Fever

Jasmine didn’t believe the story at first, but I managed to get it into her head that I believed I was in love with some mysterious stranger. I left out all of the embarrassing moments and slips, and transformed the story into a screenplay. Of course, the mere idea of a man in my life sent Jasmine into a fit of giggles, rambles, and any other nervous habit one might have. She had no reason not to believe the story, even as we giggled under the covers in her room.

I eventually fell asleep with the face of Jacob Black resounding in my mind. I could still imagine his warm touch and his deep voice, the way he was so sure of every word he said. It was a blissful dream, until I fell completely and utterly to the whim of the sandman, letting every sense of control go. That was when the inferno began, unlike either of the nights, and the swirling of the dream materialized into a solid setting. The sounds were more like howls, and branches shaking from above.

The heat blinded me from what was happening, and all I could remember was Jacob and the sound of nails scratching against fallen logs and the underbrush. I felt dizzy, weak, and I wanted to scream at the torment my skin was facing. I couldn’t even comprehend anything, not even the words we passed or the looks we shared. All I could focus on was the burning sensation that crawled across my arms, legs. I felt like I was being swallowed by a fire, one so hot that the licking flames would be blue. I wanted to cry, to yell, to call for help, but I was helpless. Hopeless. And the one face that watched me as I fell farther into the fire was the one I would never forget.

It had felt like months had passed as I peeled my eyes open, blinking back the sleep that crusted my lids closed. I peered out at the bright room, filled with sunshine and artificial lights. The ceiling did not belong to Jasmine, nor did it match the popcorn I stared at every morning. I steadily began to recover the rest of my senses, curling my fingers around the cold bedspread and stretching my legs. My body felt heavy and I strained to move my midsection.

The blanket was emitting a chill that slowly crept up my spine, sending a wave of discomfort through my body. Weakly, I tugged at the blanket. This hadn’t been the one I snuggled under last night, whispering of secret romance and dreams.

“Mm - Kay?” a voice murmured from the chairs alongside the wall. “Kayla? You’re awake!”

Jasmine leapt out from under the blanket, whisking me into her arms. She muttered a string of incoherence, pulling me back to gaze into my face with a teary smile. I stared at her in question, only momentarily before the door opposing the bed was opened and we were joined by the hospital staff.

“Good morning Miss Harris, and how are you feeling this fine morning?” Doctor Gordon smiled, his hands in his pockets and his stance casual.

The nurse kept a small, content smile on her face as she padded to my side and began to check my vitals. I sat there silently as she prodded my arms, and stuck a thermometer in my mouth, humming a tune that seemed familiar. Neither of the two medics had any air of urgency to their procedure. The doctor merely gazed at me with a grin, his eyes straying to Jasmine and the window to her left.

“Well your temperature seems to be in order,” he continued to smile as the nurse motioned to him. “I’m sure your parents will be due back at any moment, so pass the good news along. The only thing I suggest for today is to take it easy, and perhaps get some rest. You went through quite a lot last night.”

“P-pardon?” I asked quietly.

“I thought you were going to die! You just wouldn’t wake up a-and-”

The doctor cut Jasmine off, laughing deeply, “You were far from death, I assure you. You happened to fall into a fever while unconscious, and your temperature was quite high. But there is no lasting damage or effects, and you seem to be perfectly in order.”

“It was scary, Kay. You just wouldn’t wake up, and you looked like you were being tor-“ Jasmine was cut off again, the doctor raising a hand slightly.

“Now then,” the laughed quietly, “You can change in the bathroom down the hall, and just leave your gown on the bed when you leave. Nurse?”

The nurse placed a pile of folded clothes on the edge of the bed, her smile still unchanging. They both left with slight nods, beaming in their own way as they moved along. But the smiles seemed to have left off there, for my face fell into shock as I registered their words.

“You scared the crap out of me last night,” Jasmine said as quietly as she could, “I woke up and you were on fire! I-I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to wake you - and believe me, I tried.”

“I don’t remember a thing,” I said distractedly, trying to scrounge through my memory.

“I don’t think that you would remember any of it, you were out cold. The doctors thought you might have gone into a coma at first, but at times you would talk or twitch. It was worse than any thriller I’ve ever watched.”

I had to crack a smirk at Jasmine’s comment, for the look on her face was surprise as she, too, got lost in her memories, “Definitely the worst, yeah.”

“I’m glad to have horrified you,” I laughed lightly, sitting up and stretching my body.

“So how do you feel? Do you feel like you’ve just been lit on fire?” she asked, standing up as well.

