Finals are in two weeks. Softball is over in one week. Finals are in two weeks. Summer is here in three weeks.
I can pretty much guarantee this will be the only installment until then. >(By Nasrin) (By Dirty.pretty.things) "Aye, Missus, I believe you've taken ill as well." The maid's large brown eyes looked at me in concern. I scowled and buried face in my pillow to protest. Though it was my own fault, really, for lagging and trying to stay in bed as long as I could to try and get rid of the sluggish, fevered feeling from my body. Long enough to get Tilda suspicious at my absence, and long enough for her to send a maid to check up on me. Long enough for said maid to put a hand on my forehead and declare myself in the same state as Solomon. "Looks like you'll have to stay in bed as well." The brown-eyed girl consoled me slightly with her quiet voice as she glanced at the sleeping form of Solomon. "Won't be so bad, you see, only a few days or so." The urge to scream filled me. A few days? Won't be so bad?!? All within this close proximity with. . . him? As if on cue, Solomon shifted and groaned, awakening himself. The maid only shrugged sympathetically at me before scuttling out of the room. The sound of the closing door drew Solomon out of his subconciousness, and he turned to face me quizzically. "I hope you're happy." If I could have put any more contempt in my voice at the moment, I would have. "Ecstatic, thank you very much." His eyebrows raised sleepily. "And just what might I be ecstatic about?" "I've caught the fever from you." "Congratulations." Both eyes closed again, he allowed his lips to turn up into a smirk. "This is horrible," I muttered, rubbing my arms to try to get rid of the fever's aches. "I haven't been sick like this for a year." "I've never been sick like this." I made a face at him. "There's a first time for everything." "Thank you very much for pointing that out," he rolled his eyes. "Did you also happen to notice that the sky is blue?" "Shut up," I growled in what I hoped was a confidant, intimidating way, although I was secretly glad that he was too sick to be frightening. The morning seemed to crawl painfully by. Neither of us could sleep for long than a few minutes, mostly because our subconscious selves seemed too aware that the other was nearby and awake. So instead, bored out of my mind (and I'm sure Solomon was as well), I fixated upon the ceiling and tried to count up all the things I'd very much rather be doing. The only source of entertainment for the day came in the form of a healthy, lively advisor and friend, and lunch. "Oh now, isn't this sweet?" Damascus came in, carrying a tray laden with two bowls of soup. "Both of you together and quiet?" Solomon and I both glared venomously at his sunny attitude. "Tilda sends her love. Drink up," he gestured grandly, setting a bowl each on our respective night stands. "I don't want any. Anneka has already made some," Solomon growled hoarsely. "And I think she's poisoned me." "Oh really?" Damascus grinned slyly at me. I answered him with an indignant noise. Solomon tried to sit up and maintain his dignified stance. "Have you got the papers and all the---" "Yes, of course," the darker-skinned man nodded at Solomon. "It's all taken care of. Don't worry about anything besides getting better." "Mmmf." It sounded as if Solomon wanted to say something else, but he shook his head instead. "Being sick is horrible." My rhetorical snort was sloppily disguised as a cough. "How are you both feeling? Anneka, would you like some of the soup?" Damascus swept his amused eyes over to me. Grudgingly, I sat up in response to my stomach's demand for food. Tilda's hot soup seemed suddenly extremely appealing. "I guess so, Damascus." He moved the bowl from my nightstand to my outstretched hands, taking care not to spill a drop. I dug a spoon into the soup, frowning as Solomon chose that moment to turn over on his side. His jostling movement caused the soup to slosh dangerously close to the rim of the bowl, and I glared at him. "What?" his voice was innocent. "I didn't do anything." I resisted the urge to dump the entire bowl and its steaming contents all over him, considering that I was lying in the same bed he was and it would probably get messy. So I tried to content myself with glaring. Damascus looked from one of us to the other, and then decided that his exit was needed. Smiling respectfully, he nodded at me and then at Solomon, retreating from the bedroom. After he shut the door, I could have sworn I heard him burst into laughter. ~~~~~ "Stop breathing so loudly," Solomon ordered annoyedly, turning on his side and yanking the blankets over to his side. This usually would have caught me off guard, except that these conversations and actions