Chapter 4 #2
“All of the above,” I say, waving a hand. “I feel like my brain is trying to escape through my eyeballs. I haven’t eaten since yesterday because everything tastes like sadness and regret. I almost cried when I saw a commercial for soup. Actual tears. I’m not okay.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying very hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so bad. Let me just get your insurance—”
“I don’t have insurance on me,” I interrupt, because my brain is apparently leaking out of my ears. “I left my wallet at home. Or maybe I ate it. I don’t know. I’m not thinking clearly. I think I have brain fog. Or maybe early-onset dementia. Or maybe I’m just dying. Can you check if I’m dying?”
She finally looks up at me fully, and there’s actual concern in her eyes now. “You’re not dying,” she says gently. “But you do look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, right as the room does a slow, horrible spin.
My vision tunnels. The edges go fuzzy. I sway forward and have to slap a hand on the counter to stay upright. “Shit,” I mutter. “Okay. Maybe not fine.”
She moves fast. One second she’s behind the desk, the next she’s coming around it and slipping under my arm like it’s nothing.
She’s tiny compared to me, barely comes up to my chest, but she’s surprisingly strong as she steadies me.
“Easy,” she says, voice calm but firm. “Come on. Let’s get you sitting down before you actually do pass out. ”
I let her guide me because I don’t really have a choice. My legs feel like wet noodles. She walks me over to an empty chair near the wall, one hand on my back like she’s afraid I’m going to face-plant in the middle of the waiting room.
I drop into the seat harder than I mean to. The tissues are still hanging out of my nose. I probably look like the world’s saddest, largest toddler.
She crouches in front of me, one hand still on my arm like she’s making sure I’m not going to slide out of the chair. “Deep breaths,” she says quietly. “You’re okay. Just sit here for a minute.”
I blink at her, feeling stupid and sick and weirdly grateful. “You’re really nice,” I mumble. “Like… unfairly nice. I came in here looking like a crime against humanity and you’re still being sweet to me. That’s suspicious. Are you a real person or did I hallucinate you?”
She lets out a soft laugh, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I’m real,” she says. “And you’re very sick. Stay right here. I’m going to let Sophie know you’re here and grab you some water, okay?”
I nod weakly, then immediately regret it when my head throbs harder.
As she stands up to go, I reach out and gently catch her wrist without thinking. “Hey,” I say, voice rough. “What’s your name?”
She looks down at me, surprised, but answers anyway. “Lucy.”
I nod, letting her name settle somewhere in my fevered brain. “Lucy,” I repeat. “That’s a nice name. Suits you.”
She gives me a small, almost shy smile before she turns and walks back toward the desk. “I’ll be right back.”
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes, tissues still shoved up my nose, hoodie half-zipped, looking like absolute hell.
I nod, too tired to even attempt being charming.
Even though I feel like absolute garbage, I can’t help thinking that maybe coming here wasn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had.
“Here you go,” Lucy says, coming back a minute later carrying a bottle of water. At the same time, Sophie steps into the waiting room. She takes one look at me and lets out a quiet laugh, like she's already decided exactly how this appointment is going to go before she says a word.
I take the bottle from Lucy, and our fingers brush for the smallest second. It shouldn't register. I'm standing here looking like a giant sick idiot with tissues hanging out of my face, but somehow my fever decides that's the thing it wants to remember. “Thank you.”
I glance up at her, and she gives me another one of those soft smiles before going back to her desk.
"There you are," Sophie says as she walks over. She plants a hand on her hip and shakes her head. "Scarlett wasn't exaggerating. You look awful."
"I've looked better," I mumble before twisting the cap off the bottle.
"I believe that," she says with a grin.
She jerks her head toward the hallway. "Come on, big guy. Let's get you back here."
I nod and follow after her, but before I disappear around the corner, I look over my shoulder one more time.
Lucy's already helping another patient, leaning over the counter while she explains something on a clipboard.
She glances up, catches me looking, and gives me a little wave.
I lift the water bottle in return because speaking feels like too much work, and then I force myself to keep walking.
By the time I make it into the exam room, I feel even worse than I did a few minutes ago.
I lower myself onto the edge of the exam table, then decide sitting upright is overrated and lean back with a groan.
My head pounds with every heartbeat, my throat burns every time I swallow, and my whole body feels heavy, like somebody filled my bones with wet concrete.
"I think this is it," I tell Sophie as she starts pulling on a pair of gloves. "Tell everybody I fought bravely."
Sophie snorts without looking at me. "If this is the flu, you'll survive."
I lift an eyebrow. "If?"
She doesn't answer, instead, she slips a thermometer under my tongue. "I've had grown men cry over the flu before," she says as she reaches for her stethoscope.
The thermometer beeps, and I pull it out. "I don't cry."
She takes the thermometer from my hand, looks at the screen, and laughs quietly. "One hundred and two."
"I knew I was dying."
"No." She shakes her head as she writes the number down. "You're dramatic."
I glare at her while she shines a light in my ears and checks my throat. "I can be dramatic and dying."
"You aren't dying, Tiny." She says, pressing the stethoscope against my back. "Take a deep breath."
I try, and it immediately turns into a coughing fit.
"Again," she says patiently.
I manage a better breath the second time, and she moves around in front of me before shining the light into my throat again.
Sophie studies me for another second before she scribbles something on my chart. "I'm pretty sure you've got Influenza," she says, capping her pen. "But let's make sure we're treating the right thing."
"I knew it," I groan, letting my head fall back until I'm staring at the ceiling tiles. "I'm dying."
She laughs as she sets the clipboard on the counter. "You're not dying. Just stay put, I’m going to get some tests to find out what you have."
"I don't think I could leave if I wanted to."
Sophie slips out of the room, and I'm left sitting there by myself.
I lean against the paper-covered exam table with my eyes closed, trying not to move because even turning my head makes it pound.
A minute later the door opens again, and she walks back in carrying a tray with a handful of swabs and a couple of test kits.
"I hate the look of that," I mutter as she sets everything down.
She smiles without an ounce of sympathy. "I figured you would."
"What are those for?"
"I'm testing you for the flu, COVID, and strep. Your symptoms overlap enough that I want to rule everything else out before I send you home."
I let out a dramatic sigh. "Don’t you think I've already suffered enough."
"You'll survive this too."
"I was really hoping you weren't going to say that."
She picks up the first swab and steps closer. "Head back."
I do what she says, and she slides the swab into my nose. My eyes immediately water. "Oh, come on," I complain, jerking back as soon as she pulls it out. "Nobody should have to experience that."
"Lucky for you we're only halfway done."
I stare at her. "You're kidding."
She isn't. The second swab goes up the other side, and I swear she hits a part of my brain nobody's ever touched before.
"I saw my ancestors," I mumble, blinking away tears. "I think one of them laughed at me."
Sophie laughs while dropping the swabs into their testing tubes. "I'll be sure to note that in your chart."
"You should. It feels medically significant."
She picks up another swab and shines a light toward my throat. "Open."
I sigh but do it anyway. "This is bullying."
She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head at me, like I’m trying her patience. "Oh come on, it'll only take a second."
She swabs the back of my throat before I can complain again, then carries everything over to the counter to start the rapid tests. I watch her work while trying not to cough, and after a few minutes she looks back at me with a knowing smile.
"The flu test is positive."
"I knew it."
"You've probably got another three or four miserable days ahead of you," she says as she writes in my chart, "but you'll be fine."
I groan loud enough that somebody walking down the hallway probably hears me. "I hate everything."
"I noticed," she says, smiling as she finishes writing. "Now let's get you home before you infect anybody else." She tears a page off her prescription pad and hands it to me.