Jasmine used to have a good immune system. Pre-divorce, before the insomnia hit, before her anxiety levels skyrocketed, before she would force herself awake so she wouldn’t have to deal with the nightmares. And even after that, for a while, she rarely ever got sick.
She wasn’t expecting to get sick during SHIFT. It didn’t really compute. Never mind that they rarely slept in the first place—how could she have the stomach flu if she didn’t even eat anything?
The look on Lucky’s face was almost worth heaving right into the kitchen sink when he was trying to open the window across from it. Some sort of panic mixed with confusion and complete and utter disgust. Jasmine probably would’ve laughed, if she hadn’t been overcome with the worst dizzy spell ever, the kind that buckled your knees and sent heat climbing up your cheeks.
The others decided she was going to stay there in the cabin. Jasmine tried—and failed—not to feel useless and burdening. Lucky tucked her into the one bed the cabin had. It was ruined within minutes—the blankets thrown about, the pillow launched across the room, the lamp somehow ending up on the floor… well, she never claimed to be static when she was sick. Her head pounded and her stomach was killing her and her lips were cracked even though a thin layer of mucus covered them and to be honest, she really did just want to curl up and be useless for now. But being sick was… never good. She got delirious easily. Her walls toppled over like they were made of cardboard. And… well. Her mother never cared. Complained ‘cause her retching kept everyone up and “Can you just try throwing up a little quieter? The girls are sleeping.”
Jasmine ground her teeth and buried her face into the mattress, trying to escape the memories that coursed through her. “I am perfectly lucid,” she mumbled to herself. “I could’ve helped. So what if I can’t read maps? I know landmarks. I’m pretty observant.” She frowned. “At least I think I am. Shit, what do I know.”
She could hear Lucky bustling around in the kitchen. Half of her was glad he was here. The other half was terrified. She looked terrible, for one thing. And she was throwing up, and everything about her felt raw and vulnerable, and he didn’t deserve her being this nightmareish monster to him when he was being so kind.
He knocked on the door. “Jazz?”
Jasmine moaned and pushed her face further into the sheets. “Go away, Lucky.”
"I brought soup," he said, opening the door.
I hate soup. "I hate soup," she said, lifting her head to squint at him.
The sound he made by sighing deeply through the nose almost sounded exasperated. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Jasmine scowled. “Nothing makes me feel better.”
"Just a mouthful?"
"Sure, I’ll give you a mouthful of something.”
He stared at her. Jasmine frowned. That sounded better in my head.
Lucky put the bowl down on the side table. Jasmine eyed it, and promised that the next time she threw up she was going to accidentally knock the damn thing over. Or throw it out the window.
"Fever?" he prodded.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. No freaking duh. "Naturally. Not that you’d be able to tell. Nothing’s hot to you. Do you even get sick anymore?"
His lips quirked. “I have a very good immune system.”
"So do I!" Shit. Jasmine closed her eyes against the dizziness and bit back tears. “F*ck this noise.”
Lucky shifted a bit. Jasmine knew this was way out of his comfort zone. She should probably tone it down a little. But she couldn’t find the energy to try.
"Just a spoonful," he tried one last time. Jasmine opened her eyes enough to glower at him.
"Not there yet," she allowed, wrinkling her nose. "Just gonna throw it up again."
That, at least, was true. She learned that the hard way.
"Right. Sorry."
Jasmine cracked a smile. “S’fine. Better than how Mom handles it.” Shut up shut up shut up shut up… "Yelled at me for throwing up on her carpet. ‘nd dragged me up the stairs." Her hand lifted to wave at her feet. "Feet first. Stepped on my hair. No fun."
Oh my God, Jasmine, shut the hell up!
"Sorry."
She could hear in his voice how uncomfortable he was, but she couldn’t get her mouth to stop. “Not your fault. Thought I was dying.” She was twelve, and hadn’t thrown up in six years. She had no idea what was going on. Jasmine remembered the panic and the delirium and how her mother had laughed and then yelled and then scoffed and scolded.
Jasmine pursed her lips. “Blew things out of proportion. Couldn’t go to soccer.” Her mother had been pissed. This better be serious! You better be dying! "Then, power outage, but it was okay ‘cause I was sick." It was out in four neighborhoods, so they cancelled school that day. Very convenient.
Lucky was obviously having a hard time following her train of thought. He wrinkled his brow, before standing up. “I’ll leave this here with you, okay?”
"Mmkay." Jasmine eyed it. It was too far to pretend to flail and knock it over. Darn.
Lucky left, and the world seemed darker again.