had been occurring for the past three hours. It had been an unbearably long day, both of us trying to sleep off the fever. Both of us dying of boredom, and both of us ready to strangle each other with the blankets. Even a fever didn't stop the snide remarks that flowed out of his mouth. "Oh, well excuse me for trying to respirate." I tugged the blankets back. "You're not excused." A sharp, vicious pull resulted in all the quilts being on his side. He grinned in triumph. Shrieking from the cold, I grabbed the other end and tried to pull on it as hard as I could. No luck. "Solomon!" I wailed in my extremely unattractive nasal voice. "It's. . . cold!" In my futile attempts to redistribute the covers fairly, I ended up brushing my arm against his bare back, flushed from fever. Our skin seemed to sear against each other. In his surprise, Solomon dropped his clutching of the sheets, and I yanked them back over triumphantly. "You are such a child," he grumbled, making no move to retrieve them. Instead, he hugged himself, still shivering from the cold. Like the horrible, arrogant, unhumbling person he was. In pity, I draped a tiny corner of the quilt on his shoulders, curling myself up in a modest amount. "You're welcome," I muttered sarcastically to his silence. Sleep was heavy on my eyes, and grudgingly, I closed them. Half-heartedly, I wished for the millionth time again that I was home, with Mother and Isabella and Florencia to comfort and care for me, instead of lying next to Solomon. ~~~~~ I woke up to a whooshing sound in my ear. Blinking disconcertedly, I tilted my head curiously toward the source. Perhaps I was only dreaming, or maybe it was some trick that my mind was playing on me due to my fevered state. It was no dream. Maybe I would have preferred it be a dream instead of what met my eyes. Solomon's face was slightly buried in my hair, his nose breathing next to my ear. One arm was tucked under his head, and the other one was clasped tightly around my body. I was even more horrified to see my own traitorous limbs attached to his, as well We both must have been so fevered that the blazing heat of each others' skin had drawn our subconscious bodies together. God. Forgive me. I stifled a nervous giggle as the image of Solomon's face when he would wake up came into mind. Feeling extremely over-heated suddenly, I pried my arms off of his bare chest (for shame, Anneka!) and pulled the covers off of me as quietly as I could without Solomon waking. The morning air was cold, but I invited the feeling against my sweaty skin. Sleepily, Solomon stirred, his hair tousled from fever. Without opening his eyes, he groaned quietly and turned in his sleep so that his back was facing me and there was no contact between us once more. Thankful for this turn of events, I sat up and ran a hand through my tangled hair. Judging by the way the world still swam dizzily before my eyes, I was warrant to stay in bed yet again, with him. This must be some kind of twisted punishment for something wicked I might have done long ago, or perhaps even in a past life. An unbearable, undetermined amount of time lay before me, composed of doing absolutely nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. Just sleeping, and hating Solomon. At least the fever subdued him and I wasn't in constant fear. In fact, at this point, I probably could have done anything and he would only summon the strength and pathetically say something hateful. My eyes flew open. Alone, with a mostly defenseless Solomon? A strange idea was working in my mind now. A million questions that had been in my head for ages, and now I may be finally having the chance to know. It was possible. It would be worth the try. "Solomon?" My first try was horrible---my voice was too quiet, too hoarse for him to respond. I tried again. "Solomon?" He lay on his pillow facing me, though his eyes looked far off and absorbed in his own thoughts. "Solomon!?!?" "What? Why are you so loud?" Solomon groaned and refocused his eyes on me. Now that I had his attention, I started doubting my earlier thoughts. What if he got angry? But. . . I had to know. "I. . . I want to ask you a question." "And I want you to be quiet," he grumbled in response, shaking his head slightly and focusing his sight on me. "I will be. I promise. After you answer my question." I couldn't help it that my voice sounded pleading. "No." "Please? It's simple, really. And I really will behave. Just please. . . " "Alright," he groaned, shifting his weight so that he was lying on his back. "Go ahead. What possibly could be that important?" If only he knew. In reply, I swallowed thickly and looked at him. When I spoke again, my voice was barely a whisper. "What can you tell me. . . about. . . the matchmaker?"
