Lily
Do you have soup?
Me
No. And I can’t even think about food right now or I will be sick again.
Lily
Noted. Well, I love you. Go to sleep.
Me
Love you too.
I can’t remember the last time I was ever this sick.
I wish I was exaggerating when I told Lily I felt like I was dying.
When I woke up this morning, it wasn’t terrible. I felt drained, but thought it was because I didn’t sleep well. I was tossing and turning all night long. I didn’t want to miss going for my run, so I pulled it together, put my big girl pants on, and hit the road.
Only to have to turn around not even five minutes in because I thought I was going to vomit on the side of the road.
Spoiler alert: I did.
Right next to the beat-upBarlow Drivestreet sign.
I wanted to sit down and wait for a passing car to take me home.That’show shitty I felt. I didn’t even think my body would make it another five minutes to get home.
As soon as I got back, I stripped out of my running clothes and replaced them with an old pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt before making my home on the couch for the entire day. Only time I got up was to get sick. Not like I had much inside of me after the first two times.
I can’t sleep because when I close my eyes the room spins.
I can’t eat because it just comes right back up.
I can’t read because trying to focus on the words induces a headache.
The worst of it all is the guilt I feel for calling out of work and leaving Lily alone to tend to the bakery. I know she said she could handle it—she always did before she hired me—but I hate the idea of missing work.
Reginald barks on the floor next to me, lifting his head toward the front door. I follow his gaze, and standing on the other side of the glass doors is Griffin with a bag in his hand. He stares at me through the glass, unmoving. He doesn’t knock or lift the bag. He just stands there, and he looks…distraught.
“Go away,” I shout, pulling one of the many pillows out from under my head and covering my face. “I have germs and you’regoing to get them,” I add, hoping it’s loud enough for him to hear through the door.
I hear the click of the door opening but refuse to remove the pillow from my head. Ican’tlet him see me like this. I probably smell like vomit, my hair is full of knots, and I know I look white as a ghost.
Oh my god, what if I puke on him?
“Go away,” I repeat, my tone much softer.
“I heard you were sick.” His voice sounds so close as if he’s standing right over me.
“I’m warning you, Griffin. You’re going to catch my germs.”
“I don’t care.”
I remove the pillow from half my face, exposing only my eyes to him.
That’s when I’m met with his piercing gaze standing over me as I lie there—vulnerable and not feeling like myself at all. The last time I saw him was karaoke night, where I felt bold, confident, and beautiful in front of him. I don’t feel that right now.
