Day One Hundred and Eighty-Nine: Sick Day

cough

Ugh, that sounded horrible.

Cough

Come on Anna, you can do better than that.

COUGH COUGH

Ah, there it is. That's the kind of volume and...mucus quality I wanna hear. I have to make it sound like I'm hacking up a lung.

Knock knocknock knock knock.

Okay, that wasn't even a cough. It is, however, the most adorable knock in the world. And it tells me I'm about to see the person I want to be around the least, and the most.

Elsa inches the door open, I try to sit but give up almost right away and roll onto my back. "Anna?" she says softly, "You awake?"

I grumble my response, putting a forearm across my eyes to keep the living room light out of my eyes. Oh, and the sunlight too. I feel Elsa place something on my nightstand- it smells like soup- and sit at the foot of my bed. "Olaf said he hopes you feel better soon," Elsa says. "Also something about eating ghost peppers to 'sweat out' the sickness."

I let out a pitiful cough, "Pass."

Elsa chuckles, "Yeah I told him you hate spicy food. How are you doing?"

"I've-" Cough. "-been better."

"Hmm, well I brought you some soup." Aha, I was right. Also, sniffle. "You should probably eat it while it's still hot, it'll help with your sinuses."

"Chicken noodle?"

"Yes."

"Extra chicken?"

"Of course."

"Mmkayyyyy, I'll get up," I say meekly.

"You want me to feed you?"

Hoo boy, absolutely not. The last thing I need right now is to have her do something that cute and intimate. Which is kinda pointless, since she does cute and intimate shit accidentally all the time. "It's okay, my arms still work."

I do an awkward shimmy to a sitting position, which requires me to remove my forearm from my face. Even in the depressing darkness of my room, she's still so goddamn pretty. The bowl is right next to me, spoon in the bowl and with a neatly-folded napkin. There's also a bottle of water and a bottle of ibuprofen.

I hate how much she cares, but I also love it. And I hate how much I love it.

And her.

Goddamn it.

I grab the bowl like an old lady with arthritis and bring a very chickeny spoonful to my lips. And of course it's delicious, because Elsa made it. Even though I know she just plopped it out of a can and let it simmer in a pot for a few minutes, it's...I mean it's her. It's Elsa.

Elsa looks at me while I'm eating, and normally it freaks me out when people do that. It still does even with Elsa, but at least I know she's just making sure I don't choke on a noodle.

"Is it good?" she asks.

I sniffle, "It's always good."

"I'm just making sure, the last thing I want you to do is choke on an uncooked noodle." Why does she get me so well? "And we're running low on ibuprofen, so I'll head to the store and get some. Maybe some Gatorade too. Do you need anything else?"

Yeah, I need this stupid contest to be over and for you to love me back. Preferably in that order.

I eat another spoonful of soup- holy shit, I'm already halfway done- and reply, "Tissues?"

She smiles and rubs my knee, "Absolutely."

You know, it's a little convenient that I get a cold right as I realize that I'm in love with Elsa again. It's a little too convenient, right? It'd be pretty pathetic if I faked a sickness to keep from seeing Elsa as much so that hopefully these feelings die down to a comfortable level, right? I couldn't possibly be that dumb, right?

Well, I'm not.

Sorta.

I'm halfway dumb.

I did actually get sick after our non-date at the beach, probably from sitting on wet wood on a windy day. I'm a very shitty actor, so fake-dying wouldn't have fooled Elsa at all.

But what she doesn't know is that I got better yesterday. And I'm milking the sickness for all it's worth so that I have time to figure out what the hell I should do with these feelings once and for all.

I've almost perfected the fake cough, have like half my wardrobe underneath this fucking blanket to warm me up, and looking tired and upset comes naturally to me. To the unassuming eye, I'm still dying. And Elsa has gorgeous, unassuming, icy blue eyes.

I need some time to figure out what to do about this. And plus...I like having her take care of me. It feels nice, okay? Fuck you.

You're just jealous that you don't have a cute blonde feeling your forehead and making sure you're bundled up and cooing whenever you sniffle.

Look I know this is wrong, which is why today will be the last day I do this. Tomorrow I'll miraculously get better and by then I'll hopefully have figured out what to do. But today she's making me soup and getting me aspirin.

And I love her for it, damn it.

I finish the rest of my soup while Elsa talks about therapy and her novel. Both are going pretty well, I've never seen her this relaxed before. It's such a nice contrast to the beginning of the year, and I never wanna go back to that time.

"I'm really proud of you," I say, sounding suspiciously healthy and less mucousy.

"Er, uh what? You are?" she says, getting caught mid-sentence. "How come?"

Cough cough.

"Yeah that makes sense."

I roll my eyes, but since they're barely open anyway it doesn't even matter, "You're just so...calm now. And happy. I like when you're happy." Dial it back, girl.

Okay but Elsa seemed to really take that compliment to heart, because she's smiling and staring at her shoes. "Well, I-I've kinda had to work hard for that."

"I know, so I'm proud of-" I sneeze, and it's a real one. Well to be fair, all my sneezes are real since I can't fake them as well as my coughs. "-eugh. I'm proud of you. Seeing you smile and stuff, it's nice."

There's something that shifts in Elsa's demeanor. I can't tell if I offended her, triggered a bad memory, or made her really flustered, but something happens. Her smile drops a little bit, I wouldn't have even noticed it in my dark room had I not been creepily eyeing her this whole time. She stops rubbing my knee which my lower body hates, but my brain is semi-relieved about.

I wanna ask her what's wrong this time, but she straightens up and pats my knee one more time before getting up. "I'll be back in a little bit to get your bowl. Just get some more rest, okay?"

"O-okay." I say, not knowing what else I can do in my "deathly ill" form.

And then she leaves just like that, leaving me somehow feeling shittier than before. Was it something I said? Was it something I didn't say? Could she tell I wasn't actually sick?

I finish my soup, silent and uncertain. When I get "better", I'll think of another way to hide my feelings from Elsa without hurting her anymore. I'll find out some way to survive this next half a year.

cough

A/N: Don't worry, Anna's gonna be fine. It's just a cold. She'll recover by the next chapter. I'm not that twisted.

...but man, wouldn't that be a horrible plot twist?