Jemma Winchester One Shots

The Dreaded Flu

Y'all my creative writing teacher recommended me for the New England Young Writers Conference in May and I'm so excited! I have to apply though which I'm nervous about but still.

Word count: 1897

Warnings: vomiting, nightmare

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I groan as I stand, my head spinning and throbbing. A cramp rips through my abdomen. I'm not that hungry, but a girl's got to eat. I walk into the kitchen to find Dad and Uncle Sam sitting at the table.

"Good morning, Jem," Dad greets.

"Morning," I mumble.

He glances at me. "You okay?"

"'M fine."

"Are you sure?" Uncle Sam asks. "You don't look too hot, Ace."

"I said I'm fine," I grumble and head for the door, but Dad body-blocks me.

"Not so fast." He feels my forehead with the back of his hand. "Yep. Fever."

I groan. "I'm fine. I don't even feel sick."

"Sure you don't," Dad says sarcastically. "Your cheeks are as red as tomatoes and you're as pale as a ghost. You're sweating, but you're shivering. Yeah, I'm sure you feel fantastic. Back to bed."

I huff. "Fine. But I'm fine."

I follow Dad to my bedroom. "I'll be back. Don't even think about trying anything funny." He leaves, leaving the door open.

I give up and crawl back under the sheets, pulling them tightly around me.

"I'm back with reinforcements," Dad announces as he walks back into the room. He holds up a bottle of medicine.

"No," I groan and pull the covers over my head.

"Jemma, come on, don't do this."

"Don't want medicine."

"Jemma, you're not two. Take the medicine."

"No."

"I'll get Sam in here so he can hold you down while I force-feed this to you."

I poke my head out from under the sheets and glare at my father. "Fine."

He hands me the cup with the purple liquid sloshing around inside. "Stop staring at it and drink it," Dad says.

"I'll drink it when I'm ready," I snap.

He sighs. "From now on, you're getting a flu shot every year."

I take a deep breath and drink it in one gulp. I cringe at the taste and the sticky feeling it leaves on my teeth.

"You're so dramatic," Dad says.

"Who do you think I get it from?" I retort.

"Definitely your uncle."

"Uh-huh." A wave of nausea hits me hard as my head throbs. I wince and lay back against my pillow.

"You okay, Sunshine?"

"Oh, now you're nice to me."

Dad rolls his eyes. "You're too much."

My stomach aches as the dinner from last night makes its way up my throat.

"Dad—I think I'm gonna—"

I vomit all over myself and my bed. Dad and I freeze. Then, I burst into tears. Damn period, making me all emotional.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. Why are you crying?" Dad places a hand on my back.