As you splashed water on your face, you heard loud, heavy footsteps coming down the hall fast. The bathroom door swung open and Mike made a lunge for the toilet, depositing what you guessed was his lunch.
Rewetting the washcloth with cold water, you wrung it out and place it on Mike’s clammy neck. “I feel your pain babe”, you remarked. When Mike looked up at you, he gave you the most pathetic look you had ever seen.
“I think I’m dying.” Mike straightened and went to the sink. He splashed his face with cool water and rinsed his mouth. “I have vomited countless times, the things that are coming out of me…” he shivered.
“Yeah. Mine started this morning. At this point I’m just dry heaving.” You leaned against the counter. “So you have that to look forward to.”
“Oh no, not again.” Mike turned and vomited again.
The sound made your stomach churn. You cupped your hand over your mouth and ran to the guest bath. You were hugging the toilet after another round of dry heaves racked your body. Now, it was Mike pressing the cool washcloth to your neck. He took your hand to help you up and to the bedroom.
“God I’m having flashbacks of college”, you mumbled into your pillow. “How did I not die back then?”
Mike chuckled a little, “I think it had something to do with being 21 and bulletproof.” He place his hand on your belly under your shirt. “You are burning up, baby.”
“Yeah. So are you.” Sighing you said, “okay. You get the ibuprofen. I’ll get us some water. Meet back here in 5.”
Mike was shuffling out of the bathroom when you came back. “It happend again. Where is it coming from?” He was pale and clammy. “You don’t look so good”, he took the words right out of your mouth.
“Same to you champ”, you passed him a water and took the ibuprofen his offered. “Just sip.” He nodded as the two of your climbed back into bed.
“God. So hot.” You kicked the blanket off, your T-shirt drenched in sweat. Pushing Mike’s sweaty leg and arm of you was a struggle but you managed. Mike’s fever had broke as well.
Mike stirred beside you. “What time is it?”, he grumbled, still not opening his eyes.
Glancing at he clock on your bedside stand, “It’s 7. I’m getting in the shower.”
“Wait 7AM or 7PM?” he inquired.
“PM. We slept for three hours. I think I feel marginally better. How about you?” You pushed yourself up to sit on the side of the bed.
“Maybe after a shower I’ll feel better. I’ll join you.” He slowly sat up. “I feel weak as a kitten.”
You giggled at the comparison. Rounding the bed you tugged his hand, “you wash my hair, I’ll wash yours.”
“I can’t tonight babe-” he started.
“Mike, I mean just a shower, not a “shower’. Then we’ll hit the couch, nibble on some saltines, sip on some 7-UP and watch trash TV.” You pushed his hair from his forehead.
He nodded, “that I can do. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Of course. You took good care of me too. Next time let’s not be sick at the same time.”
“Deal.”, MIke agreed.
SVU addict 