As Easy As Murder

22. home sweet home

Remember that excuse I typed out about not feeling well?

Turns out it wasn't such a lie. 

I woke up sick as a dog, probably curtousy of getting caught in the rain the other day. Every inch of my face feels stuffy, every orphis that could possibly be clogged, clogged. My voice is hardly there, and my skin feels hot. I feel like I'm melting into each surface I touch, feeling like a mushy blob of mucus and 12 doses of Tylenol Cold 'N Flu. 

"What do you think you have?" Loretta asks while pouring me another dose of the temporary sickness resuscitater, I'm taking the stuff like shots. She hands me the medicine cup. 

I take it in my hand, downing it in one gulp, the digusting tasing liquid causing my inflamed throat to burn, and I groan, every inch of me feeling achy and gross. "I don't know. The flu? Raging sinus infection? Whatever it is, I'm down for the count. I may not recover from this." 

She scoffs and rolled her eyes at my dramatics, "My 98 year old great-grandmother survived phenomnia. You'll be fine." 

Loretta's great-grandmother is 4'10, 80 pounds, and has the will and determination of a navy seal. Her and Cheryl would hit it off, relating over bingo wings and the ability to send a grown man flying. 

I groan, "If I die, I leave you my wardrobe." 

Her eyes light up, "Please die." 

I throw my pillow at her and she laughs, screaming jokingly about being contaminated with my germs. I stand up, looking at myself in the mirror. I look like a corpse. A corpse in a cute outfit, but a corpse. 

I can't say I feel like driving home. My head is pounding, my knees are wobbling, and the weather is cloudy with a chance of puke. I look outside, a thing layer of frost, the first of the year, having covered the grass, Jack Frost having made himself known.

And, to my absolute and utter disadvantage, the roads are a bit icey. 

"Are you still going home?" She puts a hand on her hip. 

"I have to." I sigh, gathering my things I'm bringing home, including a duffle bag and all of my electronics. Loretta rocks on her feet. 

I look at her, and she has a guilty 'yikes' expression on her face. "What? Did you get another ticket?" 

She scoffs, "No," She picks up some books adding them to her own luggage. She apparently still hates reading, but I don't know. Books just keep magically appearing, and bookmarks keep miraculously appearing in them. Hm. "Butttt, I'm going home to my Dad's house, not my Mom's, and he doesn't know about my lease. I can't show up with a car. Sooo, I was wondering if I could drive your car home."

"No." I say immediately. 

"But it's a win-win situation! You don't have to drive in your decrepit state, and I don't have to be bombarded by questions. What do you have to loose?" 

I cross my arms, putting out a foot, mastering the mom stance and face. "My life. This is you driving we're talking about here."

She follows me around the dorm as I finish packing, trying to state her case, her credentials being how responsible she was with class pets back in the day, the time she walked home a kindergarten class, and the time she covered storytime hour at the local library a few years back. All thing that have absolutely nothing to do with driving my bug, my precious baby, my RIDE or die. 

I sigh, then catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror. Me and Gerold may very well be blood related, because I certainly look like an elderly cat. My hair is flat from laying in bed, and I look beyond grumpy. I almost say no to her, but a sudden churn of my stomach, and the thought of being in something moving while in this wishy-washy state, I agree. "Fine. But I you go even one mile under the speed-limit I will give you a buzzcut."

She agrees and we get our stuff together, walking off of campus. The sun shines down on us, breaths visible in the cold air, patches of us sporadically placed all over the parking lot. I see Anthony, doing a dancr Infront of some guy, who looks absolutely disturbed and disgruntled at the sight. 

We get into the car, me in the back to have space and not infect her with my mystery illness, both of our phones chiming to see 12 photos of Jesse and his new boy toy on a cruise ship, when we didn't even know he was going on a cruise. They're Infront of this humongous Christmas tree, Jesse's arms draped over the guys neck who is planting a kiss on his cheek. 

"What the hell?" Loretta rants. "That bubble gum-haired jerk has the audacity to not even tell us he was going, then send us a full album of sappy pictures with his ken doll? How dare he."

I laugh, but it turns into a cough, due to the state of my throat, "Don't worry, Etti. Our times will come."