I shook my head, “A little cold and tired, I guess.”

“Well if that’s enough to get you to stay home, I should probably keep watch over you do you don’t develop some kind of syndrome.”

“I highly doubt I’ve developed anything,” I said with a sigh as I grabbed my clothing and sorted through what I had.

Of course, I didn’t believe there was anything medically wrong with me. I merely believed that my mind was weaving some kind of movie in with my dreams. I had never truly experienced a dream more than once, let alone three times. And never had a dream, or a thought, provoked a fever. I wouldn’t have expressed this to anyone, no matter how close they were to me. But coincidences happened, and sometimes dreams can be repetitive. I laughed to myself as I headed towards the women’s bathroom. I was being silly, just like Jasmine.

By the time I returned to the room, my parents had returned and ambushed me with worries and embraces. Although my father was never the eager one like my mother, he made an effort. I tried to coax my mother into loosening her hold, but she was always overprotective. When I was younger, she would always watch me play from a distance, just to make sure that if I were to fall, she would be there. For the most part, it was great to have someone there. But I felt less and less independent as I got older, and instead of scraped knees, she was looking to save me from any moral and educational mistake I could make.

“I am never letting you out again!” she cried as she led both Jasmine and I towards the family car. “If that should happen again, I don’t know what I would do!”

I heaved a heavy sigh, rolling my eyes at my friend, “Mom, it’s not going to happen again. It was a fluke, it could have happened anywhere.”

“But what if something terrible happened?”

“Nothing did, though,” I pointed out. “I am fine, healthy - what else is there to dwell on?”

My mother opened her mouth to argue, for she always had a response to everything, but my father cut her off with one simple look. She let her lips fall into a slim line and headed towards the passenger seat, internally dwelling over every worst case scenario.

“Your mother and I have to work today, so if you need anything, Mr. Wilson, next door, is home,” my father explained. “I should be home around six, but my phone is always with me.”

“I’m not twelve,” I ground out, looking out the window as we drove through Forks.

My parents seemed to ignore the statement and continued to drive in silence, the only sounds being the squeaky breaks and my mother’s harsh breathing. I could tell that her lecture was far from over, but one simple look from my father could dam her words. It was an art that only he could master, for not even I could put a stop to her rants.

“Jasmine, dear, do you want us to drop you off at school?” my mother asked.

“Oh, it’s okay Mrs. Harris. I can just ride my bike from home,” she smiled sweetly. “All of my things are there.”

Jasmine was my parents’ favourite, mainly because she was always polite when she spoke with them. Not many people had ever visited our home on my account, but for the few they have met, Jasmine was always the ‘keeper’.

As we neared her home, she smirked at me and mouthed, making sure my parents were unaware, “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Thank you for staying, Jasmine. We all appreciate it,” my mother spoke once more, turning in her seat to bid her farewell.

“Oh, it was no problem at all. Thank you very much for the ride home,” she smiled. “I will see you later, bye Kayla.”

I waved at her as she disappeared up her walkway and into her home. As soon as my parents made sure that she was safely in her house, they pulled away and headed back to our home. They were quick to leave, my mother kissing me on the forehead, still withdrawing her lectures. It took them less than five minutes to drop me off, gather their effects, and head right back out the door. My father taped Mr. Wilson’s number on the fridge just in case I couldn’t make it one property over, right next to the calendar.

Halloween felt like it had been weeks ago, and today was hardly the beginning of a new month. My memory of James and Jasmine, and that ridiculous costume was so vague and distant, I could hardly recall what words were passed. The only memory I had retained was the bronzed man with the dark, wild eyes and tantalizing presence. It almost took my breath away to think of him. If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could see every contour on his body, from his perfectly sculpted arms to his rugged face. He was a dream that would never disperse from my thoughts. For he would always remain a dream, and nothing more. He was from La Push, and I was from Forks. Although so much apart of each other, they were so different. My mother would never condone a relationship between the both of us, and the likelihood of passing each other in the streets was slim. He was from the world I was shielded from as a child, the place that shunned my mother for seeing past colours.

No matter what world we lived in, colours were what created the space between my family and the rest of the town. And it didn’t matter how handsome, charming, and challenging he was. I could never have those strong, warm arms protect me, or his full, flush lips against my skin. He was Quileute, and that was what I was running away from.

A pebble clattered against the French doors in the next room, startling me from my thoughts. I hadn’t noticed that my heart was racing or that my cheeks were flushed, and I had to breathe deeply to regain composure. Jacob Black was the dream I would face any fever for.