After the unfortunate event, Caleb demanded for me to go back to Kayla's room to rest. Of course, I—reluctantly—obliged and did as he'd said, thinking he would know best. But now, as I lay with my insides battered and beaten, I found myself completely and utterly bored. And because it was Saturday, I had no plausible excuse to go outside and do something—albeit they'd probably keep me here anyway. I blew my hair out of the frame of my face desultorily and sighed, rolling to my side. The shock and pain from my little incident had long since dulled—as they say, there is a calm before and after the storm. I'd say it felt more like a tedious wait more than anything.
I groaned out and exasperatedly tugged the blanket around my figure tightly as a sharp pain presented itself. It's always come and go with these stupid migraines, and frankly, I'm getting sick of it—literally. Following the migraines were nauseating aches from my stomach, and even sometimes the rough pounding of my spine from an unseen force. Either way, It always led me to a path full of discomfort and misery. I let out a ragged and bated breath—testing my lungs and hoping that they wouldn't sting me this time. I winced as my hopes were denied, and my chest unraveled into a series of massive and deep-throated coughs.
Blood dripped again from my chin and stained itself into the palm of my hand as I attempted to cover my mouth. I strained my other arm and reached to get a handful of tissues from the tissue box that Caleb had left previously. Thankfully, I managed to snatch a few before the box tumbled to the floor. I then quickly directed my focus back to the pool of blood that had now started to leak out and trickle its way to my jeans. Alarmingly, I immediately replaced the hand with the fistful of synthetics. I watched stoically as the whitish gray color turned to a scarring deep maroon. Eventually, the chain of guttural and churning coughs ended, leaving the material soaked through.
Making sure that the bleeding had stopped first, I pulled myself away from the tissues and carefully balled them up—trying desperately to avoid squeezing them, because if I did, a waterfall of the thick red liquid would stain the bed. I lifted myself up with great effort and stumbled into the bathroom. After throwing the dirtied synthetics away, I ran the cold water on the sink and splashed it on my face, then washed my hands thoroughly. I exhaled refreshingly, it felt good when the little droplets fell right below your neckline—especially when you are so used to the blazing heat that comes with this illness. I frowned at a sudden thought that hit me.
What if I never get better?
I sighed and disregarded the negativity. My now pinkish hands reached for the latches and turned them off, cutting the supply of water. I retired to the bed so I could nap for the rest of the day, for every time I coughed up blood, I noticed, my body was left exhausted and in a very dire need of rest. I slumped on the bed, wondering where it was were Kayla slept if I was the one occupying her bed and other more trivial thoughts. I drowsily turned to my side as I lulled myself to a dreamless sleep by thinking random, boring things.
Though, tired as I may be, the previous stayed stuck in my head and refused to go away without answers. I tried to focus on the warmth of the sheets, the comforting darkness as I closed my eyes, the sweet smell of lavender and ginger that radiated off the room, anything and everything I could sense, really, that wasn't that one question. I swayed from side to side and rocked on my axis, I even tried something as ridiculed as sheep counting. Eventually, I fell unconscious into a dark and troubled sleep.
- - -
I winced at the rough texture of the sponge as it scraped my reddened hands. I still had a hard time evening my breath, and I couldn't stand the thought of even a drop of that blood getting anywhere on my body. It disgusted me, even my own, which I've seen too many times. I pulled my hands from the kitchen sink and resisted the urge to scrub more, though I knew that if I did, the scabs on my hands would reopen. I shuddered at the thought and twisted the latch off.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl That Can Talk To Animals (HIATUS)Science Fiction
Angela has always had interesting things happen to her. Heck, ever since birth had odd things occurred to her. She always had a little blue jay following her around-a wild one at that. She has two childhood friends too, who can be pretty crazy when...