Chapter Seventeen — “Errands”
526 Words
The morning clawed its way into the house like a dying animal.
Thin, pale light spilled through the cracked bedroom curtains, washing everything in a sickly yellow haze.
Owen woke to the sound of coughing.
Wet, shallow, rattling.
He lay still for a moment, eyes half-open, listening.
Leia was curled on her side, her back to him, the blanket twisted around her body like a shroud.
Every few breaths she coughed — weak, pitiful sounds that barely made it past her throat.
A flicker of disgust curled through him — a flash of impulse to shove her plate aside, to make her stop coughing and ruining the silence. He blinked, exhaled, and the thought slid away like rot sinking into the floorboards.
Her hair stuck to her forehead in damp, tangled clumps.
The sheet under her was soaked through with sweat.
The damp sheets stank of mildew and something sweeter, fouler — something trying to rot its way out of her pores.
She didn’t stir when Owen shifted onto his side to look at her.
Didn’t seem to notice anything at all.
---
He watched her for a long moment.
Her ribs rose and fell in shallow jerks.
Her face was pale, almost translucent under the fever flush.
Her lips were dry and cracked, little smears of blood staining the corners of her mouth.
Owen slid out of bed, moving carefully so he didn’t disturb her.
He pulled on a pair of jeans from the floor, a t-shirt from the dresser.
Ran a hand through his hair without looking in the mirror.
He padded barefoot into the kitchen.
---
Leia stumbled into the kitchen twenty minutes later, wrapped in a blanket, her feet shuffling like an old woman’s.
She gripped the counter for support, swaying slightly.
Owen leaned against the fridge, sipping coffee, watching her.
Leia smiled weakly at him —
a ghost of her usual smile.
Thin. Brittle.
"Think I'm coming down with something," she rasped, her voice shredded raw.
Owen nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"You think?" he said mildly.
Leia gave a soft, breathy laugh that dissolved into another coughing fit.
Owen took another slow sip of coffee and waited for it to pass.
---
When she could speak again, Leia pressed a clammy hand to her forehead, wincing.
"Maybe you could grab some stuff for me?" she whispered.
"Soup... ginger ale... tissues?"
Owen smiled.
Genuine this time.
"Sure," he said.
---
Leia sagged with visible relief.
"Thank you," she murmured, sinking onto one of the kitchen chairs like her bones had given out.
Owen finished his coffee in one long swallow, tossed the mug into the sink with a lazy clatter, and grabbed his keys from the counter.
He paused at the doorway, watching her.
Leia sat hunched over the table, shivering under her blanket, breathing in short, shallow gasps.
---
He could have said something.
A word of comfort.
A lie.
He could have kissed her forehead, promised to hurry back, promised she’d feel better soon.
But he didn’t.
He just opened the door, letting the cold morning air cut into the house like a knife.
And walked out.
- Writer
