Twenty-Nine // J.G.

sixteen.

Day 12.

     M A R L E Y     

I didn't want to admit it, I never did, but when I woke up the next morning with a headache brewing behind my temples, a Rudolph-red nose, and the most ungodly itch in my throat, I knew I was sicker than a dog. It had to be the result of my insistence to stay out in the cold rain yesterday, yet I seemed to be the only one who was chosen to suffer the consequences. Though to be fair, my immune system wasn't the best, I must admit.

At the sound of a knock on my door, my chapped lips parted to grant entrance, but instead a repulsive bellow of a cough tumbled off my tongue with an irritant groan following close behind.

"Mar?" The door creaked open, much louder to my headache than it probably was for everyone else, making me cringe as I made an attempt at lifting my head to see who the voice belonged to. Sammy stood at the foot of my bed while Jack peeked timidly into the door frame as a hazy figure due to my 20/40 vision. "Marley?" Sam repeated, poking at a sliver of skin that belong to my leg.

"What, Sammy?" I seethed, muffled behind the mounds of blankets on top of my shivering body. They probably came in assuming I was dead because I hadn't gotten up at the precise hour of eight this morning, which was abnormal for someone like me.

"Are you awake?" He continued in a whisper.

"No." I muttered, sarcasm dripping from my nasally voice as I pushed the comforter away from my face, revealing what this cold had brought onto me. He jumped back a little, raising his eyebrows before sucking air between his teeth.

"Damn, you don't look so hot." He stated the obvious.

"I don't feel too hot either." I muttered, brushing my finger beneath my nose, which would surely brighten the rosy color of it, before sneezing so hard I thought my brains would blow out.

"Oh shit, don't get me sick, Mar!" Sammy yelped while holding his forearms in an 'x' position as if to rebuke the so-called demon inside me. He wasn't one to get sick easily, so I didn't understand what his fuss was about, but I took the opportunity to bring the situation to my advantage.

"Well then you must leave or I just– might– have a coughing fit!" I hacked up the most revolting-sounding coughs of my life that soon reverted into real coughs, and he scurried right out of my room, leaving me to get some more well-needed rest.

It felt like minutes passed before an unknown body caused the bed to shift under their weight, waking me from my temporary unconsciousness. My head churned like rusted gears and chills ran through my body despite the heaps of blankets over me. I groaned as I felt a soft finger trailing along an exposed area of my shoulder, immediately recognizing it to be Jack's touch.

"Jack, I'm sick." I warned him, not wanting to pass any of my disgusting germs onto him.

"I know," He whispered while moving his finger towards my neck, and I felt him trace a heart into my clammy skin. "How are you feeling?"

"For lack of a better word," I tugged the comforter up to my chin and curled into a tighter ball, "like shit."

He chuckled, pulling strands of hair back from my damp forehead and brushing them behind my ear. "I have a surprise for you." He mumbled while cutlery clinked in the background. Curious, I turned onto my back, and instead of the usual breakfast he provided for me, I saw a tray holding a bowl of chicken noodle soup, my tea, and a small plate of cookies.

"Jack," I breathed out, a little at a loss for words and somewhat nauseated by these new smells in my room. "That looks so good, but I don't want to move."