“Oh God, she looks horrible.”
Jet and I winced at the putrid smell that filled the air in Lea’s room as she hid her face in a paper bag, throwing up for the billionth time today.
“I hate this,” she croaked, her voice frail as she handed me the bag. I held it an arm’s length away from me as I took it downstairs to throw it into the trash-can that was now specially reserved for her ‘deposits’.
Mom was in the kitchen, eyeing me a little warily. Scrunching up her nose, she said, “Any better?” I shook my head, dropping the bag and then rinsing my hand with soap three times.
I had never suspected that when I would walk into Lea’s room today morning, I would be met by the sight of a person who’d looked like they’d just walked through a ghost. Her usually vibrant green eyes were bloodshot, dark circles underneath them. Her face was extremely flushed, red hair all over the place.
Our parents had called a doctor over after breakfast (which Lea’s stomach hadn’t welcomed so warmly) who’d told us she had stomach flu and that she’d be okay after three to four days as long as she took ample rest and the medicines she’d prescribed. Even though he’d said it was an absolutely ‘normal’ case of the flu, Lea was acting like it was the end of the world. I wouldn’t blame her though – constantly puking through out the day wasn’t exactly her, mine, or anyone else’s definition of ‘fun’.
Her whining had gotten to the point that I called Jet over with the hope that he might be the only one that could cheer her up. And I was right. His very presence made Lea smile a little more, and complain a little less.
“I don’t care how much I throw up anymore as long as you’re here,” she’d muttered at one point, snuggling up in her bed as she lay on her side and looked at the two of us or more specifically Jet. There was something so sickeningly romantic about what she’d said that it even made me smile. But the happiness was short-lived.
Lea’s phone started to ring, her favorite song ‘All Star’ which she’d set as her ringtone started to play. I stood up and headed for her table, picking up the phone.
“It’s Mrs. Reeds.”