Saudade

I feel like I’m dying.

Okay, not really. So, last night, Luke, in an attempt to rebuild the bridge he burned with his 'sister', took me to this new sushi place. And I love sushi. I can’t get enough of it and it’s really good for you too, so why not? I had fun. Luke was being really nice and sweet, the food was good, and the whole night went off without a hitch. I’m still a little mad at him, but I don’t know how long I’m going to hold up because that damn smile is going to kill me.

Anyway, last night I get home and I feel a little sick, so I take something to settle my stomach, take a quick shower, then hop into bed, hoping that some rest is all I need to feel better.

I wish.

I don’t know what it is, but I must have ate something weird last night. Whatever it is isn’t agreeing with me, because I feel like my insides are twisting and I’m going to be sick. I’ve been throwing up since I woke up this morning. And Quincy, ever the mother hen, tells me I can’t go to work.

I want to go to work. I need to go to work. Because if I don’t go, I’ll spend the whole day talking to Harry again, like I did on Saturday and Sunday before I went out with Luke. And it’s not like talking to Harry is bad. Not at all. I like talking to him. He’s funny, and he makes me laugh, and I don’t know why but I just like him for some reason. I do.

And it really doesn’t help that he’s smoking hot.

(Cute boys have always been a weakness of mine. What can I say? The flesh is weak.)

But it seems like I’m going to have to stay in bed, because when I try getting up against Quincy’s advice to at least get dressed, I start throwing up into the bucket next to my bed. When it's finally over, I flop back onto my back, eyes shut as I wipe my face with a napkin from my night stand. I'm going to die. I feel it in my bones.

I mean, it's not like Luke meant to get me sick, right? It was supposed to be a peace offering that backfired horribly. Quincy keeps yelling about how we should go to the hospital because she thinks I have food poisoning, but I really don't think it's that bad. Maybe I'm allergic to something I ate. I don't know. We really did try a little bit of everything last night so I honestly have no clue what exactly it was that made me feel so ill, but I do know that I'm going to be a miserable, mopey mess for the rest of the day.

Quincy is staring me down as she calls my office from the foot of my bed.

"Maisie isn't going to be able to come to work today. She'd like to take a sick day. No, she can't come to the phone. She's trying not to puke her guts out you know, so she's a little tied up. Mmhm. I'll let her know. Thanks a bunch!"

I scowl at her as she turns my TV on and sets the remote next to me. She smiles, fluffing the pillows behind my head with a small sigh.

"Do you think you'll be able to keep some water and crackers down while I run to the pharmacy?" she asks me quietly, frowning. "Maybe I'll call Ryan so he can pick some stuff up for me instead. I don't want to leave you by yourself."

"It's right around the corner," I say with a small laugh, pulling my blankets tighter around myself. "I think I can handle you being gone for ten minutes."

"You sure?"

Quincy worries a lot about me. Not that I mind, but sometimes it can feel a little like I'm being suffocated. Just a little bit. I stare her down until she stands with a small huff, shoving her phone in her back pocket.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way. I'll be back soon, okay? Call me if you need anything."

I mumble a reply and pull my sheets over my head, sighing heavily. I actually want to go to work today too. We're meeting this band or something because we're promoting their new tour and I kind of want to go, this time around. But, I can't go anywhere when I can't even get out of bed without feeling like I'm going to die.

And then my phone buzzes quietly somewhere beneath all my blankets and pillows and boxes of tissues. I huff angrily, annoyed because I have to find it and all I want to do is sleep. But it might actually be important, so I have to find it. Or it could just be Quincy trying to smother me again.

It's not important, not really, and no, it's not Quincy frantically telling me to go to the hospital, but it is quite the pleasant surprise.

How are you feeling? - Harry

I bite my lip because for some reason he always seems to know what the right question is or how to make me smile, and he doesn't even know me. Not really. But still, I have to say that he does have some sort of odd charm and I can't say I don't like it, because I do.

So that's how I entertain myself, between forcing down spoonfuls of clear broth, dozing in and out of episodes of Teen Wolf (happy to say that I've finally caught up), and talking to Harry. I still feel sick, and I do throw up a few more times, but at least I don't feel as bad as I used to.

Quincy comes back about three hours later - with Ryan, of course. Because, when I'm on what may very well be my deathbed or something, the person I dislike more than anyone else in the whole world - except for maybe my boss - is obviously going to make me feel better.