-
She thought after an hour it had finally gone away, but nope. Thirty minutes after Lucky left she was emptying her stomach into the small trash bin on the side of the bed. And it was horrible. The pain started in the pit of her stomach and climbed to her throat before resting comfortably right at the front of her forehead. Her temples pounded. Her face felt bright red, even though she knew it wasn’t possible for her dark skin to show it. The heat broke sweat out on her skin. Her hair was matted to her scalp—oh God ew—and tears ran freely down her cheeks. And the noise was awful. Like a combination of screaming and choking and sobbing. And it was loud. Very loud. Loud to her own blocked ears. It didn’t make sense, because her mother wasn’t here and no one was attempting to sleep, but she tried to squash the noise anyway. She failed, of course.
Lucky came in after she was finished. “Jasmine? You okay?”
Jasmine’s lips trembled. “Stomach hurts. Head hurts.” She turned her pillow long ways so she could put pressure on her stomach while at the same time burying her face into the cool material. “Hate this.”
"I know."
Why were her arms shaking? “It’s too hot.”
"I know."
How the hell would he know? He’s a seraphim! Jasmine reached over blindly, latched onto the soup spoon, and threw it in his general direction.
"Okay, I sort of know. I can sympathize."
"Your face can sympathize."
"Okay."
Jasmine lifted her face. “Do you think I’m pregnant?”
A startled look crossed his face. “Uh, what?”
"Y’know, ‘cause this whole thing started in the morning. Like morning sickness." No, wait… “‘Cept I didn’t have sex with anybody. So maybe it’s, like, Jesus or something.” Why the hell is he laughing? "Stop laughing! This is serious business!"
His smile disappeared, but his eyes were still laughing at her. “Right. Serious business.”
Jasmine glowered. “Are you mocking me?”
His lips twitched. “Maybe a little bit.”
"Nng. Whatever." Her energy spent, Jasmine dropped herself back down onto her pillow. "I want ice cream."
Lucky breathed out a huff. “I left the sweets in the last SHIFT.”
She didn’t even bother looking at him. “Don’t try sarcasm, Luke Anthony, it doesn’t fit you.”
Lucky crossed the room to pick up her bowl and the spoon she’d thrown. “Get some rest, Jasmine.”
Jasmine snorted. “What the f*ck do you think I’ve been doing?”
-
Jasmine woke and was kind of surprised she did. She didn’t remember falling asleep. The covers were pulled around her shoulders but it didn’t feel like she desperately needed them to fend off the shudders of ice every time she swallowed. Her eyes drifted to the clock. Three hours without retching. Oh thank God. It was over. Hopefully.
She heard Lucky approach the door, probably to check on her. That’s nice. Was that what normal people did when someone was sick? Obviously there was something off about how her family handled shit like this.
"You were in my dream," she said, voice hoarse, when he opened the door.
He froze. She could read in his face that he thought he overestimated her being lucid by now. Just to humor him, she said, “‘Cept, you were a zombie. Or turning into one. ‘Cause you never wore shoes.”
"Well that sucks." He gave a rueful smile. "Hungry now?"
"Yes."
He gave her a surprised look. Jasmine lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Think my fever broke. Maybe. It can be off and on.”
"Well good." Lucky lifted his hands to show that damned bowl again. "I brought more soup."
Jasmine groaned. “I don’t want your goddamn soup!”
"I’ll try not to be insulted by that."
And just like that, Jasmine felt bad. She tried to wipe the horror from her face and replace it with a pout. “I hate soup,” she whined. “Luckyyyyy…”
Lucky just shot her a cheery smile. “Well, too bad, ‘cause that’s all we got.”
"Bullshit."
He shot her a warning glance. “Dom would pitch a fit if he heard you say that.”
Jasmine sniffed. “Dom’s a pansy.”
There was a beat of silence, and then she blurted, “Thanks, by the way.”
Lucky blinked. “For what?”
"Staying with me. Not being a dick." Not that you could if you tried.
"Oh. Uh, you’re welcome, I guess." He shifted weight to his other foot, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. He did that whenever he was uncomfortable, Jasmine noticed. He’d be terrible at poker. "I wasn’t planning on leaving you here like this anyway."
"Yeah, I know, it’s just…" Jasmine averted her eyes. He had no idea. And she couldn’t explain it to him. "Being sick sucks. I do this thing where I say stupid stuff and people hate me for it and I don’t really remember if I said anything to you but if I did and you stayed…" She pressed her lips together. "I dunno. Just, thanks."
Lucky stared at her. And then he shrugged. “No problem.”
"Cool." Jasmine threw her head back so it could pull her from a sitting position to a flopped over one. "Glad that’s out of the way. Now, Lucky. Feed me."
Lucky lifted the bowl and raised his eyebrows. “Soup.”
"No!"
He let out a noise of exasperation. “What exactly do you want, then?”
"I don’t know! Sandwich or something!"
Lucky groaned and actually stomped out of the room. “Thank you!” she called after him.
She snuggled back under the covers and stared at the ceiling. He was a good person, she decided, as if she needed reminding. Her stomach ached some more, but sleep was calling her name. Jasmine swiped her face of any remaining tear tracks and promptly fell asleep.
