Page 17 of Claimed by the Fallen
Feeling gross, I insist I change out of my pajamas. They are damp from sweating during my nightmare. Mom nods and says she will be right back before she ducks out of the room, closing the door behindher.
I slip off my shorts with no problem, but my tank top is another issue. I moan as I lift the material up and over my head. I’m weak, and the fact makes me wonder if my sickly state is due to more than lingering effects of the very vividnightmare.
I change into a loose top and a different set of boxer-like bottoms. I’m crawling back into bed when my mom re-enters. She holds the door open and my dad is behind her, carrying a tray of toast, crackers, orange juice, and gingerale.
“Hey there, sweetheart. Your mom said you aren’t feeling well.” Dad walks over and puts the tray on the nightstand. He sits on the edge of my queen-sized bed and leans over to press a hand against my forehead. “No fever, though. So that’s a good sign.” My dad is a dermatologist. Most of the time, I forget he’s arealdoctor. I’m so used to hearing him discuss moles, acne, and warning me about skin cancer, I forget he spent four years in medical school learning about much more than skin. Besides, I’m rarely sick. It’s not like Dad had to use his doctor skills on me as I grewup.
I lean against my pillows and assess my body. I don’t feel warm. If anything, I’m a little chilled. But I refrain from telling him that. All I want is to lie down and sleep off whatever funk is affecting my body. “Mom thinks I have an empty stomach,” I offer as adistractor.
“Hm. She might be right.” Dad leans back and hands me a cracker. I sit up and he helps me adjust the pillows. I rest against them with my back elevated. “Try to eat but don’t make yourselfsick.”
Dutifully, I bite the cracker. It sticks in my throat. Mom, ever observant, hands me the ginger ale. I take a cautious sip, worried how my stomach will react. Thankfully, it doesn’t immediately try to heave it backup.
Both of my parents watch me with concern. It’s times like this when I wished I had siblings. Being their only child, Oliver and Janet Messenger are known to hover over me. They love me, I get it, but love can easily become smothering if you aren’tcareful.
As further evidence of her helicopter-parent ways, Mom tells Dad, “We should stay here and make sure Ronnie is okay. I’ll call Pastor Richard and tell him someone else needs to watch the nurserytoday.”
“No,” I quickly object. A piece of cracker gets stuck in my throat and I cough. I cringe, knowing it doesn’t help my cause. I sip the ginger ale until my throatclears.
I continue, “I’m just going to sleep. I have food and stuff to drink. Go. I’ll be fine.” I know Mom and Dad will constantly check in on me the if they stay home. I’d hardly be able to rest with their well-meantinterruptions.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”Dad pushes a sweaty strand of hair away from my face. “We just want to make sure you’reokay.”
“I’ sure,” I tell him. “Thanks,though.”
Dad smiles softly and tucks the blanket around me before standing up. My mom looks less willing to go along with my request, but she finally dips her head in agreement. She offers me some more crackers, and I take them. Then, both of my parents leave my room, telling me they will check on me the moment they get back fromchurch.
I wave weakly as Mom shuts the door. Once I’m alone, I let my arm fall and I drop the crackers onto my lap. My body aches. I hadn’t noticed the pain earlier—I’d been too distracted with vomiting—but now that I no longer feel nauseous, my sore muscles and tender skin moan inagony.
I recognize the symptoms of the flu, minus the fact I don’t have a fever. I’m about to burrow into my covers for warmth when I hear scratches at my door, followed by a familiarwhine.
I groan. Periwinkle, my miniature Goldendoodle, wants in myroom.
Periwinkle joined the family on my sixteenth birthday. I’d always wanted a dog, but my dad’s allergies prevented us from being able to get one. That is, until I discovered Periwinkle’s hypoallergenic breed. My parents had been nervous about getting a pet, but I spent the better part of my freshman year begging and pleading for them to let me get one. I was over the moon when they finallyagreed.
Now, two years later, none of us could imagine life without our fourth family member. I love Periwinkle with all of my heart, and she is a clever, but also needy, dog. She knows I’m in my bedroom, and she won’t stop scratching until I let herin.
Clenching my teeth, I manage to push myself out of bed. I stumble towards the door and nearly fall against it. I close my eyes and breathe until the wave of dizziness passes. Periwinkle whimpers on the other side of thewood.
I turn the knob and open the door. Periwinkle’s long, curly tail whips from side to side, excited to have gained entry. I close the door behindher.
I hold out a hand, but I’m sure I’ll fall over if I try to bend down to pet her. Instead, I shuffle back towards my bed and urge her to follow. “Come on,Peri.”
I slide onto the mattress as gracefully as I can manage, rearranging the quilt over me. Then, I say, “Up.”
Periwinkle leaps onto the bed. I watch her circle around until she plops down beside my legs. She rests her head on my knee, watching me with big brown eyes. I scratch her ears for a minute before I am forced to lean back into my pillows. Now, my head feelsheavy.
Wanting nothing more than to get over whatever ails my body, I close my eyes to try to fall asleep. I feel Peri shift, and I hear when she finds the crackers I’d left on the bed. She devours them quickly, but I don’t have it in me to try and stopher.
I tune out every noise and feeling. I let my mind clear, and I coax oblivion forward. Oddly enough, I’m distracted by the memory of a chiseled jaw from my nightmare. I’m surprisingly intrigued, and I try to expand my vision to see the rest of the face attached to thejawline.
But before I succeed, my wish for sleep is granted, and I fall into a blessedly, dreamlessslumber.
* * *
By the timemy parents return from church, I haven’t improved much. I’m not throwing up, but my entire body continues to ache, and my chest constricts like it didyesterday.
I’m wondering if I’d unintentionally ignored early symptoms of my illness when my dad comes in to check on me. He probes me with questions, and I admit my pain symptoms. Immediately, he insists I drink an entire glass of water. Then, he gives me a flu-relief soft gel toswallow.
