It's Our Last Chance to Feel Again

"Oh god oh god oh god."

Despite the extreme discomfort I was feeling, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Was that really all the words my father could think of? And it wasn't as if I had some sort of fatal disease. Sure, I felt a little sick. Okay, maybe a whole lot more than just a little sick. But doesn't everyone fall ill once in a while?

"Not her too, oh please not her too."

I raised my eyebrows at my dad's desperation, and his strange choice of words. Uncharacteristically, my mouth remained shut as I relished in the temporary chill the wind provided my uncomfortable body that was enveloped in heat as he swiftly made his way to a house I was assuming was his, with my in his arms. I know it was irrational, but something told me that the moment I opened my mouth, the pain was going to be a whole lot worse.

As my dad kicked the door behind him shut and made his way to a room, I closed my eyes in a fruitless attempt to distract myself from the pain that shot through my head. I briefly felt my body gently being placed on a soft mattress, and groaning, I turned onto my side and curled into the foetal position. No matter what science said about the foetal position providing better protection for the brain, it sure as hell didn't cushion the constant blows my skull was receiving from my pounding brain.

A warm hand gingerly touched my forehead. "Shit, Kat. I think you've got a fever."

The moment I opened my eyes, I instantly regretted it. The bright light that filled the room blinded me, and I flinched in response. "Really? I feel pretty cold," I rasped, and then mentally made a note to never speak again. Something was scratching at my throat, and even breathing through my mouth hurt.

"Just... Just sleep, and hopefully you'll be better tomorrow. Shit, you better get well," My dad replied, sounding incredibly distressed.

In all my clever glory, I completely forgot my mental warning and opened my mouth, wincing as I quipped (as far as quipping can go with a barely audible voice), "You seem way more paranoid about this than I am."

The response I received wasn't what I had been hoping for. My father simply shook his head and sighed, "Sleep, Katherine. Or at least try to."

I watched as he left the room and I couldn't help but compare the difference in Uncle Jack's loud footsteps to my dad's almost inaudible ones. Pulling the blanket my father had so considerately covered me with up to my chin, I sighed as I painfully turned so that I was facing the ceiling before closing my eyes and willing myself to drift off into an uncomfortable slumber.

-

The first thing I noticed when I woke up were the plain walls that surrounded me, enclosing the room I was in. Frowning, I tried to sit up but flinched and laid back down the moment I felt bile rising up my throat.

Groaning, I made slow deliberate moves to prevent myself from dirtying the clean room I was currently occupying. The clean room that wasn't mine. My frown deepened as I tried to remember what had happened.

"You're awake!"

I looked over to where the sound had came from and found my dad right beside me, supporting me up so that I had my back leaning against the wall as I sat upright. As if sitting upright was the solution all along, I immediately remembered being carried away into my father's house.

Remembering the mental note from last night, I kept my mouth shut as my father placed a thermometer in my mouth. I looked around the room and noticed for the first time that it was still dark, which meant that I had either been asleep for a really long or a really short period of time. Judging from the frantic expression that donned my father's face, however, I came to a reasonable conclusion that I had probably been sleeping for only a few minutes.

If that was even considered sleeping.

I watched as my father tapped his fingers against each other repeatedly with an unbelievably worried expression on his face. Honestly, he was way more anxious about this whole being sick deal than he should be. Although I had to admit, it did kind of warm my heart up. Here was my dad, who has been pretty absent from my life for the past fourteen years, worried sick about a simply illness.

The thermometer beeped, and before I could even think of removing it from my mouth, my father was already swearing. "Shit, you do have a fever."

I pursed my lips together, trying my best not to speak a word with the warning fresh in my mind. It was incredibly hard not voicing my opinion. I mean there was heartwarming and acceptable, but he was being a little too worried. It was a simple fever- nothing more, nothing less.

My father was still staring hard at the screen of the thermometer, his worried expression hard on his face. All of a sudden though, his expression softened into one of a temporary relief. "It's not too high, so it's still good," He smiled before his expression turned hard again, "For now."

Were all fathers this creepy when their daughter fell ill? Or was it just La Push and all it's strangeness getting to my father's head? Deciding that the latter was the most probable reason, I ignored the warning and asked, wincing as the pain in my throat tried to slowly kill me, "What's up with La Push?"

My father's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, while I painfully swallowed some saliva to lubricate my dry throat. "What do you mean?" He asked in reply, his voice an octave higher from the shock.

I shrugged in response and flinched in the anticipation of the pain I knew would come, before starting on my reply, "I don't know, but al-"

"I think it's best you don't talk. You look like you're about to die," my dad smiled kindly, and I frowned, irritated. Of course my throat had to be a complete bitch during the time I would definitely get answers. Stupid lousy immune system.

I felt hands supporting my torso, and before I knew it, I was lying down once again. "Sleep, Katherine. You need rest," My father smiled kindly, before ruffling my already messy hair and sitting back down on the chair he had placed beside my bed. Clearly he was overreacting. I didn't need to be monitored. All I had was a simple fever.

Or so I thought.