You wake up with the pounding in your head just as present and profound as it was when you fell asleep. You take a breath and your throat screams at you that you're tearing it apart. Your arms stay heavily where they lie and you can't decide if you want to risk moving anything at all.
Why did you wake up? Couldn't you have just slept until this awful feeling of half-death went away?
The sound suddenly reaches your ears: voices. They're hushed, but they're there. They sound like they're coming from your kitchen.
You quietly groan, angry enough to move your aching body up out of bed, albeit slowly, and grab the metal baseball bat you keep under your bed for just such an emergency. You pull on your robe and go to your bedroom door, pressing your ear against the wood to see what the intruders are saying.
"No, don't do that, it's too loud!"
"Quiet...you'll wake her!"
They know that you're home...they know you were sleeping...do they know just how sick you really are? Have they been stalking you? Who really are these people?
Well then, this is your chance to catch them off-guard. Just because you're sick doesn't mean you're defensless. You have a giant metal bat, for gosh sakes!
You carefully open your door, getting a good grip on the bat as you peek out. They left the lights off and since you pulled the curtains closed before you went to sleep, the house is very dark. All you can really see are shadows.
"Here, bring that to the counter." There's some shuffling around in your kitchen area. "Did you bring the broth?"
Wait a second...broth?
"Yeah, but I couldn't find the one you asked for so I got the generic brand."
"You what! You know she's got allergies to certain things! We can't just use whatever broth you find at the store!"
"Broth doesn't even use two things that she's allergic to, Ethan. Chill out, okay?"
Listening closer, you realize you recognize the voices. You go over to the light switch and flip it on, bat still in hand, but now hanging harmlessly at your side. The intruders freeze instantly in what they're doing, eyes wide like deer in headlights.
Your eyes on the other hand, droop tiredly. You honestly feel like you're about to keel over and die any second, but try not to show it. Besides, you're probably being dramatic, anyway.
"Guys...what are you doing here...?" You rasp, wincing at the pain that comes from using your voice but still taking in the scene before you: Ethan and Mark are both in your kitchen. They have cloth grocery bags that are filled with all kinds of things, which Mark was apparently in the process of spreading out on the counter. Ethan had obviously been looking through your cabinets for something or other that you didn't really have the energy to guess at.
Ethan breaks from his frozen state of shock at being caught and frowns at you, putting his hands on his hips. "What are we doing here? What are you doing out of bed? You're supposed to be resting, you know."
Usually you would laugh at his response, as he's obviously trying to avoid blame, or you'd roll your eyes at him for being silly. Today, though...you have no energy for anything at all. "You guys will get sick..." You take a breath, wincing with every action you make. Even thinking hurts. "You shouldn't...be here..."
The bat drops from your hand and clangs against the wood floor of your living area. You feel yourself losing the adrenaline from your fight-or-flight response and reach out to steady yourself on the couch, feeling the entire world tip and roll. Instantly your friends are beside you, determined not to let you fall as you drift suddenly out of consciousness.
"Oh my God, she's on fire! What do we do?" Ethan's voice gently brings you into the land of the living for a few moments and you find you're somehow laying on the couch...when did that happen..?
"Ethan, don't panic. She'll be fine. Go get a towel and run it under the kitchen faucet. Then check the broth to see if I got one that's alright. I'll get her some water." Things start to go black again and you hear Mark's voice start to fade. "She's been sleeping since yesterday with this fever, she's probably really dehydrated..."
The next time you open your eyes, someone is helping you to sit up and they've got something warm they're trying to get you to drink. You don't have the willpower to fight them, so you just go with it. You feel hands at your face and something being taken off your forehead.
You feel yourself shiver and a blanket being put over you before you drift back into sleep.
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"This is bad, Mark...she's really sick. Should we take her to the hospital?" Ethan watches, concerned, as you sleep.
You really do kind of look like death. The bags under your sunken eyes make you look like you have a couple of shiners, your skin is the most pale he has ever seen and you've very visibly lost weight. He feels your face with the back of his hand and sighs. Your fever seems to have come down a bit but you're still way to warm. He takes the towel they put on your forehead and goes to run it under some water again.
