Page 24 of Jealous Guy

Shit. Maybe I should have thought this through a little more.

His forehead feels warmer than my hand does, but I’m not sure if it’s enough to be a problem. I think faces are usually warmer than hands, right?

I release him briefly, placing my hand on my own forehead to see if his head feels different from mine. When I’m sure I have a good idea of a healthy baseline temperature, I put my hand back on his forehead and find that he’s noticeably warmer than I am.

It’s official. The sickness denier is sick.

I don’t insult him by saying so, but he yells at me that he’s fine all the same.

“We’re skipping gym today,” I say instead.

He tries not to show any reaction, but his shoulders drop fractionally in relief.

I’ve been extremely worried about Orion all day. He dragged himself to class this morning, against my advice. I waited outside his marketing class for him this afternoon, but he didn’t come out of the building, so he must have decided to skip it. It’s not like him to skip class at all. He has a perfect attendance record this semester. He’s super particular about things like that.

As soon as I get home, I’m hit with a deep pang of concern. The atmosphere in the apartment is subdued. The energy that usually follows Orion from room to room is dull and flat. I can tell that I was right to worry about him. He’s not looking good. He’s curled up on the sofa, staring listlessly at the TV with his hands wedged between his thighs.

“Hey,” he says weakly.

His eyelids are half-closed, his face pale. He’s feeling like such shit that he doesn’t even try to curb how happy he is to see me. His lips curl in a big dopey smile and his eyes go unfocused as he blinks. He doesn’t look away quickly either. He holds eye contact, watching me put my keys in the wonky tray his mom made years ago when she decided to try her hand at pottery.

I keep my back turned on him and quietly open the no-contact infrared thermometer I bought at CVS after I realized he skipped class. I try to limit the sound of the packaging rustling, and I read the instructions carefully before approaching him stealthily.

I hold the device behind my back until I’m within arm’s length of him.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t see what I’m up to until I have the thing pointed square at his forehead. I take aim and press the button. The thermometer beeps and the screen lights up red. It reads 101.2 degrees.

I told the pharmacist at CVS about Orion’s symptoms, and she gave me a rundown on things to look out for. She said that anything over 100.4 is considered a fever, but that unless it got over 103 and didn’t respond to meds, I was safe treating him at home.

To be on the safe side, I bought meds for colds, flu, and stomach bugs, as well as a humidifier and a stack of vitamins and tonics. Orion might enjoy playing it fast and loose with his health, but I’m not taking any chances. He’s my favorite person in the world, and I’m sure as hell not going to let him feel like shit because he has some weird obsession with pretending he doesn’t get sick.

We don’t have a throw blanket in our living room, so I get the comforter off my bed and put that over him. He scarcely complains when I tuck it in nice and tight all around him.

I put the meds and a glass of water on a side table and move it close to the sofa, near his head, so he can reach it without having to sit up. Then I go to the kitchen and fix him something to eat. When I return with a bowl of spaghetti, I notice that half the glass of water is gone and the cold-and-flu medicine packets are empty.

Good. He’s taken something for his fever at least.

I take note of the time, and thirty minutes later, I take his temperature again.

The thermometer I bought is a godsend. It makes it so easy to sneak up on Orion that by the time he realizes what I’m doing, it’s already done. Definitely way better than the tactic I used this morning. He’s still not a fan of it though.

“Stop shooting that fucking thing at me,” he says, the third time I do it.

His fever has come down a lot, but it’s still at 100.6. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him tonight, no matter what he has to say about it.

10

Orion

My throat is on fire and my head is pounding so hard I can feel the pressure behind my eyes. I can’t tell if I’m hot or cold, and something really bad is happening in my joints. Every bone in my body has been hollowed out. My arms and legs are bruised on the inside. My marrow is boiling, burning me from the inside out.

I don’t know what time it is, but it’s dark in my room, and there’s a hiss coming from the stupid steam machine Jordan insisted on putting near my bed. I’ve thrown my covers off and my entire body is shaking. I was hot a second ago, but now I’m freezing.

I roll onto my back, trying to find a blanket or something to pull over myself, but I start coughing and spluttering from the action. I roll back onto my side and do my best to suffocate the repulsive sounds of sickness coming from me.

I’m not quick enough because my door flies open, casting a long wedge of light into my room. Jordan’s silhouette appears in the doorway. He strides purposefully toward me, armed with his little temperature gun.

I try to tell him I’m fine, but the words take such a long time to get from my mind to my mouth that, by the time they do, the thermometer is beeping and flashing red less than an inch from my face.