15 ⭐ Bathrobes and Bromance
Friday, January 7.
Every now and then, I get really sick. And I mean like really sick. Runny nose, scratchy throat, aches and pains, you know. The works.
But that would feel like a leisure summer break compared to this.
This feels like death.
I'm running a high fever and my stomach has decided that it is having some sort of existential crisis. It says "digestion? What's that?" and shuns every promise it's ever made to the rest of my body.
The small amount of food it accepts isn't enough to keep my body from falling off the face of the earth, so it turns to more primitive ways of survival.
Cannibalism.
Yes, you heard me right.
My stomach has decided that it is some kind of desirable gourmet dish and that it would like to devour itself.
Or that's what it feels like anyways.
Meanwhile, I'm here wishing by some sort of magical osmosis that I could absorb the nutrients from the actual gourmet dish in front of me.
The sub sandwich from downstairs looks up at me and scoffs, "as if I would want to be in your stomach, anyways!"
Great… now I can add hallucinations to my list of symptoms.
Maybe I'm undergoing some kind of alien metamorphosis and I'm going to develop chloroplasts and use photosynthesis to just skip the whole process!
As much as that would be cool, I was never really a physical wonder of anything, so that is probably not what's happening. Instead, I'm stuck in my bed until further notice, only emerging when I run out of apple juice and room in my blatter.
Speaking of apple juice, "Hey Beck? Could you refill my thermos?"
Taron's soft voice rang out a few moments later. "Uh, Beck is in the bathroom right now…"
"Oh...uh, could you refill it?" I questioned hesitantly.
"Of course," Taron replied. I heard slow quiet steps approach and pause briefly before the curtains parted. Taron stepped through and stopped in front of my pile of blankets. He wore a fluffy, bright hot pink bathrobe.
I snorted and then grimaced at the stinging in my throat. I held my thermos out and Taron accepted it slowly.
"You okay?"
"Yep, " I winced, shifting slightly as my stomach turned. "Just peachy."
Taron frowned, "Sorry."
"Not your fault," I replied, closing my eyes.
I cracked one open, as Taron left quietly, and saw that the word "Bro" was embroidered in fancy script across the back of his bathrobe.
I almost laughed, but then I decided it wasn't funny enough to endure pain for.
A minute or so passed and I heard the toilet flush. Another minute passed and someone came to return my, hopefully now full, thermos.
"Your beverage, Madame," he offered with a funny accent.
Beck held my thermos aloft before me with familiarly pink clad arms. He wore a bathrobe that matched Taron's.
I tried to hold down the urge to laugh as I grasped my juice. Taron's bathrobe was funny, but the fact that Beck has a matching one makes the urge to laugh harder to fight.
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Deep Roots
सामान्य साहित्यAfter only one semester at the University where her mother had graduated, Bella Skye decides she's had enough. And what better way to get a change of pace than to move in with the brother you haven't talked to in over two years? Now, while navigati...
