Mailboy (Wattys 2015 Winner)

23. Breakeven

these past chapters have been the calm before the storm. be aware of the ending of this chapter.

“Can I lay by your side, next to you, you. And make sure you're alright, I'll take care of you.” –Sam Smith

Zoey Willow Hunter

            MY entire body felt numb, yet when I moved, it hurt. I felt like a tractor had ran over my body, but I wasn’t dead. My nose was heavy and crust had formed around my eyes. A sharp pain was taking over my brain, I couldn’t think straight. Moving my hand hurt. Involuntary tears fell from my eyes, yet I was far from sad. An abnormal chill ran through my body, I felt like my body had been tossed in a bucket of ice cold water.  

“Hunter?” said someone.

It took me all the effort in the world to open my eyes and face the painful light of early morning. “Yeah?” I managed to say, my throat complaining.

“You’re shivering,” said Nico, looming over me. “Are you sick?”

I was overcome by a fit of coughing, which seemed to hurt my entire body. “No s-shit, Sherlock.”

He put a hand over my forehead, “You’re freezing. You’re sick, Hunter.”

“I just told you I was,” I sounded like an old man.

I heard some shuffling in the room and he came back, holding his covers and pillow. He put the covers over me and tucked me in. I was too tired to protest at his act of kindness. He lifted my head gently and put a pillow under it. Right away, I felt warmer.

“Are you wearing socks?” he asked.

“Do. I don’t wear socks in de middle of sumber.”

“A simple no would have sufficed,” he said, shaking his head. He finds a pair of balled socks in my suitcase and puts them to my view. “Would you be able to put these on by yourself?”

“Maybe,” I said, trying to reach my feet from under the covers. “Do.”

“Fuck,” he cussed. Grabbing my bare feet from under the covers, he put my socks on them and put them back under the layers of warmth.

Nico came close, “I’ll be back with medicine. Would you do me a favor and not die while I’m gone?”

I replied by closing my eyes and slipping off into slumber once more. Except during my small nap, I was restless. My neck hurt and no position seemed to relieve the lack of comfort. Nico was back sooner than I though, holding bags from a place called Duane Reade, which I hoped was a pharmacy. He held a tray from the hotel and set it on the bedside. I could see a bowl of soup on it.

“Sit up,” he commanded.

I obliged, observing him carefully. How was he handling this so calmly? Why was he helping me? He could have just gone out for the day, until the ceremony.

The ceremony. How was I supposed to enjoy my time and look good tonight and pretend to party with mail people if I couldn’t get out of bed?

“I need to pee,” I mumbled, trying to stand up. Once I had set my feet on the floor and pushed myself to get up, black spots appeared in front of my eyes. I felt myself lose balance and almost fall back on the bed.

Nico steadied me by taking my hand, “Weak Zorro isn’t my favorite Zorro,” He said. He slid his hands under my knees and lift me up with ease, walking to the bathroom.

I finished my business and washed my face, not bothering to care about my appearance. I probably looked like what got out of a cow’s rear end. One thing I learned was that when you’re sick, nothing matters other than trying to get better.