She sighs, starting up my old hunk of junk, her curls bouncing. She tried out a new serum, and her curls look amazing, more bouncy then ever. I can't help but be jelouse. My loose and unkempt waves craving to look so defined, yet I have no will to do product research, so they must submit to the monster of frizz and puffiness. 

We start out of the parking lot and I'm laying across the back seat, drooling with fever and feeling like crap. Loretta smirks, "The tables have turned once more. Usually I'm the one dying back there. God bless Almotriptan."

I roll my eyes, "Thanks for the sympathy, you really brought me to tears." I bury my hands in my arms, feeling like I've been thrown in a fire place, my fever of 101.2 feeling more like 1012.2. She turns on some music, and immediately, I drift off. 

When I wake up, we're almost at my parents house. It's been so long since I've been in my neighborhood besides Halloween shopping at the mall, familiar houses a comforting sight, buildings I've passed many times before without putting any mind to it now feeling like a miracle. Loretta keeps pointing things out like, 'Remember when we did this there?' And the happy memories cheer me up. 

We pull into my parents driveway, met with Dad, who is covered in soot, evidently having a rough night at work. He's holding a welcome home banner he made, which makes me smile. Classic Dad.

I get out of the car, and Loretta does too, helping me get my stuff out. 

"What's up with you, aves?" Dad puts an arm around me. "You're white as a ghost." 

"Don't get too close," I put my arms up. "I'm contagious." 

Loretta nods, handing me my duffle bag, "I think she has the plague." 

Dad laughs and turns to me, brushing some stray hair out of my eyes. Mom walks over, hugging me tightly before I can warn her of my being under the weather. She immediately notices how warm I am with her motherly sentences and places a palm on my forehead, "You're burning up, Av." 

"Yeah, I think I caught some bug going around campus." I decide not to inform Mom of my fall, knowing she will stress to no end and win the world record for most 'are you okay's' asked in the shortest amount of time. She may even not let me return to uni. 

I turn to Loretta who is on the phone with her Dad, having a humorous argument.

"Dad, I didn't...no, I didn't use your card...well, I didn't use it a lot...I'm sorry..what do you mean you're out of town? And you didn't tell me? Aren't you too old to have a girlfriend? Sorry, sorry, you're just so wrinkly...OKAY! Okay...let me see. Amn't I old enough to stay at the house by myself? I DID THAT ONCE. LET ME LIVE IT DOWN. Fine fine, let me see. Love you too, but I don't like you right now." 

Mom runs over to her, "There's my second daughter!" She squeezed her so hard she lifts her off her feet. Jeez, your real daughter is standing right here, Ill no less, and you're squeezing the perfectly healthy green-haired goblin next to her instead? Bit of a low moment for me.

Loretta has her 'I need a favour' puppy dog eyes again. I look at her, "What?" 

"Uhh...My dad is out of town for a metal concert with his girlfriend or something, and I'm not permitted to stay at his place alone...sooooo..." 

I rub my temples, but my parents are rearing to invite her inside, not even bothering to ask why her 21 year old self still needs adult supervision. We both go inside. The door opens to unvail..

King Gerold himself. 

He's even more beautiful in person, his cuteness shining bright, his paws all scruffy, his meow old and raspy, and he's rocking one of those pet diapers for elderly animals. 

Me and Loretta both immediatly drop what we were holding and replace it with Gerold, passing him back and forth like a hot potatoe, gushing over his cuteness, all while he glares at us. 

I kiss at him, him side-eyeing me like he's embarrassed to be accosiated with me. I sit down on the couch, placing him on my lap, temporarily forgetting about my sickness. 

Mom joins us, sitting down on the recliner, "I'm making your favorite for dinner tonight." 

"Enchiladas?" I smile widely. 

"Uh..." Her eyes widen, and my heart drops slightly with concern. "I thought it was gumbo?" 

I shake my head, and she looks down at her hands with worry, "Sorry sweetie, I must've had a brain fart. I could go to the store if you want-" 

"No, Mom, it's fine. I don't know If I can stomach anything anyway, this bug is hitting me like a brick." 

She apologizes a few more times and we end up watching Flea Market Flip. Loretta and me fight over a cozy blanket, and she unfortunatly wins, apparently having no pity for the ill.

