The thermometer outside my window reads 45 degrees. It feels under 30 in here. I'm swaddled up in two pairs of sweatpants, one of Charlie's old sweatshirts, my winter coat, and every extra blanket we have crammed in the small linen closet above the stairs. Charlie took one look at me gruffly mentioned turning up the heat. I could hear the old vents rattling above my bed, but even that can't shake the chill that had sunken deep into my bones.
I'm cold. So cold that I am imagining my lips turning blue and my toes falling off in the old fluffy socks that Renee bought me a couple birthdays ago. So cold it almost burns. I'm colder than I was when I lay broken on the forest floor. Colder than when Jacob dragged me to the bonfire at the rez a few days ago.
I was the only one who felt the cold that night it seemed. Sam and his friends emerged from the trees wearing nothing but cutoffs of all things. I wore three jackets. Sam graced me with a friendly smile but the others leveled me with odd stares. They must have been part of the search party after Edward left. Putting that memory into the far corners of my brain, I nestle further into the cocoon of blankets; shivers and tremors racking through my body.
Each shiver is paired with a hearty tug in the center of my chest. It's no longer the staggering black hole that replaced my heart when Edward left. There is no more of the all-encompassing emptiness. This pull is much more insistent and far more painful. Like a million tiny hooks are embedded in my flesh and slowly pulling their way out of me. I'm being torn apart from the inside out.
I must be getting sick. That is the only explanation
Sam is in my room when I wake up. He looks so huge perched on the rocking chair next to my bed. But really, Sam dwarfs just about everything he stands near. It's like he's eaten nothing but straight steroids for the past few months he's so damn muscular. But underneath all the bulk and the weirdly choppy haircut he's sporting, he still looks like the little smiling kid that I grew up with. I haven't seen him since the damn bonfire. Before that I hadn't seen him since he pulled me half-dead from the forest. I can't tell if it's nice to see him or not.
Charlie's leaning on the door frame, left hand jammed awkwardly in the front pocket of this jeans. He grunts something about letting us catch up before shuffling down the stairs. Sam doesn't start talking until long after the sounds of his footsteps disappear.
"You look like shit." He comments. Always the charmer that Sam Uley. He's probably right though. If how I feel is any indication of how I look, it must be pretty rough.
"You always know just what to say." My voice is rough with disuse. I can't even remember the last time I talked. He rolls his eyes.
"Why don't you just tell me what's going on with you?"
"I don't know Sam. I'm just sick, you know." I slowly lift myself up into an upright position. "I got home after the bonfire and felt like shit. The doctor came around and prescribed me some antibiotics but I still don't feel any better and it's been 2 weeks." I hurt everywhere. Sam notices.
"Tell me exactly what you feel." He stands up and moves towards me.
"God, I feel like my insides are being torn out. I'm hungry all the damn time but I can't keep anything down. And I'm cold. I'm so fucking cold I-" Another shiver races through me and my rasping is cut off as I combat the new wave of pain and ice.
Through my blurred vision I see Sam is kneeling by the head of my bed.
"Fuck." he whispers, placing a hand on my forehead. It's the warmest I've felt in two weeks, but it's still not enough. My teeth chatter even with it on my forehead. The edges of my vision go white.
He tries to help though. His hands flutter around me. He is unsure.
Pain continues to rip through me. A low whine leaves my throat. Sam clutches my hands and cups my cheeks while I writhe. His phone rings The shriek matches the intensity of the pain. They scream in unison as my eyes blur. His picks it up frantically and brusquely. He's murmuring softly into it as the world fades to black.