Page 72 of Sins of the Flesh

Throughout the day, I find excuses to check on him.Each time, he's working slower than usual, taking frequent breaks, leaning against walls when he thinks no one is watching.Once, I catch him bent doubled over in a corner, breathing hard through his nose.When he notices me, he straightens with a grimace and turns away.

By late afternoon, I've had enough.I find him in the sanctuary, halfheartedly dusting the pews.

"Cole," I keep my voice firm but gentle."Please go home and rest."

He doesn't argue this time, which frightens me more than his earlier outburst.He simply nods, sets down his cleaning supplies, and walks out without a word.

Thirty-Nine

Cole

Only Love Can Hurt Like This - Paloma Faith

T

hursday morning I wake up frustrated, what the fuck is this!And the regret for my actions towards Caleb yesterday eats away at me, blending uncomfortably with my physical illness making me feel even worse.I grab my phone and type out a quick text:

Me:

Hey baby, I'm sorry for being

such an ass yesterday.

Me:

You were right, I'm not feeling great.

I promise I'll call a doctor tomorrow.

Can I come over tonight?I miss you.

I hit send and then fire off a similar apology to Mom.My phone buzzes almost immediately with Caleb's response:

DM:

Of course, angel.I'm so relieved

you're going to see a doctor.Come by around 7?

Me:

7 sounds perfect.Thank you for

being patient with me.

His words make my heart swell, chasing away some of the misery I've been wallowing in.I drag myself to the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror.Jesus, I look like shit.Dark circles under my eyes, skin a light yellow along with my irises and clammy all over.Whatever this is, it's getting worse.I splash cold water on my face, hoping it might help, but the dizziness hits me again as I straighten up.

I groan and head to my room picking up my phone.The screenlight sends a sharp pain shooting through my skull.I grab my sunglasses and go back to my phone to call Doc Hansen.With my appointment made, I deposit my phone on my nightstand and attempt a fitful sleep.

The rest of the day drags on in a haze of pain and nausea.I drift in and out of consciousness, only rousing when Mom checks on me around noon.She brings chicken broth that I can barely stomach, but I force down a few spoonfuls to appease her worried expression.

"Doc Hansen will figure this out," she says, smoothing my hair back from my forehead.Her cool touch is a momentary relief.

"Yeah," I manage, though doubt gnaws at me.Whatever this is feels too aggressive, too consuming to be something simple.

By six-forty five, I'm struggling to get dressed.My limbs feel disconnected from my body, and buttoning my shirt becomes an impossible task after three failed attempts.I settle for a clean t-shirt instead, pulling it over my head with trembling hands.

The drive to Caleb's house is a dangerous blur.Streetlights smear across my vision like watercolors in the rain.I have to pull over twice when the world tilts sideways, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.