"We'll get her some more fluids and see how she is after a little bit." Mark watches carefully as Ethan fusses, covering you with a blanket while E goes to the sink. "She didn't have anyone making sure she was taking in the proper amount of fluids. That made it a lot worse. Now that we're taking care of her, she should start to get better."
Ethan sets the newly wetted towel back on your head, hoping the cold water will help you break the fever. "Alright..." He looks up at Mark determinedly, "but if she gets any worse, we take her to the hospital."
Mark nods. "Of course."
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Your eyes slowly open and you stare out at the living room.
The living room...? When did you move to the living room..? You carefully sit yourself up on the couch, feeling your muscles stiffen a little as you move. The soreness isn't enough to stop you, though.
The blanket falls off your shoulders and into your lap, the air in the house giving you a chill. You wrap the blanket back around yourself as you look around, worried you've done something else in your feverish state that you don't remember. Like...cooking or lighting a candle, or...
Your eyes land on the oven, which has something in it. The 'baking' light is on and there's a stream of smoke coming from the oven door.
"Oh my god!!" You jump off the couch and run over as the smoke alarm starts the ear-piercing squeal that lets you know you're about to die. You fan the smoke down as Mark comes running from one of the back rooms, slipping and falling on the tile.
You pull the charred food out of the oven, coughing as you continue to fan at the smoke. You turn off the oven and sigh, turning to look tiredly at Mark. He's suddenly up on his feet, trying to fan the smoke away from the fire alarm.
"Mark! What are you doing here?"
He just keeps fanning as Ethan comes walking calmly into the kitchen with his nose and mouth inside the collar of his shirt.
"You're here too? Guys, what is going on? How did you even get in?" Your head starts to pound behind your eyes and you're starting to feel exhausted again. At least you have the strength to stand.
"We've been taking care of you. You were really sick." Ethan's voice is muffled as he keeps his shirt over his face, gently moving Mark to the side and climbing up to stand on your counter.
Mark stops fanning and watches Ethan. "Yeah...Ethan wanted to take you to the hospital, but we didn't want to overreact."
Ethan pulls the battery out of the fire alarm, effectively stopping the constant squeal of death. "Yeah and Mark seems to really know how to take care of someone who's sick." He hops down off the counter. "Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"
You sigh and press a hand to your forehead. "I'm...tired...but surprisingly, I'm also feeling better. How long have you been taking care of me for?"
You look up to see Ethan counting on his fingers while mumbling to himself. Mark, on the other hand, comes up with an answer a bit quicker. "About three days. You mostly slept, but when you did wake up you didn't seem so good."
"Yeah," Ethan pipes up, "when we first got here you pretty much collapsed. I honestly thought you were dying."
"Which, you probably were.." Mark reasons, "I mean. You were severely dehydrated and I'm guessing you weren't eating, so...yeah. If we hadn't barged in here to force our caring friendship on you...it probably wouldn't have ended well for you."
You suddenly realize the severity of what had happened. These two goofballs most likely saved your life.
It dawns on you that the room has been very quiet for a few minutes as the reality of what could have happened sinks in on all of you. You feel like you need to say something in thanks, but there don't seem to be any words that would be enough.
Ethan steps forward and wraps his arms around you. "Hey...don't ever do that again, okay? If you need something, call me. Or...or call Mark...or...someone. Even if you don't think you need something. Because...I need you." The air seems to tense up as he catches what he said and tries to correct himself. "We all need you...you make life better."
You can feel your cheeks flushing, but not from your fever this time. You wrap your arms around Ethan, returning the hug as you hide your face in his shoulder. "Thank you...both of you." Your voice is muffled but you don't care. "I just hope you don't get sick. But if you do, I'll come take care of you, too."
Mark grins. "Nah, I've got a loving girlfriend who can take care of me. Ethan on the other hand.."
"Has no one." He playfully finishes Mark's sentence and you can hear his grin.
You smile too, but mostly because Ethan is like an adorable little kid sometimes. "Well, don't worry, E." You tighten your hug on him, "You've got someone who will do pretty much anything for you."
And he does. Not only because he helped bring you back from the edge of death, but also because he's a real friend. And real friends deserve real friendship.