A Proscriptive Relationship

:A Proscriptive Relationship: 43

The smell of something burning woke me up. I sat up quickly, under the impression my house was on fire. For a moment I looked around the room in bewilderment, until I remembered I was at Mr. Heywood's apartment. A blush made its way onto my face when I realized I was in his bed. Pushing that though aside, I slid out from under the covers and headed towards the kitchen to investigate the source of the burning smell.

A few pillows and a blanket were lying askew on the couch. At least Mr. Heywood had the decency to sleep on the couch. I felt sort of bad though; after all, I was the guest. I should have been the one sleeping on the couch. Or he we could have just slept in the same bed, we'd done it before-

I shook my head violently. No, we couldn't sleep in the same bed! He was still my teacher, no matter my feelings. We weren't even together. It was a good thing he had slept on the couch. What was I thinking? My hormones needed to control themselves.

"Mr. Heywood," I started, stepping into the kitchen area. "Are you in-ah!"

My foot landed on something soft, making me pull it back in surprise, and lose my balance. My arms flew out as I desperately tried to stop myself from falling. I managed to catch myself just before I fell completely by grabbing the edge of the counter. My eyes dropped to the ground, where they landed on something that made my heart skip a beat.

Mr. Heywood was lying face down on the ground, motionless.

"Mr. Heywood?" I asked, crouching down to the ground.

When there was no response, I put my hand on his back and shook gently. When still no response came, my pulse picked up. I dropped to my knees, leaning over him and grabbing his shoulder, attempting to roll him over.

"Are you playing some kind of joke?" I asked harshly. "Because I'm not finding it very funny."

Still no answer. With surprising force, I managed to roll him over onto his back. His head rolled limply to the side, his eyes shut. Panic coursed through me now, my eyes widening in surprise. Either something was wrong, or he was a very good actor.

"Mr. Heywood!" I called, shaking his shoulders slightly. "Mr. Heywood? ...Chris?"

Now when no answer came, I panicked. What was wrong with him? Leaning over him, I lowered my ear to his mouth, and relaxed slightly. He was still breathing at least. But his breaths were shallow and quick. I gently pressed a hand to his forehead and nearly pulled it back from shock. He was burning up!

My panic increased tenfold now. He had a fever! I didn't know how to care for a person with a fever! My mom always helped me, and as far as I could remember, she hadn't ever been sick in my life! I knew I had to get him off the kitchen floor though.

Lifting Mr. Heywood off the ground was impossible. He was just too heavy! After a minute of biting my lip, I decided on the next best course of action since I couldn't pick him up: dragging him. Grabbing him by the arms, I began to pull him across the kitchen floor, through the living room, and into his bedroom. I brought him all the way up to the bed. Now came the tough part; getting him on it.

If I could get his front half up, then I could easily bring up his bottom half. But the question was; how was I going to do that? I squatted down by Mr. Heywood's head, pursing my lips. Maybe I could lift him up by his armpits... Well, it was worth a shot.

Moving into a kneeling position, I put my arms under his back and hooked them up through his armpits. I tested lifting him up by this method, and figured I could probably do it. I switched back into a squatting position, my head just hovering over his. With as much force as I could muster, I proceeded to pull his torso up. A small, strained, groan left my mouth. Mr. Heywood seriously needed to lose weight!