The next morning, I wake up burning in my own skin.
My bedding is soaked in sweat. My body trembles like I'm stuck in Antarctica even though I feel like I'm two steps away from the sun. I try sitting up but it's no use; the room spins like I'm on a tilt-a-whirl, and when I try to grab the side of my bed for balance, my hands don't feel like they're mine.
My body doesn't feel like it's mine.
I open my mouth, trying to call out for someone—anyone—but my throat is dry as hell. My head aches, my muscles are sore, and the room keeps swirling, and swirling, and swirling.
My mouth is still open, and there's something coming through my lips, but I'm not sure what it is. Everything feels vacant. I figure I'm calling for Dad when he comes bustling into the room like a storm trooper, his eyes wild yet lingering with sleep as he looks around the entire room for any sign of trouble.
He gives a questioning look when he sees me. For some reason, it doesn't seem like he's actually there.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know." My voice sounds crappy.
Dad rubs his arm for a second before coming over to me, putting a tentative hand over my forehead. His frown deepens. "You're burning up. Hold on."
He dips out of the room for a moment. In less than a minute, he's back again with painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Dad hoists my upper body up a little and pries my mouth open to puts the pills in, then tries to get me to swallow the water. It burns on the way down, and sitting up only makes me feel like puking, so I crash my head back down on my wet pillow. The room does a backflip.
"I'll be right back," he says, but it doesn't sound like him. Who is that?
Dad leaves before I can even get enough strength to give a decent nod. I stare wide eyed at the ceiling, or what I presume to be the ceiling, thinking if this is how dead people feel before they die. Do they see that same light I do? Do they also feel disconnected? Like the world is trying to throw them out?
I almost smile at the thought—dying. How would Casper feel about it? Would he be as devastated as he was with Aaron? Would he come with me too? It's perfect shit for a Hollywood movie, but I guess I should at least leave a note or something for him. But how would I even write it? Dear Casper, I know this must suck, and trust me, it's not a big kick for me either, but this happens sometimes. People die for the stupidest reasons. It's just the way it goes, and to be honest, I'm not surprised that it happened to me.
There's a hand on my head. Is it Dad? When did he get back? I want to look at him, but I can't control my eyes anymore. They're trapped on the moving ceiling. Somebody's putting something in my mouth. It tastes funny. After a moment, they pull it out, and I hear someone say, "It's a fever."
That's not Dad. I can tell it's a lady talking even though her voice sounds a million miles away. I blink for a moment and let out a breath, hearing myself say the word, "Mom?" before everything goes black.
***
The dreams are back. I know I'm dreaming because I'm standing on a lake. Not at the shore or by the shallow parts of the water, but just on it. There's something in my arms, soft and smooth, and it takes a moment to realise that it's Casper.
He's not looking at me. He has his head buried against my shoulder. No matter how much I try to get his attention, he doesn't budge. I'm calling him. I keep saying Casper, look at me, please, but he won't. He just holds me even though I'm shaking him. His grip is tight.
The lake churns. The blue water turns into a deep red, first starting at the centre of our feet before spanning farther and father over the vast body of water. I try calling Casper again to warn him about the water, but he still won't look at me. He still won't listen. Instead, he starts to cry.
It's worse than the time he cried for Aaron. Even though his body isn't shaking as he does it, the sobs echo and crash against every crevice of my brain, causing me to hold my head just to get the noises to stop. But as soon as I do that, his grip loosens, and he begins to sink.
The sky breaks. The pieces crash against the red water, sinking in time with Casper's body. I try grabbing for him—any part of him—but it's no use.
He's falling. He's falling. He's falling.
The sky is gone, he's gone, and I'm left alone in bloody water.
I must've been screaming, because someone shakes me out of the nightmare. By the time my eyes pop open the ceiling is back, still spinning slightly, but better than before. There's a face towel on me; first on my forehead, then travels down the sides of my face in slow motions.
"Shh," someone says. "It was just a bad dream."
I look to my right to see Nichole there, still in her pyjamas as she glides the towel across my face. "Mom?" I say, though I know it's not.
She gives me a sad look. "It's me, Holden. Nichole. Your dad came to get me. You have a fever. Can you understand what I'm saying?"
I mumble something that's even incomprehensible to me, but Nichole still nods and abandons the towel. She puts a thumb under my eye and gives it a light swipe, doing the same to the other.
"Don't cry anymore. You're here now. It was just a nightmare."
"He was falling."
"He's safe, Holden. So are you."
"I couldn't save him."
"There's nobody you need to save."
Except myself.
I'm guessing there are a million tears coming out of my eyes because Nichole doesn't stop swiping. I can't stop apologising for it and even though she keeps saying it's okay, I know it's not. There's only a thin wall blocking Dad from us, and I know how much he hates this sort of thing. But I can't help it. I still feel him in my arms. I can't help it.
By the time I'm done, my throat hurts more than before. Nichole gives my shoulder a light squeeze before offering me some more water, which I can't exactly down properly. It feels more like lava scorching the insides of my throat.
"I'll get your dad to give you a sponge bath," Nichole says, putting the towel on the rest of my body. "It'll help with your muscles and make you feel a bit better overall. By the time that's done, I'll have something light for you to put in your stomach. Then we'll give you some more medication so you can sleep easier, okay?"
"Okay," I say, though I'm not comfortable with the idea of the guy giving me a damn sponge bath. What kind of shit is that?
Nichole sighs as she runs the towel over my chest. Where did my tee shirt go? "Did you stay out in the rain yesterday? Even after I gave you the car?"
I had to see him again. Even though it was stupid, I was scared and I had to see him.
"I camped out at his place," I end up saying, even though I know I shouldn't. I can't stop myself. The words just keep falling out. "I couldn't see him, so I camped out at his place until I came home."
Nichole gives me a look I can't take. I avert my gaze back to the ceiling. "You stayed outside of his house in the rain? For hours?"
I say nothing because I can tell she already knows the answer. I think about explaining it to her, but figure it would be no use. She wouldn't understand it. Nobody will.
When she's done wiping the sweat off my body, Nichole stands from the seat beside my bed and heads over to the doorway. She pauses for a moment, turning to look at me.
"You called me Mom."
I look at her.
"Twice, actually."
"It doesn't mean anything."
"Alright, but—" She stops herself and shakes her head. "Alright," she says, and leaves me alone.