I'd Rather Be in Love than Dead

Chapter Seventeen

 Those were the times.

Over the next few days, we continued to visit Garrett, not even bothering to think about the fact that Trey still hadn’t been home from mini-vacation with Debbie to worry about his only brother suffering pneumonia in a hospital. Though, I had heard he would be home today. Or at least that’s what Garrett said. Honestly, I didn’t understand why no one would call him to tell him so that he could come and visit, though it was quite possible that Garrett threatened death to anyone who would do this, in fear that he’d bring his apparently freaky girlfriend.

I would never understand boys.

I lay on the couch at John’s house (why had I not moved back in with Alayna, you might ask? Because I couldn’t bring myself to leave such a wonderful place, and John honestly seemed thankful for the company) with him stroking my hair idly with his left hand, though his right arm had almost completely healed in the week since it’d happened. I smiled up at him, about to bring up something I’d been thinking about for awhile, when the phone rang and John answered.

“Hello?” He said in his raspy voice. “He what? Well is he okay? Oh God, have you told him that? Sure, we’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone with a mildly worried expression on his face as he stood, lifting me with him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him as he wrapped my legs around his waist so that I was in a piggy back ride position.

“Garrett hasn’t been eating, apparently, or sleeping much, for that matter, and the doctors are worried. Said he wouldn’t talk to anyone but us, so they want us to try and see what’s up.” My jaw dropped; I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t thought of this before, as I’d unconsciously noticed his sudden, rapid weight loss. But I honestly hadn’t put two and two together to realize that he must’ve been regularly skipping meals. In retrospect, I didn’t recall seeing him eat once since he’d reached the hospital.

And so I dropped off of John’s back and we walked quickly towards the car. “Wait,” I said, holding a hand out as we reached the driveway. “I wanna make one stop first.”

***

 Garrett's Perspective:

I covered my face as yet another doctor came into my room in an attempt to get me to eat. They talked to me of how I needed food and rest in order to get well again, yet they could say nothing to get me to take even the smallest bite of the soup they’d put in front of me. I didn’t see what the big deal was; it was just food. It wasn’t like I was going to die from skipping just a week’s worth of meals because I wanted nothing more than to get out of this hellhole that I’d been trapped in for seven f**king days.

Another doctor entered a few moments after the last one left and crouched down beside where I lay, feeling too weak to talk much. “How are you feeling?” She asked me. She was actually quite pretty, for a nurse, with black, curly hair and slightly tanned skin. But even her semi-normal exterior (in comparison to some of the doctor’s) wasn’t enough to make it feel worthwhile to speak. So I merely shrugged.

She picked up the thermometer on the side table and motioned for me to allow her to at least take my temperature, even if I wouldn’t let her hear my voice. I obliged, as I still wanted to get better just because it meant not only no longer feeling like complete s**t (again), but also being able to leave. After a few moments she took it out from under my tongue and read the number while I watched the ceiling with more interest than I should’ve been. Until she bit her lip and stalked off, returning not too long afterwards with the main (no pun intended) doctor.

“His fever’s gone back up some,” She said to him as he watched me carefully. “It’s almost reached 105 again.” This didn’t surprise me, as I certainly felt the familiar sensation of a high temperature (shaking uncontrollably and feeling like you’re freezing to death, even though your skin is burning hot). And then he approached me. With a needle. And I freaked.