"I'm sorry, Maisie! It's just that Ryan's all alone today 'cause Luke's taking his sister to the airport and - "

I really couldn't finish listening to her since I got sick again. I was starting to feel like maybe going to the hospital really wasn't such a bad idea after all but by the time I felt strong enough to tell Quincy, she was already in the living room, probably making out with Ryan again. I narrowed my eyes. It's going to be a very, very long day.



Maisie is ill today. I don't just know that because she told me (Harry) but because Quincy called this morning and told the secretary, Rochelle, who told George and I just happened to over hear them on the way to my desk. It's not really like I'm eavesdropping, right? I spend the morning staring at her empty cubicle and talking to her (she thinks I'm Harry and I know I should tell her but I can't) and feeling worse and worse. She must be really sick, since I can't remember the last day she took a day off.

During lunch, I mull over the pros and cons of dropping by to make sure she's okay. Pros: I get to see her, give her something nice, and let her see that I'm not that bad. Cons: she's sick, she might not want to see me, or she might not even be home.

By four, I've convinced myself that I have no other choice and that, as her friend at least I should go see if she's okay and if she needs anything. I go down to the pharmacy and buy her some medicine - though I assume she has some but you can never really be too careful - and some candy, a few magazines because I know she likes to read them, and a box of tissues. After that, I drive over to the diner I saw her at the other night and pick her up some chicken noodle soup. I even get her some flowers, daisies and wildflowers. Is it too much? I frown, staring at my backseat. I found an old basket in my trunk - I like going on picnics - and piled everything inside it, tying it together with some ribbon I bought at the florist.

Go big or go home, I remind myself, parking in front of her apartment building. Or at least I think it's hers. I dropped her off here the other day so she has to live here, right? Maybe she doesn't. Maybe it's her friend's apartment? I walk across the street with the heavy basket, trying not to hyperventilate. It'll be okay. I walk up to the glass door and look at the apartment list next to the buttons, looking for her name.

Q. Lauderdale & M. Wells - 8B.

I ring the buzzer and wait for a few seconds for the door to click open. I keep repeating the apartment number to myself so I don't forget it and then head into the elevator. Soon, much too soon, I find myself on her floor, footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. My heartbeat thuds and splutters in my ears, loud as my face grows warm.

My fingers fist of their own accord and I find myself knocking on her door quickly, frightened for no reason at all. The worst thing that can happen is that she slams the door in my face or something, which is okay, I guess. I can eat the soup for dinner or something.

Mid-knock, the door opens, and there, in all her sick, sniffly, pale glory, is Maisie, draped in a fluffy white blanket, dark rings around her eyes as she blinks, wiping the corner of her mouth on the comforter. Her hair is in a wild blonde halo that she smothers with the blanket as she sighs heavily.

"Marcel?" she asks, looking at me with confusion. "What - what are you doing here?"

"I heard y-you were sick, so I, um - I just - " Quincy pops her head in the door, black hair in a bun on her head. She grins as she greets me, waving a little.

"Is that for Maisie?" she asks happily, taking the basket from my hands. "You guys must really care about her! I'll just put this in her room. Do you want to come in?"

"No, thank you."

Quincy smiles, retreating into the apartment and yelling faintly. Maisie blushes the prettiest shade of rosy pink as she rubs her cheek with her blanket. I smile as she sighs.

"Thank you." She smiles and I feel my face flush with excitement as her teeth sink into her lips. "I think it's very sweet of you, but I'll be fine. It's just a little food poisoning."

"Oh." I pause for a second. "Is there, uh, anything I-I can do? Are you o-okay?"

"Quincy - "

"Maisie Ophelia Wells! Get in bed right this instant! Ryan made you some broth!" Quincy exclaims loudly, voice growing louder as she comes closer. Maisie closes her eyes and sighs, shrugging.

"She's got it covered. Goodbye, Marcel. I'll see you on Wednesday. And thank you for the flowers, but for next time, I like peonies."

The whole encounter makes me giddier than it has any reason to. She's just a girl and I'm just a guy, except that she's not just a girl, she's Maisie and she's sweet and perfect and divine and is still as stunning as can be, even if she feels like death. I spend the rest of the evening smiling like a fool.