Page 81 of Mate
I bite the inside of my lips. “That sounds like ayouproblem.”
“Yeah. That it is.”
I turn and walk inside the cabin. I do not watch Koen leave, nor do I listen to the engine softening in the distance. Instead I go to my room, dig into the mountain of blankets and pillows the bed has somehow accumulated, sit cross-legged with my phone in my hands, and do the only thing that makes sense.
Serena:Would you love me less if my name was Eva?
Misery:Yes.
Misery:But not like, by a lot.
I bury my face in the pillow to laugh and cry at the same time.
I WAKE UP A FEW HOURS LATER, ON FIRE.
Pouring sweat.
Shivering.
In pain so visceral, I am willing to do anything, absolutely fuckinganythingtonotfeel it. Even something as drastic as dying.
I roll out of bed and drag myself to the shower. Loud whimpers spill out of me, and I slap a hand against my mouth, until I remember that Koen won’t be home until morning. If I use his bathtub, he won’t know. Or care.
I stumble across the hallway, taking three pit stops on the way— two to dry heave, and one to just collapse for a little while.As one does, I tell myself.Totally normal. Nothing to see here.
My head spins as I pull myself up. It helps that my claws are somehow out, something to stick through the wooden walls to lug myself to a semi-upright position.
You’re doing amazing, Serena. Eva. Killer. Whoever you are.
My heart has never beaten this fast, not even after a sprint, not even after killing someone. I remember when Dr. Henshaw listed the many ways in which the fevers could lead to my death. Septic shock and widespread inflammation. Brain damage and neuronal death. Dehydration.
Cardiac stress.
I was kinda partial to metabolic imbalance, but maybe this is how I go?
Either way, I inform my body,things end in cold water. That’s non-negotiable.
I lurch into Koen’s bathroom. The underwear and flannel I’m wearing are so sweat-soaked, it hurts to peel them off my skin. I turn on the faucet, make sure that the water is gelid, and when I feel my stomach twist to expel something, I trip back toward the sink.
That’s where I see my eyes.
I freeze, because this is new. Or maybe, in all the fever attacks so far, I never looked at my face in a mirror. My pupils have shrunk to pinpricks. It’s like my irises are eggs, and someone punctured them open with a needle. The dark brown spills out, filling the white like a puddle of something viscous that could almost beblood—
“Serena.”
I turn around. My heart sinks.
Koen is wearing yesterday’s clothes and must havejustreturned. He inhales deeply, staring at my nearly naked body, focusing on the fat drops of sweat rolling between my breasts. The hot flush that blankets my skin. My eyes, still leaking into themselves.
“I’m sorry.” I’m hoarse. Weak. I force myself to take a deep breath, because I need to— cold water. Can’t deal with him now. I hug myself tight, forgetting about my own sharp claws,ignoring the way they pierce the skin of my ribs. “It’s b- better if you leave.”
His eyes are shadowed. He takes a step forward, bringing inside a tidal wave of his scent that’ssafeandcleanandhealthyand—
Oh my God.Sex.It’s so delicious, so indecent, so fundamentally erotic, I want it even more than the cold water. Which I need tosurvive.
“Please, Koen. I need you to leave.”
“Where does it hurt?” He comes closer, clearly unaware that I’m scary and unpredictable. His heatshouldbother me, but by some miracle of biology it doesn’t add to the fever. “And how bad?”
