Fan Fiction ❯ The Last Tear ❯ Part Five ( Chapter 5 )

Amarette groaned and coughed again, turning over in the bed. Even after changing out of her wet clothes and taking a hot shower, she had still gotten very sick. She tossed in the bed in misery, only half aware of her surroundings.

Malcolm came in, rubbing his eyes. When he saw Amarette, his hand dropped from his face. He went over to check how sick she was.

Amarette was burning with fever and kept coughing with a sound that was similar to fingernails on a chalkboard. It was evident that she was in no condition to travel. This wasn't good.

"Amarette?" Malcolm asked, shaking her slumped form slightly.

Groaning, she turned her back to him in her misery. This was her non-verbal way of telling him to piss off. Unfortunately for her, he didn't take the hint.

Pulling away the sweat soaked blankets, Malcolm got Amarette out of the bed and into the living room. He gave her now-dry clothes back to her and told her to go take a shower and change. She did as he said, moving in slow, muddled, and painful motions toward the bathroom. Meanwhile, Malcolm changed the sheets in the bedroom and packed up everything.

Despite Amarette's pitifully ill condition, they couldn't stay in the motel any longer. If they did, some very un-welcome company might possibly find them. He couldn't let that happen.

In the shower, Amarette began to feel slightly better, although her throat was raw from coughing and her muscles ached from misuse and mistreatment. When she had finished getting dressed, she stumbled out of the bathroom. When she saw the room, she coughed, and then blinked.

Almost everything was packed up, and Malcolm was still hurriedly packing more. Amarette shuffled over to the kitchen, coughing hard. Opening a few cabinets, she discovered what she was looking for: honey.

"Old school remedies," she commented to herself as she brought the bottle down.

Malcolm surveyed the room to make sure he hadn't left anything. Then he turned to the kitchen to get Amarette, knowing that he would most likely have to drag her away from wherever he found her. When he made his way into the small kitchen, he found Amarette sitting on the counter, honey dripping slowly down her throat.

"What are you doing?" he asked, walking over to her.

Amarette let a little more honey slide down her throat before swallowing to answer in a hoarse voice, "Soothing my cough, oh caring stranger. But thank you for offering me any medicine you may have."

Malcolm frowned at her sarcasm and went to stand in front of her. "Very funny. Come on, we've got to go."

Hopping off the counter and fighting off a coughing spasm, Amarette's choked reply consisted of one word, "Bullshit."

"What?" Malcolm asked in astonishment as she shuffled past him.

"You heard me, bullshit. I ain't goin' nowhere, I'm sick," Amarette managed before her body was racked with a coughing spasm and she was forced to sink down onto the front room couch. "I need rest."

"You can rest on the bike and when we get to where I'm taking you," Malcolm said, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Come on."

Amarette did her best to glare up at him through fever-bleary eyes. "Come on what?" she groaned, beginning to curl up on the couch.

Giving an impatient sigh, Malcolm looked from Amarette to the door. Then he heaved another sigh, one of resolution this time, and bent down to sling Amarette over his shoulder with just as much ease as he had lifted his bag.

Downstairs, Malcolm tossed the manager the room key. The manager watched in confusion as Malcolm left, carrying a coughing, sneezing, and cursing Amarette over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Once they had left, he shook his head, thinking about how strange the preferences of foreign couples were.

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