The Aid

Part 8

In an attempt to redirect my attention, I picked up the closest thing to myself—my phone, but it did nothing but set an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I went over my notifications, the nausea growing, making me remember why I'd forced myself to read my book instead of reading what my phone was showing me. Or... not showing me. Instead of letting it frustrate me, I locked my phone and placed it face down on the couch, next to the novel, which I picked up in yet another effort to focus on anything else.

It was four pages of stuff I immediately forgot about when Violet came out of the bathroom, in her two-piece Barbie pajamas, a new life breathed into her.

"Much better," She sat across from me again, and frowned at her tea, "but now my tea's gone cold... maybe if I boiled myself from the inside... you want a cup?"

"No, thanks."

"How was your day?"

"Fine," I replied absently, eyes stuck on one word that I'd been trying to perceive and decipher for a good minute. I must have looked so incredibly concentrated to Violet. My peripheral vision didn't pick up any movements and sure enough, when I looked up at her, she was standing very still and observing me with a worried look. Perhaps I didn't look so incredibly concentrated to Violet. "What?"

"You good?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Not saying anything, she shrugged her shoulders and went to the kitchen. The door was left open and she could easily see me if she just turned her head a bit to the side, so I did my best to remember English and at least finish the damn page.

I managed to finish two lines before my roommate sat across from me again, but this time, she slid my favorite cup toward me, earning my attention. "I know something's bothering you," She chided, "You almost threw away our year-and-a-half-old tradition."

"Nothing is bothering me, Vi. Promise."

"You sure? You're... quiet."

I frowned, "I'm not, I told you to boil yourself. And that you're loved."

"I know, but I mean... literally. You're talking to me, just... quieter. Like something is bringing you down." She leaned back in the living chair and pulled her legs up so she'd rest her cup on her knee, "I'm here if you need me. For like fifteen more minutes, though, then the chamomile's gonna kick in."

I gave her a smile and a light shake of my head before returning to my book, but it wasn't even a few words later when that nauseating feeling intensified, to the point where I just closed the novel again and tossed it back next to my phone. Violet looked up from hers, a small smile on her face as she observed me, looking proud that I'd given in before she could even unlock her screen. "Yes, my child?"

"It's... stupid."

"Oh, fuck yes," She whispered, sitting up in the chair while I almost wasted an eye-roll, "I love stupid problems. Give me an IQ disintegrator. Give me a foot scrubber but for my brain."

"Alright."

"Take a hair straightener and use it on my gyri."

"It's Harry."

Her love of real-life, non-medical issues had no limit, so I knew not to let her blabber on too much before introducing the cause of my stomach-ache; the ecstatic gasp she produced at the news that it was a boy problem was suddenly cut off as she widened her eyes in worry, "Wait- is he okay?"

"That's the thing," I chewed on my bottom lip, "I don't know."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, and Violet cleared her throat and shifted around in her seat again, her excitement fizzling out. "That doesn't... sound like a stupid problem," She sighed, but quickly shook her head to rid herself of the disappointment, "What do you mean you don't know? Don't you guys send each other memes or whatever?"