of it:Motel.
He takes out his cell phone, muttering to himself, “Finally, some reception.” Then he speaks louder. “Yeah. She’s sick. I’ve got her. Need your help.”
Two minutes later, one of the doors opens onto Logan. He walks hurriedly to the car, carrying a suitcase. I once deeply disliked him, but then, he saved me from Damien, though Damien later told me he’d never planned to kill me. I know the truth, now, and I vaguely wonder if he’ll protect me from Damien again before I drift off once more.
I’m startled awake once more by an electronic beep on my head, and a husky voice in my ear. “106.”
“What the fuck?” growls Damien. “Are you sure your thermometer works? Isn’t that the kind of fever that’ll kill you?”
I lay back feebly, wondering why he’s so worried about me dying. “No time to send for our doctor,” says Logan. “Get her to the hospital. We’ll figure out the coverup later.”
Gritting his teeth, Damien presses on the gas pedal and sends us barreling down the road. I only have time to marvel at the speed before I’m submerged again in a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next thing I know, his warm, strong arms are wrapped around my body, and I feel myself being carried into a place with bright lights that hurt my head. I hear Damien and Logan speaking with nurses, but it all feels very far away. I’m placed on a medical trolley, too out of it to notice the pain searing my back as it presses against the thin mattress. I feel pricks and pinches on my body as needles are pressed into my skin and I’m connected to a whole host of drips. Then I pass out again, my vision fading just as I notice Damien’s pale face bent over me, concern clear in his eyes.
Must be an illusion,I think to myself, before going under.
__
“Psycho—what?”
“Psychogenic fever. Do you know if your girlfriend has been stressed lately?”
This time, when I open my eyes, I feel a lot better. The pain in my temples has ebbed, the soreness in my throat and the pain in my skin has disappeared, except for a dull throb in my backside. I feel more awake than I have in a while, and I can’t help but overhear the conversation that Damien is carrying out with the doctor at the foot of the bed.
“She had a 106-degree fever, and you’re telling me it’s all in her head?” says Damien angrily, and I cringe back into the bedsheets at the sound of his temper.
Logan, standing beside him, notices I’m awake before I can shut my eyes again. He turns to speak to Damien, but the latter is too focused on yelling at the doctor to notice me.
“Psychogenic fever is a psychosomatic fever caused by an overload of stress,” explains the doctor calmly. “While it originates in the mind, it is very real, and can cause high fevers. We haven’t found any sign of infection, and it’s the most likely explanation at this point. Has your girlfriend been stressed?”
Girlfriend.What an odd word to designate the person you’re planning to kill.
But Damien doesn’t react. Instead, he admits grudgingly, “I guess she’s probably been a bit stressed, yes.”
Logan snorts.
“But a 106 fever, just from stress…” protests Damien again in a deflated sort of way.
“It can happen, yes,” states the doctor. “Psychogenic fever is not in itself a medical emergency, but hyperpyrexia—a body temperature of 106 or more—is. It can cause lasting organ damage if not treated quickly. It’s essential that her stress be limited. We can give her anxiety medication, but it won’t do much if it’s not accompanied by lifestyle changes. Are there anysteps you can take to help keep her anxiety at bay?”
“I can think of a few,” smirks Logan.