She snuggles up and Dad emerges from the bathroom having freshened up, loosing the chimney-sweeper cosplay. He puts an arm around mom, "Honey, you forgot to take your pills again." He looks down at her concerned. "You're starting to make a habit of this, Becky, you're worrying me." 

She waves him off, "Oh, relax. I'm just getting old." 

He raises an eyebrow, "I'm old and I still take my blood thinners, sweetie." 

She raises a finger, scolding him, "You loose that sass."

Loretta laughs and Dad puts his arms up like he's being arrested. But I don't laugh, or even smile. I'm worried. Mom has become so forgetful, and occasionally impulsive. Her diabetes explains some of the brain fog, but she never had this before. I fidget with my jewlery. 

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Laying on the couch with a rising fever and a cold rag on my head, I hear laughter from the kitchen as Loretta recalls some funny stories. 

In my sickness and exhaustion, I find myself seeking comfort from someone. Not my parents, lord knows not Loretta, not Gerold, who has made himself comfortable on my chest, but Kori.

I open my messages app to see a notification next to Kori's name, revealing a message he sent me about the case. I respond reminding him that we're on break and to relax and enjoy the time off, also throwing in a snide remark about him already having worry lines and not needing to make them worse. 

And I sent a few more messages. 

And a few more. 

And the conversation just doesn't stop.  We talk for hours as I lay in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by old stuffed animals and relics of my teen years and different developemental stages of my life, various band posters on the wall that bring back nostalgia. I've only been gone for two months, but it feels like another lifetime. I spread my wings, now It's time to rest them for two weeks. Mom and Dad went out the casino, so it's me Loretta and Gerold. 

The texting turned into a phone call, which turned into a facetime. And I just couldn't hang up. Not because I was enjoying the banter, but because it had turned into a competition, hanging up would be loosing. We stared at each other through the screen, challenging each other. I hated him to see me at such a weak point, looking and feeling like I already passed away, but If I hung up, I'd be forfitting from our game, the game we've been playing since I met him that day at the Hot Topic. 

Eventually, he surrendours, the sound of his mother's voice coming from the background in french. 

"Je suis occupe, maman." He yells, but the feminine voice protests, becoming demanding, harsh and almost angry. 

"Bye Averen. And hey, when you come back from break, leave the attitude at your parents house." 

"Leave yourself at you're parents house." I scoff. 

He chuckles and hangs up. I caught glimpse of a petite French woman holding a frying pan as a weapon. Seems like Kori is in for a scolding, and I'd be lying if I said that wasn't somewhat satisfying. 

I rest against my pillow, feeling a bit better, nausea having subsided and aches having faded, even though I'm still riding the Tylenol wave and using throat spray as life support. Loretta walks in and plops down on the end of the bed. "I think I'm the golden child." 

"Shut up," I scoff, chucking stuffed animals at her. Gerold mosey's in, slow as molasses, climbing onto the bed and laying on my stomach, having become acostumed to my presence even though I just met him. Loretta, however, not so much. 

She tried to pet him, and in return, got a swat. I laugh, and she scolds gerold by putting a blanket over him, causing him to whine and get up, angrily waddling out of the room. 

"Your Mom burnt the rolls." Loretta remarked.

As I looked up at the ceiling, I feel sick again, but for a different reason. Mom NEVER burns anything. She's always been so time-efficient, cooking multiple things at one time, a multitasking master, and now she's burning rolls? 

I'm probably freaking out, but what If i'm not. 

I stand up off of the bed to go to the bathroom, and see that Gerold's diaper has fallen off and he's on the run. I alert Loretta and we chase after the diaperless cat almost comically, squeezing into tight spaces, "I GOT HIM, I GOT HIM," I yell, but I don't got him. 

We continue the Gerold police chase until we eventually catch him. But unfortunatey, we have only been able to catch him because he stopped to poop on the rug. 

We exchange defeated glances, but Gerold himself looks quite smug. 

I sent a picture of gerold and his creations to who I think is Mom, but in my feverish state, I send it to Liam. 

I get a response, 'So that's how you felt about our date, huh?'

Oh my god. 

I want to punch myself. 

Y'know what, I hope this illness takes me out. 

Lord know's I wouldn't miss most of these people who surround me. 

Except maybe Cheryl. 

And Gerold. 

Diapered Gerold, anyway.