Influenza
1/1
The darkness surrounding the world flooded into our tourbus. I was unsure of the time, I was terrible at judging it, I once thought it was midday when it was four o' clock in the afternoon, but I was certain that it was past midnight.
I found it difficult to sleep, the air was too humid for me, though everybody else was unaffected. Maybe it was just how I felt. I had kicked the duvet off restlessly earlier to cool down, but it hadn't helped my sleep, though I felt much cooler. I tossed and turned in a cliched fashion.
I wasn't the only one awake. Jeph was sleeping, along with Dan, but Bert was awake. Jeph was still, and when he slept, he looked as peaceful as a small child. He reminded me of a child when he was sleeping, so innocent, as if he was still eight years old. However, unlike an eight-year-old, he could sleep until the afternoon unless he was prompted to get up. That was usually my job, and I didn't enjoy it. Dan was a starfish when he slept, his limbs spread out. He wasn't always as still as Jeph. He occasionally turned when he was dreaming, which wasn't tonight. The pair were rocks.
The silence was broken by Bert coughing. Not in the usual way. It sounded rough and chesty. I was adamant that he was ill, though he had denied it any time I asked him about it. Throughout the day and night, I had heard all the coughs and sneezes, even the quiet groans to himself. Jeph and Dan were no assistance to me at all in getting him to admit it, the said that he was a grown man, and was old enough to tell us if something was wrong. They had a point, but he was so tenacious despite his debonair character, he wouldn't say anything if he had a chronic illness. He was on stage in the evening, playing a gig when he wasn't fit to. I feared that he'd made himself worse.
I climbed out of my bunk, and switched on the light, which blinded me for a very short time. It took me a few seconds to get used to it. I hesitated, looking to see if Jeph or Dan were disturbed, but they were still sound asleep. I walked over to Bert's bunk as silently as I could. He had his back turned to me, I was sure that he was pretending to be asleep. I understood that he didn't want anybody to make a fuss, but he was my boyfriend, and I hated to see him suffering. Many of the fans thought it was a publicity stunt, others thought our relationship only happened in fanfictions, they called it "Quert", but it was real. Bert and I were in love.
"Bert, I know you're awake," I whispered, keeping my voice down for the others, "look at me, sweetie." He turned around to face me, and my heart was struck hard with sympathy. His face looked worse than just a little paler, he was almost white. His unfocused eyes had a glassy look to them, and his lank, greasy blond hair didn't help. I immediatly pressed my hand on his forehead, and the skin underneath felt as if it was burning up. He definitely had a fever, though he was shivering.
I decided to gently reason with him. "Look, I know you're ill, but I know how it feels. Do you remember when I fell ill on our second Warped Tour? The reason I got better so quickly was because I rested. I know that you hate disappointing the fans, but you've done yourself more damage. Imagine if you don't rest, and damage your vocal chords, how would you feel if the doctor told you that you could never sing again?" I said all of this in a gentle tone. Suddenly, a tear ran down his cheek before he replied to me.
"Okay, I'm sick," he sniffled. He sounded as if he had a frog in his throat. I went to the medicine cabinet, and rummaged for the thermometer. I eventually found it. I placed it in his mouth, and ran my hand through his hair while I was waiting for the result. I read the numbers. He needed something to cool him down. I took some ice cubes from the mini-freezer, wrapped a flannel around them, and placed my makeshift ice-pack on his forehead to soothe his fever.
"Does that feel better?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"In what way d'you feel ill?"
"I think it's flu," he mumbled. "My head and throat hurt, my body aches, and I feel faint when I stand."
"You should have told me!" I exclaimed quietly. He had another coughing fit, the coughs wracking his body. I decided to get him something to drink. I contemplated if I could get a drink which could help him feel better. It struck me: Hot lemon and honey.
I put two dissolving asprin tablets in his drink to numb the headache. I would call the doctor for medicine in the morning. "Here, sweetheart, this'll make you feel better." He took the mug from me, but put it down quickly to cough. Soon, the coughing turned to gagging. I dashed for the bucket, making it back just in time for him to almost puke his guts out. I carefully held his peroxide mane back from his face as he did so. I tried not to mother him too much, but it it was difficult when he was so ill, he seemed like he needed it. His mother wasn't much of one, throwing him out of the house at just sixteen years old.
He began to cry. I wrapped my arms around him in an embrace and kissed him on the cheek. "It's okay," I soothed.
"I was stupid to go out tonight," he sobbed, picking up the mug and taking a small sip. I took the bucket to the kitchen area, I'd wash it out in the morning.
"Get some sleep when you've finished your drink, you need it." I said on returning. I gave him another small kiss. "Goodnight, Bert."
"Night." I returned to my bunk, and fell asleep.
