Sick

Sniffle.

Cough.

Splutter.

Fight for air.

Overheat.

Kick off the covers.

Get cold and take the covers back.

It’s a miserable and continuous cycle, and I have had enough.

“How you feeling Bobby?” Gerard asks as he comes through the front door.

“Ltasgkjbm,jytgvnhsmhduiytgujkp.” I groan from underneath my pile of blankets.

“What was that?” Gerard chuckled as he sat on the couch peeling the blankets away from my face so he could hear me better.

“Like death warmed up.” I repeat, sniffling to make my point.

“Awww, poor baby!” he coos, pushing my hair off my sweaty forehead.

“Mmmmm.” I groan in agreement, regretting it when my throat throbs painfully.

“Need anything?” he asks, continuing to stroke my hair.

“Ice?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“You?” I cough.

“But then I’ll get sick.” he protests playfully.

“Don’t care.” I insist tugging him so he lay on top of me.