Playing with Forever

Chapter 43: Sick

"What are you doing?" I asked instead, feeling exhausted and clammy.

"Taking you home," he said sternly.

Resting limply against his chest, I protested, "We can't just leave."

"Want to bet?" he replied just as firmly.

I could feel everyone watching us with interest when we started towards the trail. "Sam?" Ms. Reynolds called.

"I am taking Abigail home." His tone left no room for argument, not even from an adult responsible for us.

I heard Tristan's voice but couldn't tell what he was saying. It must have been something vulgar or provoking because Sam whirled around and snarled at him. My head pounded with the fast movement and I gasped with pain.

"Abigail is sick," Sam growled. His chest vibrated against me and I probably would have laughed at the sensation if I wasn't feeling like death warmed over. "I am taking her to a doctor." With that, he started down the mountain, me resting weakly in his arms.

I made Sam stop twice on the way back down to the parking lot so I could throw up the water he'd given me. Sam's arms went more and more rigid with every moan that escaped me. His arms were clutching me tight by time we reached his car thirty minutes later. It had taken us two hours to go up, but with Sam's strength and immortal athletic ability, or maybe just his desperation, it took us a fraction of the time to return to the parking lot.

Though the gesture was romantic, it wasn't actually all that comfortable to be carried down the side of a mountain in Sam's arms. I zoned out as we rushed down the path, and became drowsy despite the discomfort.

Sam gently laid me in the passenger seat of his car, buckled me in, and I was asleep before we pulled out of the lot.

I woke up confused and dizzy. It took me a minute to remember what was going on, how I had gotten back on my futon bed in my bedroom with Lizzie Bennet curled up on my feet.

I groaned as I came back into consciousness, surveying myself. I was feeling better than I was on the trail. Although I was still exhausted, the nausea was thankfully gone. Nausea was the worst feeling. 

As I woke fully, I opened my eyes and looked around, hoping to see Sam. Instead, I got distracted when I found an IV in my right arm. "Ugh, gross!" I exclaimed as I jerked my arm away from my body. I wasn't a big fan of needles, especially when they suddenly appeared in my body without my consent.

A hand that wasn't mine stopped me from pulling at the IV. "No, leave it be," Emile said.

I startled at his touch. I hadn't realized there was anyone else in the room with me. "Oh, Emile," I said, finding Sam's golden haired cousin sitting in a chair he had dragged into my small bedroom. "Hi."

"Hello, Abby," he said gently. HIs eyes were soft but his hands were firm as they nestled my arm back down to my side, IV intact. "Sam called me on the way home from your hike," he explained, "asking me to take a look at you. The IV is just fluids—you got very dehydrated."

"Oh," I responded, not feeling very intelligent at the moment. My head felt full of cotton and the edges around my eyesight were still a little hazy, but the nausea was gone and my energy was on the way to replenishing itself. "I feel a lot better now."

"That's good." He settled back down on the kitchen chair that took up most of the floor space in my tiny room. He must have been there with me, watching over me as I slept. Although a self-conscious--my room was full of dirty clothes and cups strewn about--I felt reassured by that thought, that I had my own doctor-friend watching out for me. "I also gave you an antiemetic," he went on, "and you haven't thrown up since."