Voice of Desirae Part 4
**
*(Cutie Corner
NoV: (cries) I think I'm getting sick. ;_;
Bisho: She's been sniffling all day.
NoV: AND coughing. (miffed)
Bisho: Yes, that too.
NoV: If I'm bedridden, will you nurse me back to health?
Bisho: (quickly changes into a tight nurse's outfit with a short skirt) You mean like this?
NoV: (ecstatic) EEEEEE! (cough)
**
Once Desirae merged onto the interstate, Malcolm began to feel calmer. She had stopped swerving when she paid attention to what she where she was going, and the ride had been fairly smooth for about three miles.
"So," Malcolm said, having to shout over the sound of the wind, "do you know any good restaurants around here?"
Desirae nodded and pointed to her temple.
"Okay, I got it," Malcolm said, understanding. "You know."
Suddenly, they hit a bad patch in the road, and Desirae recklessly tried to avoid several potholes, moving the car from side to side, briskly.
"Woah, they need to fix that," Malcolm said.
Desirae no longer felt like driving. In fact, she felt rather ill. Without warning, she pulled to the side of the road (luckily they weren't on a bridge at the time) and stopped the car.
"What's wrong?" Malcolm said. "Why did you stop?"
Breathing heavily, Desirae rubbed her stomach up and down, trying to tell him what was wrong.
"What does that mean?" Malcolm asked. "Are you hungry? Well, honey, we're going to eat, so—"
She shook her head, frantically, and rubbed it slowly up and down.
"I don't understand," he admitted.
All of a sudden, she bent over the driver's side door and vomited.
"Oh, god!" Malcolm wailed, fearing for his car. "Why didn't you tell me you got carsick??"
Desirae turned around long enough to shake her middle and second fingers at him. Then, she leaned back over the door, anticipating another vomiting spell.
"You shouldn't drive if you get sick," he continued. "It's not safe."
Feeling that her stomach had settled enough, Desirae leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. Malcolm got out of the car and walked around to the driver's side, glad to see that they weren't dangerously close to the fast-moving traffic. "Come on," he said, "I drive from here on out."
**
"Which way now?" Malcolm asked, as he drove down a two-lane road between tall, historic-looking buildings.
Desirae pointed straight in front of the car.
"Okay," he nodded." Just let me know when I need to turn."
They passed by a small park. It didn't have much: only three or four picnic tables, a rusted slide, and a few swings. Only one father and his small son were there, throwing a baseball back and forth.
How Malcolm longed to have had a boy.
Finally, Desirae patted him on the shoulder and pointed to the left. Malcolm turned onto a one-way street that looked more like an alley than anything. She suddenly pointed at a blue building that was smaller than the apartment she lived in.
Malcolm looked at the restaurant skeptically. Muffaletta's. Italian. "Desirae?" he said. "Are you sure this is a good place? It's not in the greatest neighborhood.....
Desirae nodded vigorously. Malcolm sighed, and, reluctantly, got out of the car.
**
NoV: (sniffle) Bisho, sweetie, get me a tissue.
Bisho: Okay. (hands her the box)
NoV: Love you, love.
Bisho: Poor NoV.
NoV: Well, at least I got a chapter done—AH-CHOO! Bless me.
Bisho: Gesundheit.
NoV: I like German. (sniffle) Say some more.
Bisho: Ich liebe diche, und Gott.
NoV: Yay! More! (feels a sudden healing)
Bisho: That's about it. (sheepish grin_
NoV: (falls back into sickness) Oy....
**
*(Cutie Corner
NoV: (cries) I think I'm getting sick. ;_;
Bisho: She's been sniffling all day.
NoV: AND coughing. (miffed)
Bisho: Yes, that too.
NoV: If I'm bedridden, will you nurse me back to health?
Bisho: (quickly changes into a tight nurse's outfit with a short skirt) You mean like this?
NoV: (ecstatic) EEEEEE! (cough)
**
Once Desirae merged onto the interstate, Malcolm began to feel calmer. She had stopped swerving when she paid attention to what she where she was going, and the ride had been fairly smooth for about three miles.
"So," Malcolm said, having to shout over the sound of the wind, "do you know any good restaurants around here?"
Desirae nodded and pointed to her temple.
"Okay, I got it," Malcolm said, understanding. "You know."
Suddenly, they hit a bad patch in the road, and Desirae recklessly tried to avoid several potholes, moving the car from side to side, briskly.
"Woah, they need to fix that," Malcolm said.
Desirae no longer felt like driving. In fact, she felt rather ill. Without warning, she pulled to the side of the road (luckily they weren't on a bridge at the time) and stopped the car.
"What's wrong?" Malcolm said. "Why did you stop?"
Breathing heavily, Desirae rubbed her stomach up and down, trying to tell him what was wrong.
"What does that mean?" Malcolm asked. "Are you hungry? Well, honey, we're going to eat, so—"
She shook her head, frantically, and rubbed it slowly up and down.
"I don't understand," he admitted.
All of a sudden, she bent over the driver's side door and vomited.
"Oh, god!" Malcolm wailed, fearing for his car. "Why didn't you tell me you got carsick??"
Desirae turned around long enough to shake her middle and second fingers at him. Then, she leaned back over the door, anticipating another vomiting spell.
"You shouldn't drive if you get sick," he continued. "It's not safe."
Feeling that her stomach had settled enough, Desirae leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. Malcolm got out of the car and walked around to the driver's side, glad to see that they weren't dangerously close to the fast-moving traffic. "Come on," he said, "I drive from here on out."
**
"Which way now?" Malcolm asked, as he drove down a two-lane road between tall, historic-looking buildings.
Desirae pointed straight in front of the car.
"Okay," he nodded." Just let me know when I need to turn."
They passed by a small park. It didn't have much: only three or four picnic tables, a rusted slide, and a few swings. Only one father and his small son were there, throwing a baseball back and forth.
How Malcolm longed to have had a boy.
Finally, Desirae patted him on the shoulder and pointed to the left. Malcolm turned onto a one-way street that looked more like an alley than anything. She suddenly pointed at a blue building that was smaller than the apartment she lived in.
Malcolm looked at the restaurant skeptically. Muffaletta's. Italian. "Desirae?" he said. "Are you sure this is a good place? It's not in the greatest neighborhood.....
Desirae nodded vigorously. Malcolm sighed, and, reluctantly, got out of the car.
**
NoV: (sniffle) Bisho, sweetie, get me a tissue.
Bisho: Okay. (hands her the box)
NoV: Love you, love.
Bisho: Poor NoV.
NoV: Well, at least I got a chapter done—AH-CHOO! Bless me.
Bisho: Gesundheit.
NoV: I like German. (sniffle) Say some more.
Bisho: Ich liebe diche, und Gott.
NoV: Yay! More! (feels a sudden healing)
Bisho: That's about it. (sheepish grin_
NoV: (falls back into sickness) Oy....