The following morning, Bert didn't feel any better. I was sure that he would have to rest for a week. I had given him some herbal tea, when I heard a groan from Jeph.
"Quinn, I'm sick too."
I found it difficult to sleep, the air was too humid for me, though everybody else was unaffected. Maybe it was just how I felt. I had kicked the duvet off restlessly earlier to cool down, but it hadn't helped my sleep, though I felt much cooler. I tossed and turned in a cliched fashion.
I wasn't the only one awake. Jeph was sleeping, along with Dan, but Bert was awake. Jeph was still, and when he slept, he looked as peaceful as a small child. He reminded me of a child when he was sleeping, so innocent, as if he was still eight years old. However, unlike an eight-year-old, he could sleep until the afternoon unless he was prompted to get up. That was usually my job, and I didn't enjoy it. Dan was a starfish when he slept, his limbs spread out. He wasn't always as still as Jeph. He occasionally turned when he was dreaming, which wasn't tonight. The pair were rocks.
The silence was broken by Bert coughing. Not in the usual way. It sounded rough and chesty. I was adamant that he was ill, though he had denied it any time I asked him about it. Throughout the day and night, I had heard all the coughs and sneezes, even the quiet groans to himself. Jeph and Dan were no assistance to me at all in getting him to admit it, the said that he was a grown man, and was old enough to tell us if something was wrong. They had a point, but he was so tenacious despite his debonair character, he wouldn't say anything if he had a chronic illness. He was on stage in the evening, playing a gig when he wasn't fit to. I feared that he'd made himself worse.
I climbed out of my bunk, and switched on the light, which blinded me for a very short time. It took me a few seconds to get used to it. I hesitated, looking to see if Jeph or Dan were disturbed, but they were still sound asleep. I walked over to Bert's bunk as silently as I could. He had his back turned to me, I was sure that he was pretending to be asleep. I understood that he didn't want anybody to make a fuss, but he was my boyfriend, and I hated to see him suffering. Many of the fans thought it was a publicity stunt, others thought our relationship only happened in fanfictions, they called it "Quert", but it was real. Bert and I were in love.
"Bert, I know you're awake," I whispered, keeping my voice down for the others, "look at me, sweetie." He turned around to face me, and my heart was struck hard with sympathy. His face looked worse than just a little paler, he was almost white. His unfocused eyes had a glassy look to them, and his lank, greasy blond hair didn't help. I immediatly pressed my hand on his forehead, and the skin underneath felt as if it was burning up. He definitely had a fever, though he was shivering.
I decided to gently reason with him. "Look, I know you're ill, but I know how it feels. Do you remember when I fell ill on our second Warped Tour? The reason I got better so quickly was because I rested. I know that you hate disappointing the fans, but you've done yourself more damage. Imagine if you don't rest, and damage your vocal chords, how would you feel if the doctor told you that you could never sing again?" I said all of this in a gentle tone. Suddenly, a tear ran down his cheek before he replied to me.
"Okay, I'm sick," he sniffled. He sounded as if he had a frog in his throat. I went to the medicine cabinet, and rummaged for the thermometer. I eventually found it. I placed it in his mouth, and ran my hand through his hair while I was waiting for the result. I read the numbers. He needed something to cool him down. I took some ice cubes from the mini-freezer, wrapped a flannel around them, and placed my makeshift ice-pack on his forehead to soothe his fever.
"Does that feel better?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"In what way d'you feel ill?"
"I think it's flu," he mumbled. "My head and throat hurt, my body aches, and I feel faint when I stand."
"You should have told me!" I exclaimed quietly. He had another coughing fit, the coughs wracking his body. I decided to get him something to drink. I contemplated if I could get a drink which could help him feel better. It struck me: Hot lemon and honey.
I put two dissolving asprin tablets in his drink to numb the headache. I would call the doctor for medicine in the morning. "Here, sweetheart, this'll make you feel better." He took the mug from me, but put it down quickly to cough. Soon, the coughing turned to gagging. I dashed for the bucket, making it back just in time for him to almost puke his guts out. I carefully held his peroxide mane back from his face as he did so. I tried not to mother him too much, but it it was difficult when he was so ill, he seemed like he needed it. His mother wasn't much of one, throwing him out of the house at just sixteen years old.
He began to cry. I wrapped my arms around him in an embrace and kissed him on the cheek. "It's okay," I soothed.
"I was stupid to go out tonight," he sobbed, picking up the mug and taking a small sip. I took the bucket to the kitchen area, I'd wash it out in the morning.
"Get some sleep when you've finished your drink, you need it." I said on returning. I gave him another small kiss. "Goodnight, Bert."
"Night." I returned to my bunk, and fell asleep.
The following morning, Bert didn't feel any better. I was sure that he would have to rest for a week. I had given him some herbal tea, when I heard a groan from Jeph.
"Quinn, I'm sick too."