She knew it was the neurotoxin, but understanding the biological reason and living through it weren’t the same thing at all.
The next time she woke, she needed the bathroom again, but her legs would barely support her. Spence lifted her, carried her, and settled her on the toilet.
More diarrhea. More weakness. More humiliation.
When had she stopped caring that Spence saw her like this? Somewhere between the third and fourth trip, probably. He’d already seen every disgusting thing her body could produce. What was dignity compared to survival?
The next time she woke, she was burning up, sweat soaking her hairline, running down her spine. Emmy kicked at the covers, trying to escape, but they tangled around her legs.
“Too hot,” she gasped. “Spence, I’m burning—”
“I know, I know.” He helped her fight free of the covers, and the air felt glorious for about thirty seconds, but she was still hot. Spence placed cool towels over her torso and legs. Someone came to the door, and he put more ice around her head and under her arms. He lifted the towels, let them cool, and put them back.
After a while, the chills hit, and her entire body convulsed with cold so intense it felt like she’d been plunged into the Arctic ocean. Her teeth chattered so hard she bit her tongue. She couldn’t stop shaking, violent tremors that made thebed frame rattle.
Spence removed the towels and ice, piled blankets on her, then stripped and got under them with her, and his body heat was heavenly, wrapped in his arms while she shook apart. His voice murmured something soothing in her ear, but she couldn’t make out the words over the sound of her teeth.
Just as suddenly as it started, the cold vanished and she was burning up again, only this time, she had to race to the bathroom for more explosive diarrhea.
The cycle repeated. And repeated.
Emmy lost track of how many times.
The next time she woke, it was to a cool presence entering the room, and she scented Zander.
She wanted to open her eyes, to see if he was looking at her with concern or that careful blank expression he usually wore, but her eyelids felt welded shut.
A cool hand touched her forehead, and Emmy leaned into it with a desperate sound, but the touch withdrew too soon.
“…getting worse…” Spence’s voice, worried.
“…expected progression…” Zander’s reply. “…another eighteen hours…”
Eighteen more hours of this.
Emmy wanted to cry, but sleep pulled her under again.
Time blurred into darkness, light, pain, nausea.
Ice chips, Spence’s hands.
The bathroom floor, cool tile against her cheek when she didn’t make it all the way to the toilet.
Strong, cool arms lifting her, carrying her to the bathroom, and then back to bed. Zander’s voice, closer thanit had been in months: “Breathe for me, Emerald. Deep, cleansing breaths. The poison is working its way out. You’ll get better, we just have to keep you hydrated. Can you hold some more ice chips in your mouth?”
She wanted to agree to it, but she was already sinking back under.
The next time she needed to go to the bathroom, her vision blurred at the edges, the room tilted, and the world spun so violently she had to grab Spence’s arm to keep from falling again.
“Dizzy,” she managed.
“Stay with me and don’t run ahead. I have you.”
She did, letting him guide her, trusting him not to let her fall.
When she made it back to bed, he convinced her to try some broth. “Just a few sips. Maybe it’ll be soothing.”
She managed three tiny sips, and her stomach rolled ominously. She accepted a fourth though, because Spence looked so hopeful.
